Brief note for anyone who will ride the #4 at any point in the future: Never, ever forget your headphones.

Here’s what we had today.

A man, probably schizophrenic or at least otherwise severely psychotic, talking for the entire duration of my 30-minute ride, right behind me. An excerpt of his conversation, which was remarkable in that he single-handedly completed the cycle so tantalizingly advertised during the trailers to The 5th Wheel: “Where strangers become friends, friends become lovers, and lovers become bitter, suicidal exes all in one show…”:

Darlin’, my name is Good Lookin’ Bill! I don’t work and I never will! I’m a babymaker! I know John Bonham! You’re A LOT— You’re NOT A LOT— She takes me to the White House, fucka! I feel good lookin’! My kind of town! [in a high-pitched voice:] Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Ohh, I don’t know about you anymore.

Constantly. Make a recording of yourself reading this out loud, loop it 486 times, turn up the volume to 11, and voilà! You have the backing track to my morning #4 ride. It would not have been more annoying if he were also punching me in the back of the head; my resulting crossword success would not have changed much.

Another woman had a young baby that would not stop crying. It wouldn’t have been a problem except for the older woman at the opposite end of the bus, literally screaming, “Gi’ dat child some ASPIN!! Gi’ dat mofo chi’ some ASSSSPIIIIIINNNN!! He teething! Can’t yo dumb ass see dat? Dat all he needs!! Put some whiskey in it!” Then she walked down the aisle and tried to convince the mother to hand over the baby for some burping time. Mother and child got off at the next stop, which is one of the best parenting decisions I have ever witnessed.

A different woman wanted to get off the bus at one point—a fairly reasonable desire voiced in an entirely unreasonable way: “LET ME OFF THIS FUCKING BUS! I’LL KILL YOU MUTH-AH FUCK-AH!” followed by some thrashing of the door handles, slamming the windows with the bases of her wrists as if to break their window-noses, and then a loud buzzing sound indicating that the bus was having a seizure. (Bus designers must not anticipate such behavior from their target audience, but if I ever become a bus designer, there are a whole lot of things I’d need to take into consideration based on my personal history with the #4 that one wouldn’t normally expect to have to take.) This was entirely in lieu of pulling the cord conveniently placed within reach of every single seat of the bus and also happened while the bus was moving. This made the request even more unreasonable than it would have been on its own. Prior to this, she was also doing the crossword, silently, and generally acting like a normal bus occupant, if, on the #4, there is such a thing.

Seeing this and clearly seizing a potential opportunity for casual sex given their newfound proximity, Good Lookin’ Bill decided that it might be nice to serenade her—or maybe it was the invisible lady behind her—with a song, but it was more babble than actual words or even melody. It’s the thought that counts, I think, assuming it was a well-meaning, genitalia-wooing song.