Adventures in busland

So I'm waiting for the 56 at Washington Square when this old lady named Nes (which also means "nose," because she is apparently a nosy woman and talks way too much, according to her self analysis) asks me about when the 56 comes.  We chat about that for a bit, and then she goes on to tell me how she'd been a smoker for 53 years and now that she'd quit (in October), she had gotten fat.

She doesn't like the fact that she's fat.  She swears that she'll start exercising more, because when she smoked she didn't gain weight but still ate the things she wasn't supposed to be eating.  She gave me a little torn sheet of coupons for KFC for me to use so she wouldn't be so tempted.  Nes then goes to tell me that she told her husband that she swore she'd work out and soon get a six pack, but he retorted that it looked more like a short stack to him.

After talking about about when the bus would come, I casually mention that I'll probably go inside and get a cup of tea from Starbucks.  She says that sounds like a good idea and why doesn't she buy me the tea since she wants to go in for coffee.  And if Emily the 21 year old is there then the coffee will be really delicious.  I politely decline at first hoping that would deter Nes, but apparently she had settled herself into the determination of continuing our conversation.  So, Nes uncovered my weakness for not being able to say no to funny old ladies and I acquiesced and followed her into the mall.

At that point we'd learned one another's names and she went to list out all the other Teresa's she's know/n throughout her life, starting from the east coast and then working her way around from there.  I can't quite fully recall.  There was something about a woman who married an attorney which eventually caused them to get a divorce.  Not sure if it was because he was an attorney or if it's because someone wasn't nice to the other person.

I'll admit, the initial beginning of our conversation I only half listened to because I wasn't too invested in our conversation, but I was intrigued enough to pursue this curious turn of events.

As we're walking towards Starbucks, she talks about how she was just awful at fourteen, just awful.  She has 7 siblings, likes coffee but knows she shouldn't be drinking it, and a few other curious events.  We get to Starbucks, and I get my tea and she gets her coffee.  We wander over to the condiments bar and Nes proceeds to pour in a packet of sugar, a dash of half and half, and sprinklings of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and chocolate into her regular house coffee.  Then she puts a straw through the mouth piece of the lid.  Nes admits this is a terrible thing for her to be doing, and she swears she'll work on it soon.  But later.

I tried walking really, really slowly.  I could hear her wheezing incredibly hard and for a few moments I wondered if she was borderline ready to have a heart attack.  But she trundled on in her curious waddle like fashion, with her ridiculous furniture cushion fabric decorated little old lady shoes, her old lady cloth pants and flower long sleeve shirt and her multicolored knit cap that looked more like it should have been a doily set on a coffee table somewhere with an antique chalice-like ornate oval ceramic bowl filled with fake fruit.  Or ceramic kittens.  Something about old broads and ceramic kittens...

Nes then turned her attention fully to me and said, "Enough about me and all my talking, tell me about you."  Blinking for a few seconds, I was momentarily at a loss for words on where to start.  So I stick to the small talk descriptions, about being the oldest and how I'm waiting to get back into school again to go into art therapy.  She makes an aghast face and apologizes for me about being the oldest out of three, because that means I have to do everything.  And are my parents still alive and together?  Yes?  Well.  That means I'll have to take care of them when the time comes, just I wait.  I tell her that I don't mind that so much because they've done so much for me and I'm pretty grateful for what I have with my parents.  I guess her history with her parents wasn't so easy breezy, being a terrible fourteen year old and all.

We head back outside, and she proceeds to tell me about her foster daughter who was in the Gulf War, had joined the army, and when she returned went to Marylhurst to get her degree in art therapy.  Then she says how she herself went to Marylhurst for a degree in Social Work and attained four minor degrees in the process.  She worked in the field of mental health, and is now in the process of writing a book.  It's only 40 pages long on the computer, and she's been putting it off.  But it's a reflection of her experiences as a social worker and it's for all different kinds of families to read because she herself has been adopted into so many different families throughout her life.

Nes then mentions that 8 years ago she was hit by an SUV by an old couple who weren't more than a few years older than she was.  Her head bounced on the ground like a bouncy ball, and as she lay on the cement, she swears that 13 or so angels or spirits or whatever hovered around her in that instant.  One of them said to her, "Hey!  You.  Pull down your dress and get up, you're not done yet.  You've still got homework to do."  Nes has never prided herself on being very obedient, but in the case of life or death, you do as you're told.  I concurred.

She planned on giving me her daughter's tea because I love tea so much.  Again, I politely declined.  But she insisted.  I then got a phone call from my lady and excused myself while I took the phone call.  The 56 had arrived somewhere in between the Gulf War story and Marylhurst, and we boarded taking separate seats.  As she was leaving the bus for her appropriate stop, she apologized for not being able to find the tea.  I told her it was alright and wished her a safe night as she stepped off into the black.

And that is one of my many adventures in busland.