This week, I’m going to focus on something that I consider to be extremely good: Public transportation.

Before all you stinky hippies get excited and break out the celebratory granola, bongs and hacky sacks, I should probably explain why I think public transportation is so good.

It’s not because it helps to eliminate emissions caused by single person vehicles or because it gives Al Gore the warm fuzzies. Rather, it’s because taking public transportation is the only way to get a true taste of a city’s really crazy people.

For some reason, crazy people simply cannot resist the allure of a city bus. If you’ve ever had to use public transportation for any period of time, then you probably know exactly what I’m talking about. We’ve all seen them on the bus. To be honest, I’m not even convinced that they take to bus to actually get anywhere. The bus might actually be their destination.

It’s tempting here to say, “If you’ve never seen a crazy person on the bus, then you must be the crazy person” – but I won’t because I don’t think it applies here. Since you are actually reading this article, you are clearly not the type of person to whom I’m referring. If you were, instead of reading this paper, you probably would have fastened it to your face with tape, as a makeshift newspaper beard. (Note: If you are reading this article off of someone’s makeshift beard, then look up three inches – that’s who I’m talking about.)

Usually no more than one crazy person is on a bus at any given time, but every once in a while, the planets align and cause the rare spectacle I sometimes refer to as a “Crazy Train.” On Friday of last week, I was lucky enough to witness such an event.

It was an epic adventure right off the bat. Firstly, the guy beside me was drunk. He stank of scotch and slurred his words. Granted, drunk doesn’t necessarily equal crazy, but when you’re talking about the guy you’re sharing a seat with, it sure sets the mood.

On the bus was the most frightening woman I’ve ever seen. Her hair was long, black and backcombed. She had shaved off her eyebrows and she was listening to the theme from Ghostbusters on headphones at an alarming volume.

Behind me sat another woman, reading a book. Every once in a while, she would make a sound that I can only describe as the sound I imagine an angry grizzly bear cub would make if it was partly submerged in yogurt. When I turned around to see if she was OK, she gave a look that said, “Do you mind? I’m trying to read.”

When I got to my stop, I had to actually force myself to get off the bus. I was reassured only by the fact that it will only be a matter of time before the next Crazy Train.

J. Williamez invites you to come throw bus change at him every Wednesday night at Shannon’s Irish Pub.

Published in Volume 64, Number 10 of The Uniter (November 5, 2009)