Sociopaths Ride Among Us

It never ceases to amaze me the level of sociopathological behavior on ample display on our society--although at my age, it shouldn't. From the halls of Congress, where idgit-brained lawmakers posit the most outlandish and destructive behaviors and actions, to our entertainment industry where it seems the sociopath as star is de rigeur, right down to our bus system here in li'l ol' C-bus town.

Just last week, I had just sat down at the back of the bus, around 6 A.M., full of peace and goodwill toward men. Sitting in the corner seat nearby was a big, burly guy in a rubber duck-yellow hoodie, glowering. Normally, I steer clear of such person's "space" and this time certainly was no exception. Twenty years of living in New York City made me pretty adept at giving people their "space." The driver stops at a Clintonville stop, and Hoodie shouts out: "I'm getting off!" But the bus lurches forward and begins its drive away from the stop. Wanting to assist, I yell out: "Someone's trying to get off!" The dude, by now at the back door, turns his head toward me and exclaims, "Shut the fuck up! I don't need nobody speakin' for me, muthafuckah! Don't tell 'im to let me off; I can speak for my own damn self!"

Needless to say, I was taken aback that my small effort toward helping was rejected. As he leaves the back door, he continues to glare at me and begins with the menacing body language--stepping away from the door as if he were going to come after me, stepping toward the door to exit, trying to make me edgy.

"Just keep walkin'," I mutter under my breath, possibly as a prayer of sorts that he would indeed keep walkin' and spare me the specter of a busted face.

"What'd the fuck you say?! C'mon! Right now!," he shouts, making moves toward me. No one on the bus is saying or doing anything to prevent the potential bloodletting about to ensue, least of all, the driver.

"I said, 'Have a nice day,'" I say.

Pointing, and pointedly, he yells, about to leave the bus: "I'll be seeing you some morning, muthafuckah!"

"I'll pray for you," I say, as the bus moves slowly moves away, while he continues from the sidewalk to glare at me, hoping to lock me in a death-stare, and thereby justifying his beating the shit out of me.

I ignore him--just like the driver and other passengers who witnessed the exchange. Fortunately, for me the cops'll probably grab his ass before he grabs mine, with an attitude like that. Maybe it was the hoodie that put him in an aggressive mood; no grown man should ever be caught wearing that bright shade of yellow (unless of course, you're a drag queen). Maybe the sheer brightness of that color blinded him to act with any sense of common civility (not that civility is very common in Amerikkka these daze). But I doubt it. That's just the way he approaches life--mean, nasty, confrontational, lookin' for a fight.