Come-briation. (comedy+innebriation)

Many of you know that I do not own a car of my own. And while I like to pretend (or lead people to believe)that this is due to my unending care for our planet, and concern for my eco-footprint; it is in fact because last semester my beloved Jeep Wrangler (quite the gas hog) blew up. Living in Tempe-a very college town-has its advantages though. One such advantage is the free public transit, by way of the Orbit.

The Orbit stops right in front of my apartment, which works out just fine for me. The bright blue (reminiscent of a short bus) transit is the best supplier of high quality people watching that there is . If you are very lucky, some really interesting conversations are there to be had as well. Last week, I was lucky enough to have an interesting conversation as well as witness one of the best drunk-bus riding exhibitions I have yet to see (all in the same ride no less!)

This whole story hinges on the fact that my afternoon class on Monday got canceled, allowing me to go home at 3:15 instead of the usual 7:15 routine. I don't often ride the bus that early in the day,-normally having a previously mentioned class or work-but I was soon to find that there is an entirely different crowd that rides the early afternoon bus.

I got on the Orbit (mine is called the Venus line…I assume they named it for my passionate beauty…but I digress) as soon as it reached the stop where I waited. I was eager to read my New York Times and soak up the air conditioning while we waited for our driver to take his 5 minute stretch break. Since our driver was early, there was only a few of us on the bus waiting for him, when we first meet our plainclothes heroes-Patrick and his buddy(whose name I think was Fuck Off, as that's what Patrick kept calling him, but I guess I can't be sure). Patrick literally stumbles on to the bus and towards back row of seating, and his buddy issues a warning to anyone in his way-

"Watch out, he's probably going to fall over! Already has once or twice. I think."

While I'm pondering why Patrick's buddy could not remember if he had fallen yet, Patrick pipes up and introduces himself,

"Hello everyone, I'm Patrick. I'll be the drunk on the bus today."

Clearly, this is going to be an entertaining ride home. Patrick slumps down in a seat that is awkwardly close to the black man (now, like Mr. Colbert, normally I don't see color or race, but it becomes important to the story later) sitting next to him since there are plenty of seats available that are not directly next to anyone. I get a little disappointed at this point, as it looks like Patrick is close to passing out, ending too soon the tomfoolery I was looking forward to having to occupy me rather than my newspaper for the rest of the trip. Patrick's buddy starts to get off the bus and as an afterthought turns and tells Patrick that he's getting off the bus to have a cigarette. Patrick sleepily nods, and I get the distinct feeling that he may not have actually comprehended what his friend said-but maybe more that his friend was speaking in his general direction. My feeling is confirmed when about five minutes after his friend exits the bus, Patrick's head snaps up and he searches among all the faces still seated, and when he doesn't find the familiarity he's looking for, you can read the confusion on his face and he stumbles to his feet and out to the pavement of the bus stop.

Off the bus, he finds his buddy smoking a cigarette just like he told the rest of us (since apparently Patrick wasn't listening). Patrick says something muffled by drunkenness (or the window blocking the conversation) and then leans on the bus. Meanwhile, and to the delight of the rest of us bus riders, the driver gets back on and straps himself into his seat preparing to leave. There are a few of us who have been actively interested in this Patrick saga unfolding in front of us during what we thought was going to be an otherwise uneventful bus ride, and it seems to dawn on us all at the same time that Patrick is still leaning on the bus even though it is about to pull away. The guy across from me who is sitting closest to where Patrick is leaning looks over his shoulder out the window at our drunken bus-mate, (yes, we feel a certain camaraderie towards and because of him) turns and smiles knowingly at those of us who seem to be paying attention.

This bus driver is not one of the regulars that I know by face. He is a thin, old man of maybe 70 who looks like he would be a kin to Orville Redenbacher, and reminds me faintly of my Grandpa who never seemed to really be listening to you-but instead floating in an alternate reality…or maybe just deep in thought. He is perhaps unaware of our drunk bus-mate who is currently using the bus for leaning on, and begins to drive away. So slowly does our driver start out, that Patrick does not notice at first and he begins to lean like one of those V8 commercials.

