Goat Lady

In the mornings I am usually awake enough to observe my fellow transit riders and note which ones will be the more interesting characters for the day. This morning it was Exhibit A. I will call her Goat Lady.

I know that I will probably get flack from some or the minor tongue click for calling her this. But her beard was long. On her chin only. She was carrying a heavy backpack and wearing a jacket in a red, bright enough to flag down the space shuttle.

She used a clever technique to procure herself a seat. When the bus driver hit his breaks, she fell on to another passenger. He promptly stood up and offered her a seat. Slightly embarrassed, yet grateful, she took his spot.

I was so entranced by the simplicity of her getting his seat that I looked away to ponder it. When I looked back I saw her taking a bite of what looked like her backpack. Satisfied that I had nicknamed her appropriately, I then pondered if she was chewing on the bag or a slightly rusted can. Stifling laughter, I looked away then back again. She was chomping down on a bagel. Phew! I thought to myself. That could have been totally awkward.

Two stops later she decided to get off the bus. Before it stopped moving. Unsteadily she made her way toward the door. I sat rigid hoping that she wouldn't land on me. She neared 2 men standing next to the rear door, she stood really close to one and waited for the bus to stop. When it did, she headbutted him to get him out of the way.

Clearly she WAS the Goat Lady and I was astute enough to recognize it.