The post on Public Transit Anthropology the other day reminded me of one other story I'd wanted to share with you while I remembered--
The tale of a fellow commuter I'd met many years ago, and why, in spite of the huge environmental benefits of public transit or carpooling, I'm once again grateful to be safely locked into my own car, completely alone.
It all begins at a perfectly normal bus stop, in a perfectly normal city neighborhood. And it was at this bus stop that each day I began to encounter a fellow who we'll call "Drew Corso." (Not his real name.)
Now, Drew Corso was one of those guys-- soft-spoken, chatty, perfectly polite-- but always sharing a little too much... and a little too out-of-touch... to make a person feel truly comfortable...
Wearing the same kind of khakis and shirt buttoned up to his neck each day... the same mild manner... the same buzz-cut hair...
He was the kind of person I could totally picture keeping dead Boy Scouts in the crawl space--
But responsibly watering his elderly neighbors' plants while they were away.
When the smell from the Boy Scouts would get too intense and someone would finally call the cops? I could just picture all the neighbors being really surprised. "He was so polite." "He was so soft-spoken." "He never let a plant go without water."
This is what would go through my mind as we'd wait at the stop, and he'd try to engage me in conversation.
Now you're probably wondering how I knew his full name. And that's because Drew Corso was always asking people-- folks in his building... folks in his chess club... folks at, oh, his bus stop-- whether they knew any available women.
"Drew Corso-type Girls" as he called them. Though from the general gist, it sounded like any girl could be a Drew Corso-type Girl, as long as she didn't run away screaming.
And even then, I wasn't so sure he'd notice.
Drew Corso was an enterprising fellow about finding potential new love interests, too. To further this initiative along, he'd made up dating cards he'd distribute to the people he'd meet, just in case they ran across a "Drew Corso-type Girl" and they didn't have his contact information, photo, and personal statistics readily-at-hand.
I suspected there were some "Drew Corso-type Girls" in the crawl space with the Boy Scouts.
Now, this bus stop was the only one in my area that would take me where I'd needed to go. So each day, I had to wait at this stop, and each day, Drew Corso would be there, telling me some new angle of his life.
I learned about how he played chess with a couple of elderly Russian men in his building...
I learned how he was originally from California and, due to a divorce, he had left and come randomly to Pennsylvania where he had no family or friends...
I learned he had a daughter he was not allowed to be anywhere near due to a restraining order...
And I learned he was legally not allowed to drive; that he'd had a license, but they seem to have taken it away from him.
All of those things painted a picture that made me very nervous in an undefined way.
One day, Drew and I were standing at the stop per normal and he decided to strike up conversation. I removed my headphones, which had proven an adequate buffer for about a week now. "I'm sorry?"
"I said, I've recently been getting into television."
Me, with a nervous smile: "Oh."
"Yes, I've been watching this program lately that has these people on it who have to answer really difficult trivia. But they have to do it in the form of a question."
"Ah..."
"It's called Jeopardy. Have you heard of it?"
I'm sure my smile was even more nervous now: "Er, yes. Yes, I have."
Jeopardy, at this point, had been on TV about a decade. There were likely monks in the far snowy mountains of Tibet who could sing the Double-Jeopardy theme song.
"Yes, it's really fascinating," he went on. "And I'm learning a lot. But you know, what interests me most is how intelligent the host is."
"Alex Trebec?"
"Ah, so you do know it!" Delight was in his voice now. "Yes, he's just brilliant! I don't know what his IQ is, but he has to be a genius. He knows all of the answers to all the questions. It's just amazing. The contestants make a mistake, and he just explains to them where they went wrong and---"
Me, mumbling: "Um, he has the answers written down."
"...Just very intelligent and-- what?"
More loudly now: "Alex Trebec. He doesn't really know the answers to all the questions. He has them written down on cards. For the TV show."
I can still see the look of shock and disillusionment on his face. "I had no idea! That is good to know. I was wondering how it was even possible, I-- What is your name, by the way?"
"Er... Rachel," I said quickly.
Drew Corso didn't know Alex Trebec had cue cards, but he seemed to know instantly I was lying about my name.
"Rachel--" he repeated suspiciously, "here, let me give you one of my cards. You aren't single, are you? I'm looking for a Drew Corso-type Girl." Which, of course, we all knew, because he'd been giving those cards out willy-nilly for months now.
"Er... sorry," I told him. "I have a boyfriend." Two lies in ten seconds, an all new record for me in self-preservation and fibbing. In fact, my boyfriend was getting taller and could benchpress more weight by the moment...
I began to think he might also know TaeKwon Do and carry nunchakas around for fun. It was funny I was with him, really, as he wasn't especially my type.
"Oh, that's a shame-- you seem very intelligent, Rachel."
"Thanks." Yeah, intelligent. Like Alex Trebec. "You know, I think I'm just going to walk today," I said.
Okay, so, yes, it was a couple of miles to work from there, and I was in a business suit with heels. But the exercise would do me good. I would walk every day for most of that year, until I finally got my car.
You see, crawl spaces never really suited me.
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