Drunk With a Dime
Erin Douglass
Yesterday evening, during my commute home from work, a man stumbled onto the bus. His khakis and sweater were as clean as the next guy, but his face was streaked with dirt and he had the sticky sweetness of someone who'd spent the day up a bottle.
He glanced toward the bus driver. "I have no money," he said holding open one hand. "Please, ma'am, let me ride." His words slurred and his body lurched as the bus gunned from the curb.
The driver barely blinked. "Sir, you got money to buy booze, you got money for public transportation."
The man mumbled something and held open the other hand.
"You need to go get a job," the bus driver chided, gaze locked on the road. "I see all kinds of people all day long and they all have jobs. Why don't you?"
"But I'm looking for a job," the man whined, holding on to the front rail as our bloated load barreled down Beverly.
"You better put something in there," she warned, pointing to the fare box. "And don't stand here and talk to me."
The man jammed three fingers in a front pocket. "I got a dime." He fished it out and stuck it in the coin slot. Then he shot her an imploring look. "Really, ma'am. I've been looking for a job all morning — "
" — I don't want to hear it. Don't talk to me. Just go sit down."
Without another word, the man careened to the closest empty seat and slid down. He leaned over to a woman and mumbled something about needing a job. She didn't look up from her book.
The man quieted down and stared at his feet.
After several stops, a scrubbed, smartly dressed man jumped on board. He was wearing a leather cap and tweed pants and carried two plastic sacks of groceries.
The drunk man looked up. "Hey, man, happy new year!" Mr. Smartly Dressed turned to him and smiled. "Happy new year to you. Good to see you."
The drunk passenger bobbed his head up and down and grinned. "Hey, you look good!"
Mr. Smartly Dressed smiled and nodded. "Thanks, man."
Then our drunken friend cocked his head and said, "Where have I seen you before?"
"Collecting cans at Normandie," said Mr. SD, without missing a beat.
I was as surprised as my fellow passenger.
"Look at you now!" he slurred loudly.
"Yeah, I found a job and cleaned up," said Mr. SD, quiet and proud as a lion.
The drunk man sat up a little straighter. "Well...I was looking for a job this morning..." He trailed off, head slumping forward.
Mr. SD looked down at his shoes and didn't say anything.
They rode in silence for several minutes. Then, as Western approached, Mr. SD turned to the man. "Well, here's my stop," he said with a kind smile. "You take care, y'hear?"
The man raised one hand in a wave and said nothing.
Mr. SD rearranged his grocery bags and thanked the bus driver. Then he disappeared down the steps into the night.
For the rest of the journey, the man sat quietly. You could almost see his thoughts forming in the swirl. "So that's what a guy looks like when he makes it out."
I stared out the window, the quiet dark of Hancock Park speeding by. These encounters on the bus seem so random. And yet they aren't. That man saw what he needed to see that evening. An acquaintance transformed.
In fact, I think he met an angel, in tweeds and a leather cap.