Apropos of Transitivity
It’s Not Irony When It’s Ignorance
I run to catch the bus. I always run after class. The day is hot, I’m in a thin, woolen, long-sleeve pullover. The sun is still a benefactor; give it a week.
I’m waiting in line at the stop, and a younger guy lets me in front of him. I mount the bus steps, show my ID, and get halfway to the back of the bus before I hear the bus driver call out, “Hey, homey.” I turn around.
So does the guy behind me. He says, “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you, homey.”
He turns his shoulders and starts walking. “You need to choose a more appropriate word. I’m not a homey. I’m not your homey, I’m not anyone’s homey.”
Undaunted. “Your transfer is from yesterday.” That means it’s expired, in case you don’t get public transportation.
Undaunted. “I just got that from the other bus.”
Undaunted. “This transfer isn’t good. I don’t know what’s up, but you need another transfer.”
Undaunted. The would-be passenger crumbles the transfer up, starts to drop it in the driver’s trash bag, then thinks better of it and throws it out the door.
There is some more chatter, before, ultimately, the guy says, “Open the door and let me off the bus. You’re ignorant. Some day, you’re gonna die . . . <mumble>. You’re lucky I’ve got the knowledge, because if I was ignorant like you, I’d slap you. Maybe the next guy you call ‘homey’ will. You need to choose your words better.”
It’s at this point that I dip into an alternate history.
I call out to the driver, as he’s starting to rev the engine. “Back door, please.” Again, if you’re not privy to public transportation, there is, in fact, a back door on the buses. This is no prison lingo, for instance.
I leave the bus, and walk quickly to catch up with the expelled young man. He’s fixing his yellow-orange-and-red earth-tony bandanna/headwrap thing around his dreadlocks. He’s walking like he proved something, and wants everyone to read the victory in his shoulders. “Hey,” I say, a little sheepishly. He turns.
“I’m curious.” I consider adding “sir,” but that passes. “If you really have some knowledge that motivates you to maintain civility, to be above the baser behavior of others, doesn’t proclaiming it, with a self-righteousness borne of ego, pride, and too little humility, kind of . . . .”
I’m on the ground when I wake up. Some folks are still laughing at me, but one gentleman helps lift me up. “What the hell was that about?”
“Transitivity. It’s harder to find than you think.”
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