Do you know what shows like Sex and The City never seem to mention when glorifying life in the urban jungle?  The fucking crazy people.  Carrie Bradshaw never had to awkwardly advert her eyes whilst on the bus, in hopes of not drawing the attention of the ASBO that just boarded.  For my American friends, ASBO stands for Antisocial Behavioral Order which is, essentially, served to people committing antisocial acts in the hopes that the legal agreement between that person and the police will discourage future acts.  as slang, an ASBO is a person who looks/behaves like they have probably been served one.  Do you know what these people do in their spare time?  They ride the bus.

So imagine thus:  I’ve just gotten off of work, having just spent the entire day talking to crazy people (I say that figuratively but, based on some  of the conversations, I’d have to go with literally as well).  All I want to do is use the twenty minute bus ride home to zone out and listen to my music.  This is all well and good  until, out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman boarding the bus.  I can hear her asking the driver questions over the volume of my music.  She is carrying a large bag/small suitcase with her, which she promptly leaves right in the middle of the aisle, causing the driver to abandon his post long enough to move it out of the way.  At this point I am tense, suddenly I can no longer enjoy the sweet rhythm of Bohemian Rhapsody because I’ve got to keep an eye on THIS fucko.  No one wants to be the person whom the crazy person selects to sit next to on the bus.  My eyes quickly dart to other available seats as I think about moving next to someone and discarding the empty pair of seats where I was currently sat.  Luckily, she picked another hapless victim to sit next to, a victim who now has to endure a bus ride full of the ASBO’s crazy talk and urine-scented presence.

And it happens all too often.  I’m sure it’s related to living in a city ie. more population more percentage of wackjobs.  However, I also cannot ignore the fact that, in the 22 years I was in the US, I encountered two crazy people.  Two.  Both in Louisiana (Go figure /rimshot) and both harmless.  One was a man who walked the perimeter of of the Lake Charles mall day in and day out for hours, all the while talking loudly to himself (and sometimes arguing); and the other a rather large (read: 300lbs) black woman who would come into the grocery store I worked in a few times a week, lift up her shirt, and dance in the aisles.  Both of them harmless.

Here in Brighton the crazies seem to have a more dangerous edge to them.   I’ve seen fights started on the bus, people thrown off the bus, and too many times to count have I seen time and time again some poor person become the object of conversation and attention from these people, all the while considering getting off the bus and waiting for the next one.  I’ve considered the possibility the same amount of crazies exist in America as over here, however I think we tend to lock ours up.  The UK, on the other hand, takes a more liberal approach, allowing them to roam free in their natural habitat.

I’ve learned a few things about riding the bus with crazies:

-The person whom the crazy person sits next to and draws into their crazy world through conversation is unwittingly the hero of other commuters.  That person is doing what no one else on the bus wants to do:  occupying the nutter until they get off, thereby relieving everyone else on the bus of being in the awkward position of having to pretend nice with the crazy out of fear they might snap.  Of course, this person never WANTS this position, but I think everyone is under the mutual acceptance that, chances are, your turn will come around sooner or later.

-The crazy person has the inability to see headphones.  If you think conspicuously setting your earbuds in place and selecting music on your iPod is somehow going to save you from the crazy person should they sit next to you, think again. They can’t see them, the headphones are invisible.

-The person will typically smell of alcohol or piss or, if you’ve hit the jackpot, both.

-Everyone is under the assumed agreement on the bus that one must never provoke this person as it will only make the journey more uncomfortable.

The woman in my aforementioned scenario continued to get up from her seat at every stop to check something in the bag she had carried on board, presumably the dead and rotting carcass of a stray cat she talks to when not bothering good, honest folk on the bus.  When it came to my stop, I gratefully got off, never more grateful for the rides to and from work provided by my husband.

It really begs the question: should people like this who, while not causing an outright disturbance of the peace but certainly making life uncomfortable for everyone around them, be allowed on public transportation?  Should they, if they are going to be allowed in with the general population, be marked in some way like a scarlet letter?  Don’t the other commuters and society as a whole have a right to know if someone boarding the bus is an ASBO or wackjob?

