Category: Loser Cruiser

My life’s odometer

I found out last week that Scarlett and Young Dude are engaged! The question was popped during a romantic weekend getaway. The blushing fiancé told me they’ll be moving to North Carolina shortly and will return in the summer of 2006 for their wedding. Mazel tov!

In other news, Sarah the L was cast in the Spielpalast Cabaret! The troupe will be performing in Burlington one weekend only (last weekend in April) and will follow that up by touring the state over the following weekends. In celebration of this achievement, and to show my support, I offer up the following pledge to any of my friends or Sarah’s friends who should happen to stumble upon this blog: if you venture from out of state to attend the Burlington show, I’ll buy your Cabaret ticket for you so long as you join me front and center for the performance.

On a related note, shortly after her casting, Sarah the L discovered that Cute Redheaded Flask-in-Her-Cleavage Solo Girl from last year’s cabaret was none other than Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl from the Loser Cruiser!!! What a small world!

And speaking of that old faithful hunk of public transportation funds…

…while riding the Cruiser last week, I noticed something tragic: Cute Red Hat Girl’s red hat sitting alone on one of the seats. For the next week, whenever someone exited the bus, someone else inevitably yelled, “Wait! You forgot your red hat!,” only to find out that the owner of the hat wasn’t on the bus. So it seems that, for whatever reason, Cute Red Hat Girl no longer needs the Cruiser, but as an offering to the Goddess of Safe Travels, and maybe as a symbol of her departure, her hat remains.

As I sat there pondering Cute Red Hat Girl’s whereabouts and current commuting options, I was reminded of my own reasons for using the Cruiser: Inga. She has been struggling as of late, but she’s still a faithful friend. And although her disbelief in fringe benefits has slowly convinced her to stop doing many of her mostly-inconsequential jobs (eg, the broken hinge on the arm rest/cup holder; the child proof but mostly Mr. Benchly proof locks to the backdoors; the refusal to open her hood in cold weather; the hole in the ceiling’s upholstery; the lack of heat, the CD player/radio that plays only the radio; etc), the one task I can always count on her to follow through with is keeping an accurate odometer.

As the years and miles have gone by, I’ve always been excited to see the beginning of a new ten thousand miles. And my favorite part is when, for example, the 150,000s are close to becoming the 160,000s, and in the last hundred miles, the 5 slowly turns into 6. Turning appropriately much slower than an hour hand on a clock, the second number on the odometer makes its way to a number it has seen only once before and will probably never see again.

It is in this random, once-in-a-many-months experience that I find the best reflection of my own life. From many hundred miles away, I can see a change coming. I can feel it. And though anxious to experience it, I must be patient enough to cross the many miles of life still left standing before me. So while the Scarletts, Young Dudes, Sarah the Ls, and Cute Red Hat Girls of the world see their odometers change over a new leaf in their lives, I know that my new 10,000 is just around the corner.

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 2b

There I was, minding my own business on the Loser Cruiser this morning when who should appear out of the blue, board the bus after Soon-to-be-Mid-Life-Crisis Girl, and seat himself down right in front of me and next to Daddy Sutherland (the state representative who bears a striking resemblance to Mr. Donald Sutherland himself)? EBERT!!!! I almost didn’t recognize the fellow; evidently, he’s been working out. Let’s just say, now he looks more like Siskel than Siskel does. It was all I could do not to pee myself at the sight of Ebert and Daddy Sutherland sitting next to each other. There hasn’t been such a meeting of middle-aged minds since Walter Cronkite got on the wrong bus heading south out of Knoxville and sat down next to The Brady Bunch’s Robert Reed! I was beside myself with joy and excitement! I only wished I had a decent camera with me.

One other moment worth mentioning: the sighting of Kind-of-Cute-in-a-Manly-Way Red Hat Guy (not to be confused with Cute Red Hat Girl). This guy has become a regular as of late and didn’t wear a red hat until Cute Red Hat Girl was first spotted. Coincidence? Hardly!

