I'm sure you're all sitting there, looking at the title and thinking one of two things. That is that this post is about a dandy pirate, who is afraid of ticking clocks, and is bested by a flying boy in tights, OR someone had a hook and I had to write about it. For those of you who think I'm talking about a pirate, while I appreciate your child-like sense of wonder, need to reconsider your day job and should perhaps join a circus. (I have to admit, someone in a Captain Hook costume riding the bus would be a jolly good post) (Jolly, get it? Haha, yeah).
Anyway, so I'll get to the Hook in a minute. First, I would like to say that Giant Sweaty Spiderman seems to be an okay guy, and I think he's kinda gay. "Why?" you say. Well, not that he did anything really overt, but a friend (girl) of his boarded the bus and he was super excited and did what I can best describe as "jazz hands." Not that jazz hands automatically makes you gay, but it definitely puts a hefty check in that column. Needless to say, the more I observe GSS, the more I think that he's a nice guy, but I'm still leery of anyone who tattoo's a spider on their scalp.
Now, on to the BIG thing that occurred during this morning's bus ride. Let me set the scene for you, shall I? So I get on the bus and sit in the front compartment about three seats back from the driver. The back of the bus was unusually packed and looked a bit smelly (I think GSS agreed with me since he was sitting in the very front). We're driving along. I'm listening to music. We stop at one of the stops along S. Huntington where all the assisted living places are and a man gets on. He doesn't look to be too old, but he has a bit of a stoop to his posture and he seems to be shuffling. On top of that he's having a heck of a time getting anything out of his pocket... because he has a HOOK hand. Okay, okay, now before you judge me for calling out a hook prosthesis, cut me some slack. It's early. I'm still only one cup of coffee into my morning, and it's a FREAKIN' HOOK, with the pincher capability, so actually TWO hooks. Fake hand, fine. Artificial limbs have come a long way since the time of peg-legged and hook-handed pirates. Embrace technology, people!
Back to Mr. Hook (I don't think he's a captain). Mr. Hook finally pays his fare whichever way he had planned to pay it and takes the seat directly in front of me on the aisle. As most of you are aware, since I've discussed this before, when sitting on the aisle seat, one cannot help but be in the aisle a bit. That is unless you wish to sit with your thigh pressed against a stranger's thigh, and most people don't. Mr. Hook appears to subscribe to this value as well. The bus proceeds down S. Huntington to the Huntington stop. Lots of people get off and lots get on. As is common with modern life, we all carry baggage with us, both literally and figuratively. It's not uncommon to take a backpack to the head during a bus ride. I've learned to bob and weave as a method of self-preservation, but what would I do if say I had a HOOK FOR A HAND AND IT CAUGHT ON ONE OF THE LOOPS OF SOMEONES MESSENGER BAG?!?! YES! It caught aaaaaaaaaaand popped OFF! I'm sitting RIGHT behind him and I almost get smacked in the head with a disembodied hook! Fears that I didn't even know I had were realized. Mr. Hook was understandably alarmed, as was the poor woman carrying a severed prosthesis. She stood there just staring at it because what do you do? Do you just grab it and hand it back (Ha! hand it back)? Or do you gesture your bag so that Mr. Hook can retrieve his hook? Luckily, she didn't have to contemplate this for too long. Mr. Hook quickly grabbed his hook and re-affixed it. Then did a weird thing where he pinched the two hooks together to make sure they still moved (creeped me out). By this time we had made it to my stop and quickly made my exit, from the door that didn't cause me to walk by Mr. Hook, thus re-enacting the scenario.
My short walk into work was consumed with thoughts of the hook. I half wondered if Mr. Hook should employ a "hook cozy" to prevent this from happening. He could use a glove and we'd be none the wiser that there was even a hook. I endorse this plan. I couldn't really think of other things that he could do that didn't employ various types of hook cozies.
So I sit here relating my tale of 39-age. I hope Mr. Hook has a less eventful day. I hope that I have a less eventful day. Watch out for the hook people. When you least expect it...
