Artist agog-o

By Mary

Growing up riding the subways and buses of New York City, you learn certain rules of conduct. Never make eye contact with your fellow transit passengers. Carry a weapon. Don't spit near someone bigger/meaner/more heavily armed than you. To ignore these rules is to invite disaster. Would that all TriMet riders knew this.

There's a guy who rides the 54 who likes to talk. He's an artist, wears a beret to prove it, and he loves to chat up his fellow passengers. "What're you reading?" "Whatcha knitting?" "Where're you going?" He's nice, he's harmless, and he's a sitting duck. He made the mistake of talking to some lady who's also a frequent 54-ite. She's easily identifiable by the reams of documents she carries in a small wheeled suitcase and in a tote bag. She sits down next to Artist Guy, and he immediately asks about her papers. She's in the middle of a divorce, she tells him, and the papers are her documentation of abuse by her ex-husband.

Artist Guy clucks sympathetically. "You have no idea the things that man did to me," Document Lady says darkly. "With microwaves."

"Microwaves?" says Artist Guy, baffled.

"He used microwave frequencies to poison me. And my attorney," Document Lady elaborates.

"Ah," says Artist Guy, edging away and looking around the bus for an empty seat.

"It happens all the time," Document Lady says ominously, leaning in closer. She launches into a detailed explanation of how it's done, how she can prove it, and the hideous effects of microwave poisoning, which apparently seems to mimic the flu. She starts to dig through her papers for the proof as Artist Guy swallows hard and looks around in vain for a vacant seat. About 10 minutes later, Document Lady finally reaches her stop and debarks with a cheery wave to her new friend, who's now slumped in his seat nervously fiddling with his beret. Some new passengers get on, and one of them takes Document Lady's seat.

Artist Guy doesn't look up, doesn't make eye contact, doesn't say a word. He knows better now.