There is this girl who rides the 234 bus to Kenmore with me every Tuesday and Thursday. She is SO annoying.
She reminds a little of Cindy from high school, but not a slut, so she's boring. Cindy was at least a total whore, and I knew the people she was talking about, so it made the incessant noise worth paying attention to. They both have a knack for yabbering on and on in that look-at-me! tone and fashion. While it was bearable in Cindy, this girl just makes me want to vomit.
There is this whole posse that gathers around her and eggs her on in her neverending drone of social platitudes. They are comprised of the fourty-something divorcee busdriver, the foreign lady with big teeth and no real friends, and the big fat guy who couldn't possibly have gotten laid since the eighties. I like to call them the Kill Me Now Club. I'm thinking of making up Kill Me Now Club membership cards, and handing them out to people whom everytime they open their mouths make me think, "For the love of all that is good, please kill me now."
She gets off at the same stop in Juanita (Kirkland) as I do. I have to wait at the crosswalk with her. It's this legendary battle to suppress the urge to either throttle her or spit in her face. Or both. At least she doesn't talk on the way to the crosswalk. I think she knows I can't stand her... or she's completely unaware of my existence. Either way, her silence is wise, as without it she might find herself face down in the nearest mud puddle with me skipping off in victorious glee, having vanquished my imagined, though no less tangible, foe.