Oh God, Why Me?
by Johan Philippine
It all started one cloudy evening in Berkeley, at the corner of Telegraph and Durant. I was waiting for my bus, book in one hand and cream cheese bagel in the other, when all of a sudden I heard:
“Go to hell!”
Despite having lived in Berkeley for years, I hadn’t yet grown used to the frequent public displays of discontent; I let myself be interrupted in mid-sentence of my fourth rereading of The Da Vinci Code by another one of the endless complaining attention-seekers who call Berkeley home. I looked up to see people stepping off of a bus that had just stopped in front of me. One man was covering his mouth with one hand and desperately searching his pockets with the other, shoving his way through the people in front of him to get away from the bus. He was followed by a woman, equally in a hurry to get off.
“What kind of a jackass does that on a bus?” she asked him, then added: “Does that at all?” Once clear of the bus, the man bent over double, eyes staring past the flat cobblestone-like ground. He finally found what he had been looking for: a handkerchief, with which he dabbed on his nose. He inhaled loudly, drawing the attention of those around him, including me. “Or make it that...chunky?” She added, more intrigued than disgusted.
“I don’t know,” he answered, gasping. “Did you even see who did it?” He was wiping his glasses clean.
“No, no I didn’t.” She ran her fingers through her dirty blonde hair, wincing when they got stuck in knots. “It seemed to come out of nowhere.” She sniffed.
“Surely, someone must have seen his face?” he asked the crowd at large, raising his voice a bit between deep breaths. He looked around, his head swiveling from its waist-high position. His brown eyes had an air of desperation to them, searching for someone who could answer his question. His companion looked around furtively, fervently trying to find anyone who looked like they might answer him. From the looks they were receiving, I could discern that no one was able to answer his question. Or was it that they weren’t willing to answer him?
I looked back up at the bus to check if anyone suspicious was walking off. That’s when I noticed something astonishing; it was the very bus I had been waiting for! And it was pulling away!
“Shit!” I muttered, getting up on my feet.
“WHERE?” shrieked the bent over man, now ducking and pulling his companion down with him. She let out what can only be described as a startled squawk. He was looking around frantically, eyes wide with the kind of horror I had only witnessed in mystery stories. There I stood watching him, my shoulder bag hanging limply on my right side, my book and bagel fallen tragically to the ground. The bus that was now past the Smart Alec’s burger joint across the street. All was lost for the next half-hour, when the next bus would come by to carry me away on my seven block journey to the Clark Kerr campus.
I might as well do what I can to help these two people, I thought. After all, I AM an educated Berkeley student who is well-read in the mystery...genre. Yea...genre. I picked up my book, and a grim determination came across my face.
“Nothing to worry about sir, I was just angry that I missed my bus.” I said as I walked over to them, hand held out. He took it, and tried to get himself up. After three pathetic attempts, I finally decided to actually help him up. He was a short, scrawny man, maybe in his mid-thirties. He had dark brown eyes magnified by wide horn-rimmed glasses, curly brown hair, and one hell of a nose. That schnoz must have been at least two and a half inches long. His companion sat there, glaring at the man’s back for taking my hand first. Once again, I extended my hand to help her up; I had serious doubts about the other guy’s abilities to help her up. I wasn’t sure I could do it myself. As I thrust my arm forth, she smiled at me. It was at that time I got my first good look of her, and had my breath vacuumed out of me.
She was that repulsive.
She was tall, taller than me. But she wasn’t fat...no, she was husky. She too had a big nose brimming with hair. From this nosehair hung snot droplets doing their best to escape the clutches of her nose. She sniffed, denying them their freedom. Her dirty blonde hair was unkempt, and her eyes were green...I think. They were overshadowed by a brow ridge so prominent she looked like a Neanderthal from one of the Discovery Channel’s specials. Upon this prominent feature lay not two, but one eyebrow, uninterrupted above her eyes. Her smile showed off her contorted, sharp teeth caked in plaque, outlined in lips so huge I thought for a minute someone had socked her in the mouth. To her credit, she was fairly tanned, but it had the same effect as pouring caramel on broccoli: Despite the caramelized goodness, the broccoli would still taste like it had been stored in a dog’s butt. I forced a smile back as she grabbed my arm in her titanium grip. And then, nothing.
