This place smells of bleach and decrepit body odor. It’s crowded—too crowded for my tastes. There’s children crying, some fat black obese girl cramming her mouth full of packaged chocolate shit with cream filling, and I swear to God the Indian across the aisle next to me just shit his pants or is wearing a diaper. I should not have taken the Mega Bus to Charleston. I should have just driven—the cost of driving to Charleston would have been well worth it. What the fuck was I thinking? At least the guy sitting next to me is cute. Maybe I should talk to him? Say something? What if he’s a rapist? Or a murder? Or a weirdo? I mean what kind of guy rides the Mega Bus—he’s probably poor? I guess I’m the kind of person that rides the Mega Bus though. I should say something…he’s cute. I should say something.
“Do these things always smell like shit?”
Well that was smooth Stacy—out of everything you could have…
“I was thinking the same thing”, he laughed. “It’s my first time on one of these. My name’s Tyler by the way.”
“Stacy… I’m Stacy. It’s nice to meet you. It’s my first time on one of these as well.”
“Yeah, I’m not too sure how I feel about it either. It’s a lot cheaper than driving, and I make this drive quite often. My kids and ex-wife live in Charleston. I visit them—the kids that is. Once every week or so when work permits.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a project manager at an insurance firm. I work in the IT department. What brings you to Charleston?”
“Oh I’m visiting old college friends. We’re going to a concert tomorrow night.”
“What concert?”
“The Pixies have you ever…”
“Doolittle is one of my all-time favorites. That new album they released… can’t think of the name, but the yellow one. That one sucks—it was terrible.”
I laughed, “Yeah I agree whole-heartedly. The change in sound did not suit them.”
“Definitely, and you can’t have the Pixies without Kim. It’s just not the Pixies…”
The conversation fell silent—as most small talk does. I sat there trying to think of something clever to say to him, but I couldn’t.
Miles passed and then he looked over at me and said, “Do you have any hobbies Stacy?”
“I guess I play a little bit of guitar. I used to be in a band in college, but since then I’ve been working mostly. I guess I don’t do too much anymore.” “Do you do anything Tyler—hobby wise?”
“I make soap and sell it on the side—as a hobby. Other than that, not too much other than work.”
“Soap? That’s interesting…do you actually make any money off that?”
“Not really, not too much. It’s good soap, but I’ve got bigger plans for the future.”
“What kind of plans? You mean with like soap?”
He laughed, “Well, aren’t you just full of questions? Here take my card—it might serve you well in the future. You know if you ever need any soap?”
I laughed. It was a cute way of giving me his number, and soap—what an odd hobby? But, he seemed nice enough and he had kids. I looked down at the card. It read, “Tyler Durden” followed by a street address and phone number.
“If I ever need some hand-made soap, you’ll be the first person I call.”, I joked.
“Good. Now I’m a bit tired and I’m going to try and get some sleep if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all I understand.”
Tyler closed his eyes and turned towards the window to get some shut-eye. I looked at the card again. He’s a nice guy I thought—seems nice. Maybe I should give him my number? Nah, that’d be crazy. I barely even know him. I looked up. I noticed the Indian man that smelled of shit was starring right at me. I looked back at him and said, “What?” His eyes jutted down and he whispered something to the woman sitting next to her. They both gave me strange looks. I didn’t think much of it. This was a strange place.