Commuting adventures between Tacoma and Seattle.

Month: March, 2013

In Other News

  • Guest Starring Larry Tate
  • Recumbi-douche is back

What’s the deal with women’s shoes these days?  Since when did club-feet become fashionable, and I haven’t seen a women yet who wears those giant leather boots with the buckles, straps and zippers who doesn’t look bow-legged.  The boots in particular are like some kind of Hugo Boss/Nazi uniform throwback.


In Other News

  • The Scarecrow’s brown corduroy pants (the same pants he wears every day) are tucked into his navy blue socks, and his navy blue socks are pulled halfway up to his knees.
  • One of The Weebles has hungry buns.
  • A lot of people generally look like they wish they were dead.

I’ll Huff and I’ll Puff and I’ll…Just Need to Sit Down Here a Moment

Remember the old codger who plopped down between me and The Fonz and ended up knocking The Fonz onto the floor?  Well, he found himself a seat this morning without forcibly displacing any other riders; Lebeau won’t like it, though.  Getting to this seat was a bit of an adventure for the guy; I remember it as if it were a meal ago…


Perfectly normal. Nothing to see here.

I’m standing there playing Words With Friends while waiting for the train, The Scarecrow wandering feverishly and randomly around the train platform, when I hear some labored breathing approaching.  I didn’t look up, assuming it was probably just The Scarecrow doing his morning calisthenics, or masturbating, or both.  As the breathing gets closer, it really sounds like the “breather” is in distress.  I look up and see that same old codger from before, wobbling down the platform, bent over about 30 degrees struggling to make it over to where I’m standing.


Poor-Man’s John Wayne

He’s hugging the wall of the Freighthouse, hobbling along like William Boyd in Hopalong Cassidy, reaches out for a railing, then leans on it casually while trying to catch his breath as if to say, “What? I’m just standing here leaning on this rail like a goddamn boss.”  It was all he could do to get from the door to this spot on the platform–about 30 yards–and he sounded like he had just run the sprint of his life.  Standing there leaning on the railing was too much for him, so he ended up sitting down on a curb.  Was he going to pass out?  Man, who could tell?

At about this time the train pulls up, and this guy works for Sound Transit counting passengers, so he’s got to get his ass up and over the the doors.  I instinctively step aboard when the doors open, sit down, and pull out my laptop.  I look up: oh my god he made it!  The old codger covered the 15 yards between his seat on the curb and the doors of the train, but it sounded like it nearly killed him to do so.

He dumps himself into Lebeau’s seat and spreads himself out across the two seats in that space–he really needs a rest.  If anyone needs the extra room, it’s this guy, but he comes off completely oblivious to the people around him who have nowhere to sit, just like last time when he was sitting where the bikes go, and when his ass shoved The Fonz out of his spot.  This old dude should probably have a handicap parking sticker on the back of his Sound Transit ID badge to let people know how lucky they are not to be performing CPR on him right now.

In Other News

  • Momma Lovell noticed The Scarecrow shoving past her to get on the train this morning, and called him out on it.  “Nobody wants that seat, what’s your hurry?”
  • Guy running to catch the train at the last second just makes it to the doors before they close, then he trips and falls into the train.  Played off as good as could be expected.
  • Momma Lovell has things to do on Sunday (“I’m an usher at church.  I’ve got obligations.”) so she can’t help out at her job.  Nice to see some commitment somewhere.
  • The other Weeble looks like she’s been hypnotized as part of a stage act.
  • Guy with furrowed brow can’t stop staring at a 50 year-old cyclist woman’s butt.
  • Mitch McConnell has officially retired the Yankee Doodle Calvary hat.
  • Larry Tate is back on the 1502.



Napoleon Dynamite?  No.  Leprechaun Kryptonite.

Came upon The Scarecrow this morning as he was skulking around the perimeter of the train platform.  He came out of the shadows at one point to see if a pair of doors were unlocked on the Freighthouse building, then tried a couple of other doors nearby.  This is a habit for The Scarecrow he must test each nearby door to see if it’s unlocked.  What he’ll do when he finds one unlocked is unknown.  He’s like a Vampire with a knotted rope, or a Leprechaun with a pile of scuffed-up shoes.

Getting on the train, he pulled out a classic: unnecessarily crowding his way through the door in a mad dash for the seat nobody really wants, but he must have, or die.  Try to imagine an empty train (or nearly so), and a line of three people ahead of The Scarecrow–I’m in third position.  When the doors open to let people on, the line of people climbs aboard one at a time UNTIL it’s my turn.  At precisely this moment, The Scarecrow makes a dodge to the right and rushes forward so now we’re both climbing through the door at the same time.

LA Riot

Ball cap and baggy jeans, official uniform of looters in LA.

As he pushes past me, like a looter surging through a broken window and into a TV store after the Rodney King verdict, he speed-walks to his favorite spot: the single-seater corral next to where the bikes go.  He smugly plops down into his seat and props himself up like some kind of royalty.  Such satisfaction has never been known in these parts.

Yeah, he really pulled one over on me.  Boy.  That was close.  I humbly submit defeat, dear Scarecrow.  The competition for his seat must have really worn him out, too, because now he is taking a nap–or he’s dead.  Hard to tell.  At least the looters will have a hard time getting into the Freighthouse.

Pardon Me, You’re Sittting On My Friend.


One short line for a man, one giant leap for Scarecrow-kind.

Some days, the weird starts early.  Today the weird started on my walk up the line of people waiting to get on the 1502.

The Scarecrow wasn’t wandering aimlessly around the platform, or hocking loogies, or rhyming random words: he was just standing there in line.  Seeing how this was The Scarecrow, you just know it couldn’t be that simple.

The first thing I notice is there really isn’t a line.  He’s the only one there: a line of one.  Not so weird, you say?  Agreed; every line needs to start somewhere.


My arm is fine; what’s wrong with your face?

The second thing I notice is he is standing back about 10 feet from where the line starts.  He’s kind of hanging around where there should be a line, maybe in third position, but for some reason didn’t want to be up where the first in line traditionally positions himself/herself.  Maybe he’s standing behind a couple of imaginary friends.  What do I know?  I sure as hell don’t want to test that theory, so, being the rational guy that I am, I get in line behind The Scarecrow thinking he’ll take up the slack he left ahead of him.

Well, he doesn’t move up.  So now we’re both standing there out in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the train about 10 feet away from where normal people wait for the train, like we’re friends or something, just hanging out where people also just happen to wait for the train.  Now the Weebles show up and they get in line behind me.  That makes four of us standing there lined up at some imaginary hotdog stand, or whatever it is The Scarecrow has in his head.


What we didn’t hear is Momma Lovell’s 13-minute love affair (Apollo 13?) with a DRY hamburger patty took that long because it had the size and texture of a truck tire.

As The Weebles approach, Momma Lovell starts talking about her lunch from yesterday.  She scarfed down her lunch in 13-minutes.  What did she eat, you ask?  A hamburger patty….a DRY hamburger patty.  Not sure what’s more sad: she knows it took her 13 minutes to eat lunch, or that it took her 13 minutes to eat a DRY hamburger patty.

If I Only Had a Brain


A battle of wits between THE Scarecrow and My Scarecrow would end in mutual surrender.

Today one of The Weebles is sitting in LeBeau’s spot with the Loogie Hocking Zombie.  I glanced over just now and see that he’s wearing cloth gardening gloves to keep his hands warm.  The gloves are a little too big, so the ends of his fingers look all floppy and broken.  Looking at his face, he is napping (or pretending), then it strikes me…he looks and acts exactly like Ray Bolger, THE SCARECROW (aka. Chang Wang Woe) from The Wizard of Oz.

It’s positively uncanny the resemblance, behavior, everything!  MY Scarecrow is more of a “Scareperson” though, if we’re being totally honest.

From here on out, LHZ is The Scarecrow.  It fits perfectly!



Ahhhhhhh. That’s better. Gotta let the piggies out for a little air every once in a while, ya’ know?

Not sure what’s worse: being barefoot on the train, or being somewhere on the train where someone was previously barefoot.


You Had Just One Job.


Drifting a commuter train is harder than you may imagine.

CSX can move one ton of freight 400 miles a teaspoon of unicorn tears (or something like that), but Sound Transit can’t manage to keep the generator running long enough to bring us from Tacoma to Seattle in under 2 hours.

This poses an impossible question for Loogie Hocking Zombie and The Weebles: Get off the train at the next stop and catch the later train, or sit tight and just ride in on the disabled train?  Oh man, you’d think they were trying to decide between paper or plastic, boxers or briefs, soup or salad.

“The way I see it, as long as your moving you’re doing alright.  Just like the rabbit and the hare.”  So, LHZ is staying put.


A watched pot never boils, and a clock watcher never works.

Discussion shifts to how late they’ll be to work, and how much extra time they’ll need to work to make up for the delay.

“If we’re an hour late, I need to work an extra hour to make it up,” LHZ reports.  “Yeah, I’m serious.  I can handle making up 15 minutes, but an hour is a lot to make up.”

Now, I value my personal time as much as the next guy, but counting every minute you owe the company is pretty small.  The Weebles were right there with LHZ, though.  I’m glad people like this have a place to work, I’m even more glad that it’s not where I work, and I’m the gladdest because they don’t report to me.

Too Cold for the Undead


Scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’…

Loogie Hocking Zombie is moving a little slowly this morning, kind of like a lizard without enough sunlight.  I guess he left his car out in the cold overnight and the windows frosted up on him.  Before he could drive into the train station, he had to scrape the windows.  He had to take out one of his credit cards and start scrapin’.  Oh, he was scrapin’, and scraping, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’.

And scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’, and scrapin’.

Thank the lord he made it in on time.