That's right, I'm working. And not on anything fun. But I can't go into that, lest I get fired.
Anyway, today, on the bus home, some oldish guy in his late fifties or so got into a little spat with the bus driver. He had grey hair and spoke in some kind of Eastern European accent. I was minding my own business, reading the newspaper and daydreaming about alternate careers in dermatology or comic book writing when I noticed that this old guy was sort of yelling at the bus driver. The bus driver started talking back. Not really yelling, but clearly irritated. The complaining guy was in his seat mumbling something, saying "You have no right to speak to me that way." The bus driver said something, and then the complaing guy said "I'm not German. You're so ignorant. I'm not German at all." At around this point, the complaining guy rather suddenly got up out of his seat and sort of leaped toward the bus driver -- while he was driving the bus. Luckily, the complaining guy did not intend to attack the driver: he leaned over the driver and read his nametag. "Mr. So and so. That's who you are. Okay, that's where we'll start. Thank you." And then he returned to his seat with a satisfied grin on his face. The driver said something sarcastic, like "Yeah, go ahead. And the time is 7:30." Meanwhile, the complaining guy was actually fishing in his shirt pocket for a pen and writing down the bus driver's name. He said again, apparently unprompted, "I'm not German." The bus driver responded, "Whatever. It's all Greek to me."
I should note that complaining guy wore dark pants, white sneakers, and lavender socks.
The whole time this was going down, I felt a strong urge to inject myself between the two and to try to relax the situation. Maybe because I didn't want the bus to crash and kill all of us. Instead, I did nothing and just watched.