Friday Night, or Why I Am Not Hip Part 2

We hopped on the #20 bus to Doug Fir on Friday night and were chatting about the concert and our dinner and how sweet it was to get out for an evening. We sat in two empty seats near the back of the bus, right behind a plastic partition that separates the lower level and the stairs. Unbeknownst to me, my feet were wreaking havoc on a young man's soul as we enjoyed our ride down Burnside. Just as we crossed the bridge he ripped off his headphones (that were blaring music) and yelled at Jesse to stop kicking partition because he could feel every kick on his body and it was driving him "batshit crazy" (I think he threw in a fuck or two for good measure).

Ok, first, Jesse wasn't kicking the partition, I was -- the space was tight and I guess I was shuffling my feet around. Secondly, the jerk-face was leaning on the partition and lounging over four seats like a couch, so if he sat properly in his chair this wouldn't have been a problem. Finally, there was a bus full of empty seats that he could have moved to, but instead chose to yell at a perfect stranger. I didn't say anything, and neither did Jesse, because clearly he was crazy. However, I couldn't help tormenting him just a little for being such a little shit. We only had about four stops to go, so intermittently I would kick the partition really hard and would see his shoulders tense up. Then, as we neared our bus stop and stood up to leave, I made sure to do a drum roll with my feet. I know, I'm also a jerk, but it was fun.

As I mentioned earlier, my concert at Doug Fir was sold out so we walked over to the East End determined to have a fun night out. People watching was an experience. There were quite a few more dudes than ladies at the East End and they were all dolled up in their Friday night best. Clearly, I am no fashion expert when it comes to what the cool kids are wearing these days and was puzzled to find a surprising number of men walking around dressed as early 19th Century country gentry. If you swapped out the breeches for a pair of insanely form-fitting black jeans (tight to the point of possibly having to grease their ankles to slide them on) and cut off the tails on their waist coat this figure would be just about right. As a form of entertainment (for myself), I started imagining which A&E miniseries they would be most suited for, if I had full control of casting.

Most of the characters were not dashing like Matthew Macfayden as Mr. Darcy, but were more along the lines of A&E's version of Mr. Knightley -- complete with awful hat hair, but lacking the top hat as an excuse. I was pleasantly surprised when the lead singer of the second band turned out to be the guy I pointed out as Mr. Willoughby (good looking, but a bit of a cad) from Sense and Sensibility. I have no idea what he's like in real life, but in my East End narrative, he definitely will jilt Marianne (dancing seductively in front of the crowd) for a chick with a giant yearly allowance.

Since I am an old lady, around 12:30 I was ready to go home, but needed swing by the restroom before our bus ride back to the northwest. The line was insanely long and I found myself standing behind another "man of leisure" who was a dead ringer for Mr. Collins (the buffoonish clergyman from Pride and Prejudice). I think he caught me staring at him and he asked me if it was normal for four women to go to the bathroom at a time. This was as we watched a second group of ladies exit together from the single-toilet restroom. I shrugged my shoulders and told him that sometimes it helps to hold hands while you pee. He nodded his head (in earnest) and stroked an errant hair from my face. Really. He touched my hair. Mr. Collins then asked how I kept it so straight and shiny and complained about the little curls that were springing up around his ears from the humidity. I told him Static Guard. He adjusted his (popped) collar and seemed indignant about his styling product that cost a fortune, made his hair look unwashed, and yet would still not contain his boyish curls. I told him his curls were charming and he let me cut him in line for the bathroom.

Maybe Mr. Collins isn't such a boor after all. Weird, yes, but a perfect gentleman.