The Riff-Raff Club

(A collection of prose assembled while waiting for the bus)

Dan Johnson

© March, 2011

Friday, it was cold and raining while I waited for the bus on SW 5^th and there was an unusually large crowd of people waiting for their bus going to their side of town, God knows what they will do once they get there, but for this moment in time they are my captives and the camera inside my head slowly clicks images of their collective tired and depleted souls…is there not poetry in that thought?

~~~

We are all riff-raff in this journey of life; some of us smell better, speak better, dress better, but we are no more or no less than our fellow riff-raffians, sharing this space called a bus stop. Take for instance the upper middle-aged couple, dressed nicely, but not overly-stated. Clean would be an apt description. I suspect they are school teachers, I can say this because I have family and friends in that same trade, and because my camera discovers that this couple thrives on order and discipline; I think that is their lesson plan of life. There is something about this couple that smacks of unhappiness. Perhaps they are from Peoria. I have been to Peoria and it is a wonderful place to leave. I focus on her, she taught at Bradley University and he taught high school, metal shop perhaps, and right now they are wondering what they are doing in this strange town, surrounded by strange people trying to make sense out of their own strange circumstances. This couple does something redeeming to their existence, in that moment, as the #33 to the suburbs approaches, they hold hands walking together, slightly smiling, and quietly looking forward to their next great adventure, together.

~~~

You can ask anyone that has ever waited for a bus on SW 5^th that it is like standing in a wind tunnel. Even on the warmest of days it is the coldest place in Portland to wait for a bus. I asked my friend Tim, a weather guy on one of our local TV stations why this was so and all he could say was “Dude, it’s just one of those things.”

~~~

I think the same thing applies to the next image my camera discovers. He is way too young to look so old. He is wearing old clothes, his pants are a faded battleship gray, his cuffs are frayed, his shoes worn and scuffed, mirroring his life. He moves laboriously with a cane, carrying the frame of an old spirit. Finally he is wearing an old scar that runs deeply from his eye down past his lips along the left side of his face. I believe he is a veteran, maybe he fought in Iraq or Afghanistan, no matter what war he was sent to fight, he is like many veterans today, he has returned home only to discover that he now has to fight the war of survival; survival amongst this league of riff-raff soldiers, simply waiting for a warm safe place to lay their heads. My suspicions are confirmed, here comes the #8 which will take him up to the Veteran’s Hospital. My hope for him as he moves toward the bus is that somehow, someway he finds the peace he deserves.

~~~

There are others that share membership in the riff-raff club, for instance there is the old black woman, bent, scowling at anyone and everyone that comes into her line of sight. She shows her contempt for life by spitting on the sidewalk, daring anyone to take her on. