The 6-Parnassus has five seats in a row at the back of the bus, and when I boarded it at the Market & 5th Street intersection after another theater event this evening, only two other passengers occupied seats. Both sat up front, the back row was completely empty, so I took the right-hand window seat. Over the next few stops, more people boarded, but the back row remained mine.
Until the Market & Van Ness stop.
A very young couple, possibly college students, took the two seats on the left-hand side of the back row. She (long straight brown hair, long nose, dark brown eyes) took the window seat, while her boyfriend (short black hair, incipient beard) took the seat next to her.
I glanced at them. She had wrapped her right arm around his shoulders, laid her head upon his chest, and placed her left hand on his right thigh. But she did not look at the love of her life. Oh, no. Not at all.
She was glaring at me.
I resumed my usual bus behavior, alternating between looking about the bus to study humanity and looking out the window for potentially cool locations for future night photography projects. At the Haight & Laguna stop, I glanced at the young couple again. She still had her right arm wrapped around his shoulders, her head upon his chest, and her left hand on his right thigh.
And she glared at me. Again. Harder.
I’m a good boy, so I kept my head pointed forward. Another half-mile, and the 6-Parnassus arrived at my destination. I arose a little sooner than necessary and made my way to the back door, noticing that she still glared at me. While waiting for the bus to stop and the door to open, I used my superior peripheral vision to glance back at the young couple without turning my head to them.
Judging from her left shoulder, she had begun to move her left arm and hand in a short pumping motion.
Yes. She was doing that.
No wonder she glared at me. I had been old and in the way in the back row of the 6-Parnassus.
How inconsiderate of me.
Vonn Scott Bair