Have I told you all about my little bus experience?
Very fun (in a macabre way)
When I lived on 92nd Street, I would visit my sister on 112th street, and then get a bus that went right down Broadway to my apartment. This particular night (in 1990) I ran to catch the bus, but it was OK because a very slow person was getting on in front me. I noticed that he had holes in his clothes, and I could see his red underpants.
When I got on the bus, this other guy and me were the only passengers, with a woman bus driver. The guy was obviously delirious with drugs or whatever, and he practically passed out sitting right in the front.
The bus began its journey. After just about a minute, I noticed a little pool of blood on the floor beneath the guy’s seat. I got up and said to the bus driver “um, this guy is bleeding.” She stopped the bus, came back to the guy, said “hey, are you OK?” but he was only semi-conscious. Then she did the unthinkable — she unzipped his windbreaker, and pulled it open. His abdomen was a mass of stab wounds, flesh, blood, and torn shirt. So she just… zipped the jacket back up, and then she said to me “I’m going to call the paramedics — you stop the bleeding.”
Yeah, me, stop the bleeding. I put my hands on this guy (on top of his jacket) and prayed that I wouldn’t get any on me (I know, real heroic, eh?)
The paramedics arrived very quickly, and they took him off the bus into an ambulance, and our bus driver started up the bus again.
We made some stops, and at one of them, two elderly ladies got on, and one of them said “Oh, Gladys dear, don’t sit there dear, it’s BLOODY,” like one has to choose between a bloody and a dry seat every day.
I got off at my stop, and called my sister, and it turned out, the whole thing took 15 minutes.