Does she really expect me to do this on my own? I thought to myself. I started to tug on her arm, trying to get her to do her part. A few seconds went by, and still she did nothing. She really does. I looked up around me to see people grinning at me, and the nose guy dusting himself off as he admired a nearby tree in full bloom. I looked back down at the woman urgently, and noticed her smile had deepened, and she had started lightly caressing my forearm. I only noticed when looking down at her because I had lost all feeling in that part of my arm. I felt my right eye twitch, and with a feat of strength never before witnessed upon that street corner, I lifted her up off the ground.
“Thank you,” she said with a gruffness I hadn’t noticed before. I let go of her arm, and she let go of mine. I felt the blood rushing back to my hand. Ow. I nodded my acknowledgement of her thanks, and turned to face Nose-man.
“My name’s Warren,” said Nose-man, holding out his hand for a shake. “What’s yours?” The moment was a critical one. My detective side desperately wanted to help these unfortunate people and find out what had happened on the bus, but the rest of my psyche screamed to me “Don’t give these guys a way to track you down later on!”
There must be a way for me to satisfy everyone, I thought, but how? I looked up over Warren’s shoulder, and the answer came to me in the form of a bright neon red store sign. That’s it!
“My name is Noah’s, pleased to meet you Warren.” I shook his hand lightly.
“Noah’s...That’s so...unique,” said the prehistoric woman behind me, fluttering her eyelashes. “I’m Gertrude.”
Of course you are, I thought to myself. She held out her hand for me to shake.
“I believe we’ve shaken hands already, Gertrude.” I flashed her a smile. Disappointed, she dropped her hand, looking at Warren with envy.
The next part is critical, I thought to myself. I must make them reveal what happened on the bus without asking them directly. Doing so would only cause more trauma.
“So, Warren, where are you headed?” I asked.
“My sister here and I were headed back to my house after dinner when that...” he paused, his face turning a shade of pink, “that...that!” With each word, his voice climbed higher and his nose flared savagely. “...that miscreant!” Once again, we had drawn the attention of those around us. They quieted to listen. He huffed noisily.
“It’s okay Warry, he’s gone now,” shushed Gertrude. “He won’t bother you anymore.” Her gruff voice had a strange soothing quality to it that lessened Warren’s huffing.
Damn, I’m no closer to my quarry. Time for Plan B.
“So what makes you so afraid of shit?” I asked him. Crap. So much for subtle.
“I...had a bad experience.” His eyes glazed over, staring off into the distance at something I could only presume was from his past as I didn’t notice anything strange in the T-shirt orgy window. Well, that is to say, nothing stranger than usual.
“Could you -” His eyes opened violently, still staring at something that wasn’t there, ending my sentence before it was half over.
“NO! NOT THE SUPERSOAKER! THIS IS A NEW SHIRT!” This line of questioning isn’t going to provide any coherent responses.
“Shh... calm down.” Maybe if I ask him about -
“You’ve gotta be careful with all the seagulls around,” he added, suddenly docile. The audience around him began to chatter once more. “I could swear they aim for us.” He kept a watchful eye to the sky.
“I’ve been hit five times this week,” sighed Gertrude despondently, “and it’s only Tuesday.”
I contemplated the situation. They’re scared of being pooped on, possibly by seagulls...with supersoakers? They ran off the bus, astounded someone would do something.
“Eureka!” I exclaimed. Conversations stopped as startled people turned to watch me. I focused on Warren. “Tell me, did anyone have any pet seagulls on the bus? This pet seagull would be the perpetrator of the crime on your bus, which would explain why you didn’t see the criminal’s face!”
Warren stared at me blankly, then blinked. A new voice behind me spoke.