I’m waiting for the La Brea bus. There’s a woman—tan skin, reddish/pinkish hair that’s pulled back, orange t-shirt, gray capri pants, lime green socks, and sandals—already at the bus stop. She is yelling about Eddie Murphy dancing and some other indecipherable stuff into thin air. Obviously, she’s not in her right mind. She’s out of it.

After she stops screaming, she turns her frustration and attention to La Brea. She grabs her plastic grocery bag full of what looks like socks and garments, and then begins to dart in and out of oncoming traffic, knocking on the windows of only black sedans and SUVs, asking the drivers if they’re Uber cars. It’s pretty scary. It gets so bad that after one driver waves her off, she opens the passenger side door as he’s pulling away at a green light. He manages to lean over and close the door, but only after I see the pure shock and WTFness on this dude’s face.

Our bus finally pulls up. I get on first, trying to give the bus driver fair warning of the impending adventure that she will soon experience. I try to motion with my eyes that Trouble with a capital T is about to board this vessel like a rowdy band of syphilis-infested, scurvy-infected, sex-starved pirates. However, I don’t think that my signal registered, for I’m sure she thought that I was making a totally unsuccessful pass at her. I tried.

The out-of-control lady began the journey by asking if anyone had change for a dollar. When no one had change, she gave every single one of us the evil eye. I stared out of the window. I don’t play around and make eye contact with “those who shall not be named.” So Medusa gets all up in our shit and starts hollering at us. Then, she immediately starts screaming at the window. Just behind her is a woman who’s tending to her baby in a stroller. The incessant noise and aggressiveness coming from Medusa is making a lot of folks uneasy. Like 9-11/Flight 103-passenger uneasy. Suddenly, the mother stands up and blurts out, “Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch! I got my goddamn baby here. Won’t you shut up with your crackhead ass!” Medusa ain’t taking this lying down. She gets up in the mother’s face, and they engage in a verbal profanity-laced tennis match. It’s both repulsive and enthralling. I’m expecting them to both to throw one another off the moving bus. Eventually, cooler heads prevail, and they both subside their fury.

Seconds later, the mother pulls out her phone and calls up her friend. Putting her friend on speakerphone, the mother complains about Medusa out loud for all the world to hear, inches away from Medusa herself. Here’s an excerpt from the conversation:

MOTHER: I can’t believe this bitch! She don’t know. I am not the one!
FRIEND: Where are you now?
M: On the bus.
F: She still there?
M: Yeah, that bitch still here. She crazy as fuck. She on crack or whatever she on. she lucky I got my baby right here. If I didn’t have my baby right here, I’d slap the shit out of that bitch.
F: You need me to meet you up there? I will fuck her up!

After that spirited exchange, the mother calls her own mother to vent in the same fashion. Yep. Here it is:

MOTHER: Ma, pleeeease pray for me. Oh my God! Please pray for me. Pray that I don’t beat the shit outta this ho’.
MOTHER’S MOTHER: Don’t do anything stupid. Tell the bus driver.
M: They don’t care, Ma! They drive, that’s all.
MM: You better not be fighting up there. Who gonna take care of your baby if you get locked up?
M: Ma! I know! But I need you to pray for me. I swear to God! If she look at me again, I’m gonna…Oh my God! Oh my God…

At this juncture, the bus lands at my stop. I get off the bus. I do my customary wave and morning salutations to the four Jehovah Witnesses who frequent the train station. I dodge a flock of ambitious pigeons trying to cut me off from the staircase, and climb up to the train platform.