Why? Are You Writing a Book?

Picture this: It's the end of a long day of teaching, you are absolutely tuckered out and can't wait to get home. Ahead of you lies an hour-long commute by various modes of transportation. To pass the time while sitting on the bus, you are texting and playing games on your cell phone.

Suddenly, a woman gets up from her seat and walks towards the exit door. She rudely shouts out to the driver, "Stop the bus, please!" You glance up to see if the "STOPPING" sign is illuminated; if it is, the bus driver made a mistake. If it isn't, the woman is just crazy and rude.

The sign is illuminated, but further glancing reveals that we are not actually AT the stop yet. Unexpectedly, the bus screams to a halt. This is no ordinary okay, driving here is a bit crazy and the cars come within inches of each other and swerve to avoid all manner of things kind of stop. This is a slamming of breaks, oh look, there's a car IN FRONT of the bus and we're about to hit it and I can see the driver because we're about to T-bone it kind of stop.

But just as suddenly, your attention is diverted from the near-accident. The woman is standing in front of you, and you have the following conversation:

Woman: "do you have a cigarette, luv?"
You: "no, sorry."
Woman: "do you smoke?"
You: "no."
Woman: *pauses*  "how old are you?"

I'm sorry, is that relevant? But you're a bit taken aback by her blunt questioning, and it seems impolite not to answer. Plus, she is now leaning uncomfortably close to you and she reeks of cigarette smoke with undertones of gross-ness. So you answer her, thinking it might be the most expedient way of ending the conversation.

You: "um, I'm 27."
Woman: "what do you do?"
You: "I'm a teacher."
Woman: "a teacher?" 
You: "yes"
Woman: *pauses*  "clever girl"

At this moment, the bus pulls into the stop and the door opens. The woman abruptly turns around and exits the bus, at which point she asks the first person she sees if they have a cigarette. You wonder to yourself if she's going to have the same interrogative conversation with every person she attempts to bum a cigarette from.


As the bus pulls away, one other thought crosses your mind: in the immortal words of my Poppo, "Why? Are you writing a book?"