Here is Los Angeles on a cloudy yet crystal-clear day. Look, you can practically see Catalina afloat at sea:
Last night was not one of those days. Last night was one of these days:
The bus I took was an impulsive alternative to the metro - a wending route from Altadena to my destination in Los Angeles - and the universe rewarded me with Max the conductor.
I was the only passenger on the bus for much of the journey, and so in a gesture of community I sat at the front, an irrevocable commitment to conversation. Max at first regaled me in great detail his plan with his cell phone carrier; after a good 2 miles he departed abruptly from that theme to describe his Facebook usage (as a recent evacuee from Facebook, I just nodded and smiled): he told a tale of being reunited with a long-lost friend from high school from the 80s, who had taken part in a prank with Max that had involved a rock. “He probably won’t remember you,” Max’s wife told him, but he went ahead and added his old friend nonetheless. He received an immediate response: “Do rocks fly at people’s heads?!? LOL” (I didn’t get this, but can only imagine it was heart-warming and hilarious)
As charming as his story of a friendship rekindled was, Max was not one to linger on it. His wife had been mentioned, and there was no more need to speak about anything else.
"I met her on Facebook," he recounted. "You know, just searching around for pretty girls. She was cute, so I sent her a message." She almost didn’t respond because A) she didn’t know him and B) he looked white (she prefers Latinos). However, she noticed that his last name was Hispanic, and overcame any reservations she had about him being a complete and utter stranger, and after they had chatted back and forth for several weeks she invited him for lunch. "She’s the first girl I ever fell in love with for her words, you know, not just because she was pretty," he told me. "But she is pretty, too."
Max talked about her like she is his queen. He shared oddly charming details of their life and the jokes they share (odd because although they were complete overshares, they succeeded in painting a beautiful picture): before dating him, for instance, she’d never let anyone touch her feet, but as soon as she took off her shoes he couldn’t keep away (“She’s kind of short and chunky, and she just has the cutest feet - just, wow!” — with feeling). He’s named her feet Linda and Laura, and when he says hello to his wife, he says hello to her feet as well (they respond to him with his wife’s voice). While I might view foot-naming as grounds for terminating a relationship, Max’s lover clearly feels differently. Two years married, now; a relationship born from a semi-creepy stalker let’s-date message on Facebook.
"She had this awful phone right at the beginning," he told me. "So I went and got her another one. But this was way before these internet phones. I got her this nice flip phone, and I got it in purple, because you know, she told me that her favorite color was purple. So I called her from the store and I told her, ‘Babe, I’m getting you a new phone.’ ‘What kind?’ she asked. I told her, ‘It’s a purple flip phone,’ and she was all ‘Oh my god, oh my god! How did you remember that was my favorite color??’ and I said ‘Babe, I remember everything you tell me.’ "
Dear Max: I know way too many intimate details about your married life, but I’m charmed and I’m delighted and I feel inspiration for humanity if even Facebook can birth a tale as wonderfully unexpected as yours. Perhaps I shall see you again one day: if the conversation on buses is consistently this much better than on the metro, then consider me a convert.
Last night was not one of those days. Last night was one of these days:
The bus I took was an impulsive alternative to the metro - a wending route from Altadena to my destination in Los Angeles - and the universe rewarded me with Max the conductor.
I was the only passenger on the bus for much of the journey, and so in a gesture of community I sat at the front, an irrevocable commitment to conversation. Max at first regaled me in great detail his plan with his cell phone carrier; after a good 2 miles he departed abruptly from that theme to describe his Facebook usage (as a recent evacuee from Facebook, I just nodded and smiled): he told a tale of being reunited with a long-lost friend from high school from the 80s, who had taken part in a prank with Max that had involved a rock. “He probably won’t remember you,” Max’s wife told him, but he went ahead and added his old friend nonetheless. He received an immediate response: “Do rocks fly at people’s heads?!? LOL” (I didn’t get this, but can only imagine it was heart-warming and hilarious)
As charming as his story of a friendship rekindled was, Max was not one to linger on it. His wife had been mentioned, and there was no more need to speak about anything else.
"I met her on Facebook," he recounted. "You know, just searching around for pretty girls. She was cute, so I sent her a message." She almost didn’t respond because A) she didn’t know him and B) he looked white (she prefers Latinos). However, she noticed that his last name was Hispanic, and overcame any reservations she had about him being a complete and utter stranger, and after they had chatted back and forth for several weeks she invited him for lunch. "She’s the first girl I ever fell in love with for her words, you know, not just because she was pretty," he told me. "But she is pretty, too."
Max talked about her like she is his queen. He shared oddly charming details of their life and the jokes they share (odd because although they were complete overshares, they succeeded in painting a beautiful picture): before dating him, for instance, she’d never let anyone touch her feet, but as soon as she took off her shoes he couldn’t keep away (“She’s kind of short and chunky, and she just has the cutest feet - just, wow!” — with feeling). He’s named her feet Linda and Laura, and when he says hello to his wife, he says hello to her feet as well (they respond to him with his wife’s voice). While I might view foot-naming as grounds for terminating a relationship, Max’s lover clearly feels differently. Two years married, now; a relationship born from a semi-creepy stalker let’s-date message on Facebook.
"She had this awful phone right at the beginning," he told me. "So I went and got her another one. But this was way before these internet phones. I got her this nice flip phone, and I got it in purple, because you know, she told me that her favorite color was purple. So I called her from the store and I told her, ‘Babe, I’m getting you a new phone.’ ‘What kind?’ she asked. I told her, ‘It’s a purple flip phone,’ and she was all ‘Oh my god, oh my god! How did you remember that was my favorite color??’ and I said ‘Babe, I remember everything you tell me.’ "
Dear Max: I know way too many intimate details about your married life, but I’m charmed and I’m delighted and I feel inspiration for humanity if even Facebook can birth a tale as wonderfully unexpected as yours. Perhaps I shall see you again one day: if the conversation on buses is consistently this much better than on the metro, then consider me a convert.
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