Glorified Version of A Stranger

She was patiently waiting for the bus that day. The sun was out. Too much, she thought as she felt the ultraviolet light scalding her skin. Deftly, she rushed to the nearby shade, provided for public transportation waiting purposes. God, she groaned. She saw her ignorant land lady right across the street. She quickly wore her dark glasses, turned on her iPod to full blast, and pretended not to see her. Too late. There she was, the old lady, wearing a printed silk blouse with pedal pushers and ugly sandals, waving at her enthusiastically. I have no choice, she thought while removing the iPod earphones, and waved back at her.

Accordingly, her landlady began battering her with questions that she thought were too private to be talked about in public. The old fart started with, so you’re officemates with my nephew huh?, Why do you look rich?, Do you earn more than my nephew does? How much do you earn? Why do you take the bus when my nephew just walks to work? That boyfriend of yours, does he work in the same company as you do? How much does he earn? How long have you been together?

She could not hide her irritation at the old lady’s barrage of questions. Her distemper was clearly noticeable in the tone of her answers. She was slowly morphing into a monosyllabic monster! I fukcing hate this lady, I fukcing hate this lady, I fukcing hate this lady. Her mind repeated these words over and over. Doesn’t she ever know the value of privacy? Doesn’t she understand that the type of questions she presented were offending me? Can she not see that I am clearly irritated by her probing and tenacity?

All of a sudden she heard a low groan in the distance. There it was! A hunkering piece of metal slowly inching its way to her! I’m getting on this bus even if my chances of getting tetanus in this bus is higher, she thought, her face full of determination, and glad that she would be at last left to her own thoughts.

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