Why I don't miss the bus station.

We all get nostalgic for our first home we had out on our own. It may have been that dinky apartment with the kitchen in the bathroom or that garage apartment that you rented from that little old widow with the Pomeranian that humped everything. With me, it was the bus station. This was during my substitute year until I landed this job. It was scary. There was that guy that talked to himself and collected used tissues. Also making appearance was that guy that ate cigarette butts and talked to himself. And then there was that one guy that just talked to himself.

He was kind of boring.

Anyway, those guys were so absurd and the things that I saw were just insane. And--I miss it. Fortunately it has been a lateral move, as far as witnessing the absurd goes. Like today, I saw this girl reading off the requirements for application to the school's drill team on a bulletin board in the hallway and she kept saying, "That's discrimination--that's gay--that's discrimination--that's so gay."

I'm sure the irony was lost on her.

But I guess she was fighting fire with fire.