Commuting adventures between Tacoma and Seattle.

In Other News

● Guy with bra-shaped sweat stain.
● Guy with Viagra theme as ringtone.
● Pile of laundry last had jury duty in 2003.
● John Coffee works for Metro Transit.


In Other News…

  • Saw a banana peel on the sidewalk today.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen that cliche in real life before.  I was tempted to walk over to it, step on it, scramble around to try and catch my balance, and listen carefully for some rapid bongo music.
  • I think I caught The Scarecrow taking selfies in the Freighthouse bathroom for the second day in a row.
  • People who walk without swinging their arms look like they just want to die already.
  • People who walk while swinging their arms a lot look like they’re marching up to City Hall to have a word with the Mayor.
  • There’s one guy I see most mornings walking up to the same building I work in who swings his arms like he’s wading through a river of hip-deep molasses.

Spring is Here

The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing, the grass needs mowing, and a whole new crop of bike douches have found their way to the 1502.  String a couple of days of reasonable weather together and the inside of the train turns into an unmanageable snarl of aluminum tubing, chain, rubber, carbon fiber, and a moose knuckle or two.

Certainly, there is room for one more.

Our usual peloton from Team Douche isn’t going to like it.  So many brand new bikes straight off the showroom floor, freshly oiled chain and gears, not a speck of dirt or wear, fancy bike shoes that still smell like Big-5 Sports–immaculate machines in the hands of people who will one day wonder what the hell they were thinking when they bought this thing.

These newcomers have a thing or two to learn about bringing a bike onto the train.  For one, they’re not dressed appropriately.  Rolled up jeans?  Cargo shorts?  Come on, you need sponsors!  Secondly, there isn’t nearly enough discussion about last weekend’s race, the new gearset they’ll use in their hill climb this afternoon, or the angle of the thingie where the forks meet the handlebars.

We’re all familiar with the question: “Do these pants make my butt look big?”  No, the pants don’t make your butt look big, but that bike makes you look like a douche bag.

In Other News

  • A new cycle douche joins us this morning on the 1502.  He’s got the right jacket, but the pants aren’t quite right.  He’s got the right helment, but over a doo-rag?  Shoes aren’t right, and are those Home Depot safety glasses?
  • There’s no room at the inn, so new douche has chosen to tie up his bike right in front of the starboard-side doors.  Should be fun to watch if this is one of those days when folks enter from the “wrong side” of the train.
  • Outback Mary, dressed for spring, steps on in Auburn and starts closely examining all of the bikes like it’s a garage sale or something.  Kind of weird.
  • Also, the slow-motion lesbian is back.  I think she’s selling candles or something because she awkwardly gave one of the Ewoks a catalog that she wanted her to buy something out of.


NEWS FLASH: The Lazy B is in it for the Money.

Ohhhhhhhh.  It’s a profit deal.

Yesterday The Scarecrow was talking about an all hands meeting at Boeing that he was required to attend that day.  Said it was about headcount.  As we all know, that kind of thing never turns out well.

This morning he reports that they’re laying off a few thousand people because of the 787 problems.  The Scarecrow shares the shocking realization the Boeing isn’t there to provide jobs, but to make money for shareholders.  Apparently this was the message he received at the big meeting, and was news to him.

It sucks getting laid off, particularly when the company has been mismanaged, though the shock and horror in The Scarecrow’s voice was more about entitlement and amazement that Boeing isn’t there to provide him a paycheck regardless of company performance. 

IMHO, Boeing has always been a layoff machine: feast or famine.  That anyone there still has the idea that they could work at Boeing uninterrupted for any length of time is pretty surprising.  It’s also surprising to hear the discussion turn to wonder about why Boeing has been steadily backing away from the unions in the PNW.

Whatever you believe, never believe your employer cares more about you than they care about money.  The people there may care about you, your boss probably cares a lot about you (hopefully), but the sad truth is that the company cares nothing about your mortgage, lifestyle, or vacation plans, Mr. Scarecrow.  I’m surprised that is so surprising.

No fucks are given when pocket lettuce is involved, and corporations are all about the salad. The math should be pretty easy once The Scarecrow finally gets to Oz and receives his brain.

Afternoons are getting weirder.

  • Woman in full wedding regalia is getting wedding pictures taken on the train platform.
  • Guy sitting across from me is hanging his arms from the overhead rack as though he were a chimpanzee
  • Guy sitting next to me “thought you bought tickets when you get off the train, Mr. Fare Enforcement Guy.”  Yeah, right.
  • Woman sitting down and over one seat is making silk (i.e. fake) daffodils (maybe they’re for the bride back on the platform).  Her backpack has skulls all over it, and she’s dressed like someone’s grandma–probably not even 50 years-old, though.

In Other News

  • Thanks for the giant fart.
  • Angry Black Woman is a first class bitch.
  • We’ve got a woman who looks like a giant pile of laundry heaped onto an unmade bed.
  • A guy with giant rings on all of his fingers–skull motif, naturally.
  • I’m always amazed by the tenacity and ultimate surprise of people who try to squeeze in between me and The Fonz.
  • Cyclist douchery is less annoying when there aren’t two of them talking to each other.
  • People with short legs shouldn’t dive in front of me when I’m climbing the stairs.

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.