Category Archives: funner times on the bus

Best NYC Store Names #1

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 9, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york is neat
Tagged as ,

After some initial trepidation with the Select Bus Service, I overcame my fears and have been heartily enjoying my bus ride to work with its view of the maybe-slightly-cleaner-and-fresher-than-the-subway great outdoors for the past few days.

My favourite of the things I wouldn’t have seen had I taken the train was this, painted on the side of a cargo van:

Apparently it’s the seafood catering division of the gourmet grocery store Citarella:

And you can bet I’d hire them for my next (first) dinner party if seafood didn’t swim in its own poop.

A Scary Start with the MTA’s Select Bus Service

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 1, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under funner times on the bus
Tagged as ,

I have to admit something embarrassing. Even though I’m constantly championing the buses to my stick-to-the-subways friends, I got scared off by the Select Bus Service the other night.

I had gotten off the L train at First Avenue coming in from Williamsburg and saw the express M15 waiting at the stop already when I reached the top of the stairs. I usually leave running to the overanxious anonymous and try to maintain some dignity for myself, but there were still enough people lining up for the bus that I was sure I could avoid the humiliation of being left behind, screaming and waving with bus exhaust in my face. I took off for it and got to the doors just as the last passenger was climbing aboard.

Read the rest here.

Can My Karma Withstand Altercations with Two Old Ladies in One Week?

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 13, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as , , , ,

I was alone at the bus stop yesterday morning and standing at the far corner of the glass enclosure, which is where I always like to stand when it’s available, because it shields me from the wind coming off the river. A younger man approached, and rather than walk past me to also stand in the enclosure, he stood just on the outside, as if he was lining up beside me. A few more people walked up as we waited, and all of them also stood outside in line, and I was thinking, “What a civilized people we are.” I moved to the other side of the enclosure so all of them would feel free to move over and come inside, too.

When the bus pulled up moments later, it stopped directly in front of me, and I casually stepped forward to claim my rightful position as first on, when out of nowhere, this older lady rushed over from the right and attempted to intercept me. I have no idea how long she had been waiting there, because the right side of the bus stop enclosure is covered over with an ad for an opera singer who looks like Russell Crowe. All that was clear to me was that I had been the very first person at the bus stop, so no matter how long she’d been hiding, I’d been there longer.

Read the rest!

The Only Person to Apologize in All of NYC Still Gets Trash-Talked

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 11, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , , ,

A friend recently asked me how I managed the adjustment from smalltown Ohio to big city culture, and I told her I was prepared for everything but how truly out-for-themselves people are in NYC. I told her that in Ohio, there seems to be more of a collective conscious, a bit of an “if I do this horrible thing to this person, everyone’s going to find out” mindset, and a bit of an “if I do this nice thing for this person, both of us will benefit from my niceness, and the world will be a better place” mindset. She asked if I think NYC has changed me, and it just so happened that I had the perfect story to illustrate my very definite yes.

Last Saturday afternoon, my boyfriend and I took advantage of the end of Summer/start of Fall weather with brunch at Bar Boulud, a stroll through Central Park, wrestling with giant stuffed dogs at FAO Schwarz, and buying a pound of chocolate-covered everything at Dylan’s Candy Bar to start getting our blood sugar prepared for Halloween.

We hopped on the downtown M15 bus around 4:30 p.m., and it was packed, as usual, with elderly people, because only elderly people leave the house before 8 p.m. on weekends. We stood for a couple of stops, sat down for a couple of stops when two seats were freed up, and then stood back up when we saw a feeble-looking couple board the bus.

Read the rest.

These Boots Were Made for Walkin’

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 20, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under funner times on the bus, it's fun to be fat, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , , ,

I do not run for things. Like, physically. This is perhaps the reason why the gym doesn’t work out for me. I would much, much rather be late to something than to hurry myself, to rush across the street on a flashing Don’t Walk sign to catch a fleeting bus or to plow down some station stairs to catch a train sitting with its doors open for an extra second. I think people who run for things look stupid. I hate people who are too eager. I hate people who care about things too much when they’re things I don’t care about.

Yet last Friday morning, I found myself turning the corner onto 42nd Street, seeing the bus waiting at the stop, noticing there was still a long line of people waiting to get on, and actually breaking out in a run. I have no idea why. I was running late, but why would I care about running late? Maybe it’s that I knew I would be getting to the stop just as the bus was pulling away and that everyone on the bus would know I had meant to get on it and that that would be more embarrassing that bothering myself to run for it. I’m irrational like that.

So I took off in the fastest jog I could in a pair of really rubbery flip-flops, and things were going pretty well. I probably could’ve walked just as fast if I really wanted to put in the effort of swinging my arms and rolling my hips and all, so I figured I was still looking fairly nonchalant to anyone who might be judging my eagerness, yet I hopefully looked like I cared enough about making it onto the bus that the driver would take pity and wait on me if everyone else loaded quickly.

But then, halfway down the block, the toe part of one of my flip-flops suddenly somehow doubled under itself and messed up my rhythm, and I had to stop to straighten things out. Just then, this beautiful brown-skinned woman went gliding past me in a summery black dress, her natural hair highlighted with a white faux flower. Her long, slender legs, fitted with soft black ballerina flats, flitted in front of her one at a time like those of a more-graceful gazelle. I somehow expected that she’d stop, that we’d laugh about me trying to run in my stupid shoes, and that we’d walk arm in arm to the bus. Instead, she probably laughed as my shorter, stouter legs, bound in too-tight, too-hot jeans pounded the pavement in comparison, and while she boarded the bus nimbly with a bounce, I hoisted myself up, out of breath and windblown with the entire bus glowering at me for making them wait.

That’ll teach me to try.