Mr. Big Stuff

I've seen a bothersome man on the bus for the past few days in a row.

I couldn't decide what bothered me about him, until I realized that every time I see him I ask myself, "Who do you think you are?" and then mentally scoff. This led to me calling him "Mr. Big Stuff," when referring to him in my mind. After giving him a smarmy nickname (and patting myself on the back for giving him said smarmy nickname), I started putting the name with the melody, so now everytime I think of Mr. Big Stuff, I hear the chorus to the song in my head (which, as it turns out, is simultaneously entertaining and annoying).

Mr. Big Stuff is obviously riding the bus to get to work (there's no crying in baseball, and there are no colleges in the South Side). Despite this, he carries a Marc Jacobs bag, and is usually adorned in a puffy vest, J. Crew jeans, and a self-righteous smirk. He chews his gum with dramatic satisfaction, and every day he exits the bus after me, but somehow speed walks past me, a block or two after the bus stop.

This is infuriating.

I speed walk after him when this happens, but he has the distinct advantage of not wearing heels.

This morning, when he walked past the available seat next to me, only to sit with another stranger in the back of the bus, I imagined how his gum would go flying down the bus aisle if I stuck my foot out at just the right moment.

My boyfriend says I'm ridiculous and that it's is all in my head*. I hope he's wrong.

Who do you think you are, Mr. Big Stuff?






PS: I imagine I will eventually befriend this poor young man and delete this blog, full of guilt and embrassment.


*My father, as it turns out, is in complete agreeance with the boyfriend. Is anyone on my side?