Stop bugging me!

Back in the late 1980s, my mother and I worked in twin office buildings in downtown Fort Worth, Texas. She was the secretary for the Director of Advertising for Radio Shack, and I worked in Accounts Payable for the same company.

My wife and I rented a house on the Southside of town. As a young couple, we only had one car which she used to drive back and forth to work, dropping off and picking up the baby from daycare. I rode the bus.

One beautiful summer morning, just after sunrise, I emerged from the house wearing a new suit I had acquired over the weekend from T.J. Max, a pimp suit if there ever was one, the jacket short-waisted and the pants pleated, all a delicious mauve. My hair had a slick part to the side held in place with a liberal dousing of Aquanet from my wife's beauty table. It was a wonderful day, and my spirits were lifted higher when I saw our collection of rose bushes in full bloom. I decided to surprise my mother with a bouquet of the finest.

Fifteen minutes later I approached the bus stop near my home, flowers in hand. The large crowd of people turned to watch as I neared. The warm Texas sun on my skin matched the warm sense of self-conscious pride I felt inside: looking good and carrying flowers to my mother, what better combination?

The crowd and I filled the bus to capacity. I sat next to a large African-American woman, who turned only briefly to take in the sight of this fine white boy before taking her gaze back to the window. The ride proved uneventful for the first few blocks, and then it happened, a small itch, almost a tingle at the back of my head.

I reached behind me to scratch gently, not wanting to disturb the coif held in the thick hair spray, and when I pulled back my hand, there sat an enormous green grasshopper, finally freed from its Aquanet prison.

Now it proves the point that every single person sitting behind me had been watching this bug since I boarded and took my seat, because when I flicked my hand and that bug went flying, the screams were enough to make the bus driver swerve. I looked back to see people pressing against their seats and windows, all of them making one sort of noise or another. Finally, a Hispanic man about five rows back stood and squashed the poor bug.

Silence ensued. The bus slowed for a red light, and the dead bug's body rolled toward me in accusation, but then the bus accelerated, causing the carcass to retreat toward the back. Blushing and hoping a big Hispanic foot would come down and crush me, I stole a glance at the black woman next to me. Her eyes stared boldly into mine. "I hope nothing crawls off of you onto me", she said and the scowl on her face showed her disgust.

That grasshopper rolled back and forth during the entire ride.

I took an earlier bus for the remainder of the summer.