Winter Morning Nightmare: How a Quiet Bus Ride Took a Creepy Turn

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So here I was, browsing through my phone on my way to work. I take the bus to work, and during the commute, I try to engage my mind—read novels, news on my phone, reply to messages, write my To-Do lists, or have a quiet moment just staring out the window. It is better than staring at people like the weirdo I’m not.

It was winter, the heater was on, the bus was warm and toasty, and there weren’t a lot of people on the bus. I was sitting on one of the double seats on the higher section of the bus, jejely minding my business, reading news on the online links I subscribe to. A man walked up to me and muttered something I didn’t quite catch, pointing to the seat next to me. I didn’t think he wanted to sit there because there were only about 10 other people on the bus, and there were many single, empty, more comfortable seats. It’s the norm here for people to want their ‘space.’ He pointed again, and I saw that someone had left a daily newspaper, that was free and available all over the city, on the seat.

Oh! That’s what he wanted, so I handed him the paper, and he pointed again. Oh! Ok, you want to sit down? Go ahead. I scooted to the next seat close to the window so he could sit down. He took up more space than I thought. I felt a little squished. He was a big guy, or maybe it was just the winter jacket—nothing out of the ordinary… or so I thought.

He leaned over, a little too much, I must say, and muttered something again. *Can you speak up, man! I can’t keep guessing what you say, and I don’t want to either!!* Now I was getting irritated. There’s something about a cold, dreary winter Monday morning that can easily put you in a foul mood. He muttered again. I think I heard ‘husband’; he probably looked at my wedding band. I nodded, gave a polite smile, and looked out of the window, staring at nothing in particular. *Please go away, abeg leave me alone, I’m too cold to make conversation with you.* Undeterred, he forged on. I heard him laugh and then, ‘Does your husband kiss your lips?’

I turned, and he was right in my face, leaning very close, too close. *Oh no, why me???* I jerked back. It took two seconds for me to get a very good look at him, and I saw what I was dealing with. He wore a winter hat with ear muffs, very thick glasses, and had a really weird twisted look—like he was here but wasn’t completely here. He had a regular indistinctive face. Lose the hat and glasses, and he could be anybody. Sticky saliva on his lips gumming together. *Urrgghh… the stench.* Like a giant cat crawled in there and died. How come I didn’t notice this? I guess I was too busy being polite. I was immediately uncomfortable, I felt really trapped. I looked around, and no one seemed to pay us any attention.

*What if he kisses me to see what my husband may be ‘enjoying’? What if he stretches and wrings my neck? Or spits on me?* So many sick people roaming the street unchecked. Maybe I should scream, but I wasn’t sure anybody would help me. Some would probably whip out their phones and start recording, fastest fingers to post on social media. I had a vision flash in my head. Mr. Mad Man grabbing my neck and twisting while screaming, ‘Answer me! Does he? Does he??!!’ Me trying to scream—*‘People of the bus help me please!!!’* My head bobbing up and down, hands flailing in the air, knees hitting the seat in front of me, as I slowly lost consciousness. Before I finally passed out, I see my colleague sitting three seats away, running toward me, coming to save me.

He grunted, and I snapped back to reality. Just as I was about to react, he stood up without warning and alighted through the back door as the bus had stopped to pick up more people. The traffic light flashed red, so we had to wait. I stretched and looked out of the window. I could see him, pacing back and forth, his head/neck twitching, talking to himself, probably stinking up the place. I could see his mouth moving very fast/rapidly. This was a real live psycho.

I quickly got up and went to sit in between two people on a three-seater close to the exit door. I didn’t care about invading anyone’s ‘space.’ So much for me thinking my colleague would run and save me. Martha never even noticed—earphones in her ears, chatting away on a phone call. I really need to stop being polite—if it looks weird, talks weird, smells weird, it is probably weird—and I should switch my seat. I need to buy a can of pepper spray. *Sigh.*