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Parts 1-4

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 2.

As I was seated today near the back of the Loser Cruiser bus to Montpelier, a sudden and saddening thought crossed my mind: I’m one of the last remaining Loser Cruiser regulars from the Fall.

Al Bundy – moved to St. Albans and plans to use the St. Albans to Burlington Loser Cruiser. I know this because he told Sarah the L on one of the days I left her alone on the bus to fend for herself.
Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl – no longer rides for whatever reason; maybe because she can’t ride her bike in the snow?
Helen – hasn’t been seen since mid-November. I’m worried about her. They say the suicide rates increase during the holiday season and let’s face it, she never seemed stable.
Duck Girl – I know Sarah the L will contest this statement, but I don’t think she ever existed in the first place.
Make Out Woman – I’m guessing she married her make out partner and has been on a prolonged honeymoon.
Siskel and Ebert – Though they never sat together, they used to ride every day. Now I’m lucky if I see Siskel once a week.
Stonecutter’s Way Girl (we used to exit the bus and walk down this road together) – Missing since before Christmas.
Sarah the L – Now works near Burlington and no longer needs to use the bus. There are no words.

And last, but certainly not least:

Cute Washington Plates Girl – For a few days, I thought she and Cute Red Hat Girl were the same person, but when CRHG removed her cute red hat the other day, I realized they were different and that I hadn’t seen CWPG in many months.

For those of you keeping score, that leaves the following regulars:

– Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy; Mustache Man; Road Rage Man; National Life Guy

Although I’m somewhat comforted by the fact that there are new regulars sharing the ride with me (the aforementioned Cute Red Hat Girl [self-explanatory]; She Totally Wants Me [because she obviously does!]; Scrabble Girl [because she plays computer Scrabble but never asks me if I want to play!]; Soon-to-be Mid-Life Crisis Girl [you can just see it coming]), I miss the old regulars. Maybe one day we’ll have a reunion.

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 3.

After exiting the Loser Cruiser and transferring to the city route that takes me within a block of work, I sat next to Redheaded Bearded Flannel Guy, and across from a blonde haired woman in her late 30s. Halfway through our trip, RBFG started talking to himself. He said things and then laughed to himself. Then he looked around the bus smiling to see if anyone else got the joke. I didn’t laugh though because I didn’t hear the joke. As someone who often tells jokes, I know that I prefer people to laugh only if they hear the joke clearly, understand the joke, and think it’s funny.

Soon enough, RBFG began talking in my direction. What followed was this semi-awkward conversation:

RBFG (pointing at Late 30s Woman) – “She looks like my friend Rhonda. Rhonda’s sister is Peggy.”
Me (first smiling at RBFG and then looking in the direction of Late 30s to give her the “I’m sorry, I really am” look) – “Oh.”
RBFG (now addressing Late 30s) – You look like my friend Rhonda. Her sister’s name is Peggy.”
Late 30s – “Oh. Thank you.”

I mean, seriously, how do you respond to a statement like that? Both Late 30s and I were teased with the silence that followed before RBFG finally spoke up again to compliment Late 30s on her hairstyle: the always-difficult-to-master ponytail. After another “thank you,” Late 30s pushed the Stop Requested tape, quickly exited the bus, and ran away. I imagine I’ll never see her on the bus again.

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 1.

With only music and my thoughts to keep me company on the ride into work this morning, my mind drifted back to a San Francisco trip I took last year and specifically, an early-morning walk on the Pacific Ocean beach that inspired me to write a page of thoughts. What I ended up writing doesn’t exactly convey what I wanted to say but nevertheless, I couldn’t throw it away and here I am offering it up to you:

“I’m sitting on the beach among a genocidal grave of sea creatures desperately in need of the ocean’s breath, which becomes faint as the tide calls its water home. Fruit flies pick at the dead like ungrateful grandchildren at a wake, begging for their morning inheritance. The ocean, having shed part of itself in its daily ceremony, recedes in a parade of olive green topped with white curls to live a day of blue. This is the ocean’s life. Each day, it is buried, mourned, killed, and reborn again. There are no surprises. There are no lies. Or betrayals. There is no guilt and there is no shame. There is only life and death told in a cycle as true as the ocean needing the moon. One day, I will die, be mourned, buried and born again but until then and even then, I will be as impure as an ocean without tides in a life of unexpected love and unforgiving heartache in a world without the ocean’s cleansing touch.” © 2005 Mr. Benchly

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 4.
An embarrassing side note: the other night, on the way home from work, I fell asleep on the bus and nearly missed my stop so yes, that’s right, folks, I am officially a Loser Cruiser Snoozer.

Beeps and Jeeps and General Creeps

This past June, on a semi-hot, terribly muggy, infamously miserable Thursday, I climbed into the driver’s seat of my beloved vehicle of 4 years, Inga Beep the Jeep, and proceeded to drive her to an early grave. For the metaphorically challenged out there, that’s my way of saying I overheated her to the point where smoke came out of her, fluids sprayed all over her, and she stunk up the whole neighborhood. The friendly mechanic and his trusty sidekick were able to bring her back to life but you could tell right away: she wasn’t the same. Part of her died that day. Maybe it was my betrayal of her trust. Maybe it was her Jeepish pride. We’ll never know. Regardless…

To prolong her now painful life, I decided to take advantage of Vermont’s public transportation system and ride the Loser Cruiser bus as much as possible. Burlington to Barre and back for $6. Considering the round trip covers 100 miles total, that’s a hell of a deal.

Riding the bus most mornings has introduced me (and fellow passenger Sarah the L) to an incredibly eclectic universe of environmentally-aware, politically-conscientious, and down-on-their-luck individuals. There are the regulars:

– Al Bundy (picture the Married With Children patriarch, and you’re picturing this passenger).
– Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl (self explanatory)
– Road Rage Man (the guy who went postal on me on Interstate 89)
– Helen (If only because she reminds me of the grandmotherly woman who taught one of my college courses [she’s the one with the mic])

– Mustache Man (again, self explanatory)
– Duck Girl (Sarah the L will have to elaborate on this one because I wasn’t there when the “Duck Conversation” happened)
– Make Out Woman (so named because she was seen making out with her [presumably new] boyfriend while waiting for the bus to arrive

And the not so regulars:
– Cute Washington Plates Girl (cause she drives a car with Washington plates)
– Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy (often seen grading the homework of his elementary school students. Recent assignment, I kid you not: What I Did on My Summer Vacation)

I can only imagine what the regulars call Sarah the L and I. “Gay Girl and Gay Boy”? “Rockstar and her Handsome Friend”?

Anyway, today, on the ride into work, Al Bundy was his usual self and what we polite folk politely call “ANNOYING AS ALL HELL!!!” He talks to you when you’re trying to read; he talks to you when you have headphones on; he talks to you when you pretend you’re talking on your cell phone; he talks to you when you walk away from him; he talks to you when you’re talking to someone else.

As most of you can attest, I don’t do well when strangers talk to me. I can think of a hundred different uncomfortable situations I could be in every day, and having to talk to strangers always tops the list. So essentially, Al Bundy is like the kryptonite to my Superman Commuter World. I can have a great ride into work if I can just get by him. But like Superman, I know I can’t attack him straight on so my sneaky defense lately has been to hide in the back of the bus with my headphones on, my head planted in a book, and my cell phone attached to my ear.

But today, without headphones, and with my book making me carsick, the kryptonite of Al Bundy got to me. He sat in the front seat and talked so loudly I could hear him all the way in the back. Because of all the negativity I associate with him, I pretty much now equate his voice to the moan of a dying mule muffled by styrofoam being rubbed against a chalkboard. Trapped in the back of the bus, I tried to escape but my Superman Commuter World powers were no match for his kryptonic voice. I was defeated. The bus ride ended and I dragged myself down the steps to the sidewalk below as Al Bundy said, “have a nice day.”