I think so.

Random thoughts I’ve had as of late:

- I think I’m going to take advantage of some of the time off I have whilst on maternity leave to learn how to cook.  It’s been a long time coming, and with nine full months off work after Little Doodle is born, I really should utilize any time not devoted to the baby.   Because really, when you fear screwing up boiled rice, it’s time.

- I’m asked on a fairly regular basis in the office if I watch (insert reality show du jour here) or (cheap soap opera here) and it really surprises people when I tell them we don’t have TV/cable.  We have A tv, which is used to play games and watch movies, but we don’t get any channels.  It’s a great way to alienate yourself from idle office chatter, but I am grateful to not have it.  I mean, with such quality entertainment out there such as Jersey Shore and I’m a Celebrity Get me Out of Here, why DON”T we have cable, amirite?!   Lately I’ve had to google terms such as “snooki” and “fist pump” and “who the fuck are Heidi and Spencer Pratt?” (an ironically fitting surname based on what I’ve read) just to decipher Twitter tweets and other pop culture references on the internet.  In doing so, I’m glad I’ve spared myself the braincells.  The day I become obsessed with Jordan or “guidos” or who danced what on Strictly Come Douchenozzle, is the day I kill myself.

-Sometimes I think people post ten million photos of themselves and other people in various locations on  Facebook just to prove to others they leave the house.

-I need to get out of the house more. But it’s cold and miserable and wet all the time.  Or dark, it’s dark all the time too.

-I Just finished the book Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster and, while it was a bit too “chick lit” in places, it was a good, light read.  The book is basically a memoir about what it’s like to live in a big city, deal with anti social types, the horrors of rent prices, and the comedy of life.  Oddly, I recommend it.

-Customer service is dead…. and the customer killed it.  I may write a full blog about that one actually.

-I got an 82% on my Chemistry coursework (an A- ish in the American system). Oddly the unit I was dreading the most turned out to be my best grade yet.

-I really wish I could find/ be friends with a group of people in the UK interested in either old school table top gaming or Magic: The Gathering.

-After seeing no less than three dozen properties for sale in the Brighton area, one can safely assume the following:  1. For the price of the average two bedroom maisonette with no outside space and tiny rooms in Brighton,  you could buy a five bedroom, 2.5 bathroom, two story, two and a half car garage, renovated basement, granite counter top-having, sits-on-a-full-acre-of-land, fuck off HUGE house in the USA.  Fact. 2. Whatever number they give for bedrooms in the listing, you can safely subtract one, as they will be counting a room that is nothing more than a glorified walk-in closet as a bedroom.  3. Most people have not updated their homes since the 70s.

-I never realized just how much being a goth is about the attention seeking until observing a girl at work.  There is a definite behavioral pattern where, when the shocking appearance and garb fail to garner the required attention, this girl will step it up by being louder and louder, singing (in the office? Really??), being random, and generally annoying.  Hey, negative attention is still attention, right?

And lastly, I added a new photo to my portfolio:

Last week I canceled my World of Warcraft subscription, burnout strikes again.  I couldn’t simply leave it at that, being the massively multiplayer online (MMO) hobbyist that I am, so I went on the interwebs to see how previous games I had played are fairing in the shadow of the unstoppable juggernaut that is WoW.  Sadly, I found nothing more than merged servers, dwindling populations, and development teams who had all but quit every which way I turned.  That’s when it hit me:  WoW has killed the genre.

Don’t get me wrong, I like WoW as a game; my current burnout is sure to last a few months and, barring I don’t find something that captures my imagination, I’m sure to renew my account down the line.  But as far as MMOs are concerned, it really is the only popular MMO. Looking back over the dozen or so titles I’ve played over the last ten years, I find myself adorning the rose colored spectacles of nostalgia for games-gone-by and “how it used to be.”  And these are my thoughts.

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