Gross-Out Part 4

So, once again I was seated behind someone. I immediately began to read my book when I noticed the woman in front of me had her hand up to her head for an extremely long time. Already wary of such situations (see Gross-Out Part 1) I took a peek at her from the corner of my eye. She must have been psychic or something, because she immediately turned around to look at me, then turned to look at everyone else in the bus, all the while with her hand still at her head. I waited a few seconds before taking another look. The woman had a patch of baldness at the crown of her head, approximately 2 inches tall by 4 inches wide. With her left hand, she was going hair by hair around the perimeter of this bald patch, giving each hair a tug. When a hair came loose, she would drop it on the ground and move on to the next hair. I'd like very much at this point to make a smart comment that will make this situation both humorous and poignant, but honestly I am at a loss.

Gross-Out Part 3

For whatever reason, luckily or not, I am blissfully unaware of what goes on behind me. Unless it involves loud noises, I pretty much never turn around. Anyway, I was seated on the bus when the driver made a stop for a wheelchair. The man had attached a large plastic garbage can to the back of his wheelchair, for what reason I did not at the moment know. He was also dirty and unkempt, and very large. He had a very powerful stench about him too, and I was seated very close to him. As we rode along, the stench became more powerful, and I recognized it to be human waste. I opened the window, as did everyone else, and also took a closer look at the man. It was then I realized he had a catheter running into his garbage can. I'll just leave you with that thought.

Gross-Out Part 2

My route is extremely long right now, so I like to get a spot facing forward where I can fall asleep if I want to without too much threat of falling over. The other evening I was forced to sit in a side-facing seat for much of the trip, and so was thrilled when a foreward-facing one opened up. I quickly moved over to it, opened my book, and began reading. When the bus got close to the end of the trip, I put the book away to sit quietly watching and thinking. It was then I noticed the woman in front of me. She had this huge mound of crinkly white hair that ran from the top of her head down to her shoulders and out in a semi-circle, making it impossible to see any part of her features. What I could see was that she was continually using her left hand to, um, clean(?) something on the left side of her head. (I'm eating breakfast while writing this, and am starting to be unable to finish my meal. Let that be a warning to those who read on.) She had a small tissue in her hand, and would either wipe her fingers on the tissue, or use her thumb to flick whatever might have been under her forefinger's nail. She would also use the tissue on her mouth and nose. At this point I was so completely grossed out that I couldn't look at her. However, if I turned my head away to left, I could see her quite clearly in the reflection. Moving didn't seem like a viable option either since there were precious few spots left, and besides we were almost there. I was feeling very nauseous from the whole situation, so I bowed my head down far enough so that not even my periphery would catch the slightest hint of her hand moving up and down, and I rode that way for the rest of the trip.

Gross-Out Part 1

I boarded the bus for what was the last leg of my morning journey, looking forward to sitting and contemplating my latest favorite concept. I took a seat on my left, so I can see out the front window. I guess everyone falls into little patterns like that. The bus began to roll forward, about to begin its gradual climb up the hill. The person (man? woman? I honestly didn't take the time to check) sitting in front of me reached up and scratched his/her head. When he/she did this for the second time, I happened to look up and take notice. It was at this point I discovered that this person sitting in front of me had some sort of scabbiness on his or her head. What was worse, every time he or she scratched it, bits of this awful thing would flake off and drift, agh, towards me! Parts of the wound were already open from previous scratching. Horrified, I leaned further and further away from this thing, barely able to hold back screams of terror and waves of nausea. Finally, I managed to pull myself together and move. This, of course, made me realize that an unexamined set of patterns is a set not worth following.