Oklahoma Places: Folks of all stations ride the bus
BY KEN RAYMOND
Comments 
0
Published: November 8, 2009
Modified: November 9, 2009 at 11:42 am
Modified: November 9, 2009 at 11:42 am
Metro Transit station, NW 5 and Hudson Avenue
The hipster across the way looks out of place: black Kangol slouch cap, charcoal tweed jacket, carpenter jeans and tan Børn shoes with soft caramel soles. He’s lean and clean, professorial, a far cry from the rest of us sitting on these red metal benches inside the bus station.
The guy asking about the 10 bus, for example, is as tubby as I am, with greasy black hair and a faded T-shirt that says: "Yo (hearts) Bolivia.” The dude beside me now, who’s digging through his pockets, mutters things such as "Oooooooooooh, boy” and sucks in air through tight lips.
He can’t find his bus pass. His hair, which is 31 flavors of gray, hangs loose and drapes past his shoulders to the small of his back. He’s wearing a Superman cap. The pass isn’t in his pockets. It’s not in his cracked leather wallet, either.
This is a nice station. For the most part, it still looks new, although the ground-level rubber bumpers around the ticket sales windows are scuffed and dirty. The walls are dominated by large windows, not quite floor-to-ceiling, that offer views of buses, passengers and passing traffic.
The ceiling is wood, vaguely Scandinavian, but the boards are golden pine, not pale birch or ash.
The wall-mounted lights are brass, the doors and window frames silver. All in all, it feels like the lobby of a mid-range ski resort.
I hear a drawn-out sigh. Superman has finally given up the search for his bus pass. He’s friendly and gentle, a bundle of twigs wrapped in skin, and when he offers me a rueful smile, I can see that his remaining teeth are gray.
Without warning, he swings his right leg up toward his backside, the motion shockingly rapid. Once. Twice. "I’m kicking myself,” he tells me. "I can’t believe I can’t find that.”
I smile back at him, and he wanders off, defeated. He’s wearing a baggy satin jacket gathered at the wrists and waist, the kind we all wore a quarter-century ago. As he steps outside, his jacket inflates, and it seems the strong, chilly autumn wind will carry him up and away like a discarded Walmart sack, like the hero he wears on his hat. I can picture him pumping his leg, kicking his own butt, as he disappears into the sky above me and the other Metro Transit passengers, his hair trailing behind him like a cape.
Related Topics:
Culture and Lifestyle, Fashion and Style, Transportation, Public Transportation, Clothing, Clothing and Accessories
Prev
Something to say about this topic? Submit a Letter to the Editor online
Thank you for joining our conversations on newsok. We encourage your discussions but ask that you stay within the bounds of our terms and conditions. Please help us by reporting comments that violate these guidelines. To review our rules of engagement, go to Commenting and posting policy.
Log in below or sign up (it's free).