"Fry.. me to jha moon," the Japanese singer crooned.
Sara had been going on an anime-bender lately. She had gotten in to Neon Genesis Evangelion; strangely, she had never really caught on to the religious imagery. But, then again, she also couldn't tell that there were different versions of the end song, either. All she really noticed was the "Fry me" stuff, before she clicked the DVD back to the menu.
She checked the clock, anxious. It was time: time to get on the bus. Lately, she'd been paranoid; she had been scamming the bus system since the end of high school, using student tickets. On minimum wage, living on her own had been hard enough, without the price of transportation. She could skimp enough to get the student ones; an extra $20 was out of the question. Lately, more and more bus drivers had been paying attention to her. Baring her zits, hiding her eyes, or dressing down had stopped fooling them. She'd be 21 in a week; it's not that she didn't see this coming, it was more that she thought she'd be doing better financially by the time this cropped up. She vowed to keep this charade up until a driver actually kicked her off. Being that high school was 3 years past, she was bitter at times; being in the same boat as back then depressed her.
She scrambled for the door, hooking an arm around her bag as she exited. After a mad dash to the bus stop, she bent forward, exhausted. She whooped a little, the air painfully reminding her of how out of shape she was. "Fuck it," she wheezed, thumbing through her wallet for a ticket -- the bus trundled up as if it had a right to be there, instead of all other traffic. Yes, public transportation: serious business. A car honked erratically, but softly. The bigger beast had yet to turn around to devour the littler, more mobile automobiles.. but yet Sara wouldn't put it past the driver to dream about it sometimes. It was Ted, the bearded guy, this time. She knew him from back in high school, back when she wore enough makeup to shame Gene Simmons. But, that was then, and this was now: he no longer recognized her enough (thank Gawd?) to sympathize with her penniless plight.
Today was going to be one of those days. She could just feel it. The door swung shut with a tidy swoop-ch.
"What school do you go to?" Ted growled.
Taken aback by his tone, she squeaked out the name of her old high school.
"You do know that Copperhill is a junior secondary now?" He began driving, much to the joy of the little Dodge Shadow behind him.
"Uhh.."
"That's what I thought. You're too old to be in that school. Full fare." He turned a corner, causing her to whip out an arm, seeking support on a rail.
Sara looked down the bus, somewhat hoping for a random passenger to offer to bail her out. No such luck today. Quietly, she admitted, "If I give you more, I won't have enough to come home."
She expected him to say something like, "Well, you should have thought about that before," but, he said something more along the lines of, "I hate the recession, too. It fucks up everything. Well, get a seat."
She didn't quite say, "What?", but the stare implied it all. "Go on, get back there. But, next time I see you, I want you to pay full fare. Or, try, anyway. You're the girl from the pharmacy up 9th Street, right?"
Still standing, or, attempting to stand through the turns, Sara nodded. Realizing that he was watching the road, she said to Ted, "Yeah.. that's me."
"I thought pharmacist technicians made plenty of money?"
"I didn't actually go to school for it. They're just training me on-site. They want me to go to school, be there full time.. but I don't think I want to do it. I can't afford school."
"You would if you had that job, no?"
"I.. don't know. People get fired there like flies. I'm not even sure I'd want to do it as a career. I mean, yeah, sure, it pays well.. but it's a stressful, sort of dull sort of job."
"It's not like you'd have to worry about knowing what to do.. I mean, what all do you really do there?"
"I do most of the work. The pharmacists inform people, and check my work. It's not like this in all the pharmacies. I know a girl who works up Springer Mall, n' she says that the ones there do almost everything. Most of it is counting, and filing. I deal with the cash register, too."
"So, what's the big deal? That seems like an easy job to do," Ted said, waving a hand at a bus going by the other way.
Sara almost shrugged. She shifted around, expecting a lot more sway during the upcoming turn. Looking down at her feet, she saw that she'd stepped in a wad of gum. She made a face. Looking up, she watched the road. The turn came and went, leaving her stomach on edge.
"Well?"
"I don't know. I think it's more that I think that if I settle there, all my dreams of being a painter will die."
"Oh yeah? What do you paint?"
"Buildings. I know, that makes me sound like Hitler. I do odd-hour ones, you know, where the lighting is weirder. Hitler was a a daytime painter, as far as I know."
Ted made a gurgle-y coughing sound. "No one's interested in those kinds of paintings, you know. You couldn't make a living off it, at all. You could have done that in your spare time."
Sara stiffened a little. "I don't know. I just don't want to be trapped in a career that steals all of my awake-time, and stunts my creativity."
Ding, went the stop-signal.
"You do know that that's pretty much every job you'll ever get, right?" Ted stopped the bus, letting off a man with a walker. Sara had to sit down for a moment to let him pass, this guy who invoked the ire of the ramp, and anyone who saw his face: he looked like he was trying to smile through some wicked pain, his mouth cracked open for shallow breaths. Added, he also always wore the same pastel, oversized tweed jackets. The walker was blue, with wheels and a pair of dirty old tennis balls hooked to the bottom posts.
Once the guy was off and out of the way, Ted -- and the bus -- were off again, too. "You're young; you gotta think about what you need: you need money. Creativity won't pay your way through anything, if you don't pander to the right market. You paint buildings -- why not paint a few, and send a print to a construction company, and offer to do promo paintings for their projects?"
"I never thought of that, actually..." she said, stumbling to the front again.
"Sometimes you just need someone to point out the obvious."
"Amen."
"This is your stop up here, right?" Ted asked.
"Eh.. yeah. How'd you..?"
"We drivers pay more attention than we let on."
The bus slowed to a stop, gently enough that she wasn't thrown forwards for once. Ted smiled, one of those fatherly smiles that convey a sense of acceptance, instead of a sexual undertone. It reminded her of Jackie Chan, vaguely. Getting off the bus, she headed for Copperhill.