There is a break in traffic, and our driver punches the gas a little to make the merge. Patrick stumbles almost all the way to the pavement in bewilderment, and his buddy finally realizes that the leaning Patrick was not a product of the drunkenness but actually because the bus was leaving without them. He pounds on the side of the bus and then catches up to the door to pound and catch the old driver's attention. His efforts are rewarded by a driver who looks supremely surprised and stops the bus to let them both on-much to the excitement of some of us(the man at the back who was previously Patrick's seat mate looks less than enthused).

Patrick again stumbles to the back and his previous seat (man, his seatmate looked bummed) while his friend is forced to stand toward the front because of the lack of seating on our now relatively full bus. We make a few more stops, and the bus gets quite a bit fuller-there are no seats at all now and many people standing in the aisle holding on for dear life to the overhead "Oh Shit" bar since Orville seems to be as attentive to his driving as my Grandfather was to conversation. One of these standers looks down and notices I have a newspaper on my lap and asks,

"What's in the headlines?"

I grimace because I hate this kind of bullshit conversation, and look up into the face of another drunk man. (Can I interrupt my own story here to remind you that it is in fact, 3:30 in the afternoon, and there are TWO noticeably drunk people on my bus. Some kind of social commentary joke could be made here, I'm sure…) He is looking at me expectantly, waiting for an actual answer. I am not sure what he wants me to say, so I go the sociable route with,

"Oh, you know. Nothing good."

This seems to be exactly enough for him, and he looks me right in the eye and says angrily,

"Ya. They're a waste of tax dollars!"

I am admittedly very confused and not following his drunk line of thought so I skim the headlines to see if he's speaking of something particular. Finding nothing I can relate to his comment I ask,

"Newspapers?"

"Yes. "

There are far too many witty, sarcastic and too-thoughtful-for-this-drunk-guy remarks flying around my head at this point in our conversation for me to pick just one. My brain seems to be jammed on the fact that this guy thinks that newspapers are somehow publically funded and that his anger about this faulty assumption is amplified by alcohol. I glance at the guy sitting next to me who I can tell is now following our conversation, see that he is as amused as I am, and respond,

"Alright."

It is possible that my new drunk conspiracy theorist friend would have furthered our conversation, but it is at this point that Patrick's buddy yells for the driver to tell him when we are approaching the stop at 5th and Hardy since that is he and Patrick's stop. Someone tells him that his stop is coming up, so he turns to tell Patrick who is passed out and actually leaning on the guy next to him.

"Can someone wake him up? Slap him, that's usually what it takes."

The guy that Patrick is leaning on looks like he is about to take this advice when Patrick leans up and says,

"Fuck off, I'm awake."

"Well, get up man, we're almost to our stop. And stop leaning on homeboy-you're lucky he hasn't socked you yet"

"Fuck off, I'll kick his ass," he says while still leaning on "homeboy" who now looks twice as pissed at being called this negatively assumptive term. Patrick jumps up though, and almost falls onto an older Mexican woman who is minding her own business. Our bus comes to a stop and Patrick looks at the woman who is now unabashedly staring at him and says,

"And I'll kick your ass for staring at me."

Then, as he proceeds down the aisle and off the bus he points randomly at about every other person and states,

"And I can kick your ass. And yours. And yours. And yours 'cause you're staring too. And yours."

The bus driver finally seems interested in this exchange that he perceives to be possible danger but the rest of us know is just drunken attempts at humor. By now Patrick is at the front of the bus and notices that the bus driver is glaring at him in judgment and annoyance to which he replies,

"And fuck you, bus driver, for driving when I'm drunk."

We were a community of sorts brought together on the bus that day by circumstance, and thrust into solidarity by the comedy of two drunk men.
And it was as a community that we all laughed as Patrick exited the bus, tripping down the stairs as he went.