The Bus Stop Flirtation That Wasn’t
It was one of those heavy August mornings where the air feels like it hasn’t made up its mind. The rain had finally stopped, but everything was still wet — the sidewalk, the bench, even the sky. Humidity hung in the air like a leftover argument. Not the best day to be outside, but I went anyway. A workout is a workout.
I was waiting for the bus when a woman around my age sat down beside me. Pleasant. Talkative. A little neurotic in that harmless New York way. She told me she’d missed the bus by a minute and now had to wait for the next one. I pulled out my phone, checked the schedule, and told her when it would arrive. That opened the door to small talk — weather, work, the usual commuter chatter.
Then we drifted into fare evasion. She complained about teenagers walking onto the bus with $200 sneakers and the latest iPhone but refusing to pay the fare. I nodded. “Things come full circle,” I said. “Some buses alert the police at the next stop. They pull riders off and ticket them.” She agreed, said she always pays because it’s the right thing to do. I nodded again. Good.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, she looked at me and said, “Your beard is very nice. Well kept. Groomed.” I told her I started growing it during the pandemic and haven’t picked up a razor since 2019. She smiled. “It makes you look refined. Distinguished. Like you have money.”
My eyebrow went up.
Not rude.
Not inappropriate.
But definitely… bold.
I think she asked if I was married, but I let the question float past me like a leaf in a puddle. Just a slight head tilt. No invitation. No opening.
The bus finally arrived. She stood in front of me with one of those small shopping carts — the kind that fits on the bus but still manages to block every possible path. She tried to tap her OMNY card.
Nothing.
Tried again.
Nothing. Five, six attempts. Still nothing.
Then she shrugged and said, “Oh well, I guess I’m not paying today,” and walked right onto the bus.
I chuckled quietly.
After all that talk about doing the right thing.
When my stop came, she was right behind me again, cart and all.
As soon as the doors opened, I stepped off and sprinted up the block to beat the light at Main Street. Not rude — just decisive. I wasn’t about to get caught in that awkward “Oh, you’re getting off here too?” moment, followed by a slow walk with a stranger struggling behind me.
I’m happily single.
Not looking to mingle.
And definitely not looking to escort someone and their shopping cart up the street.
People are too much nowadays.
But they make for great stories.
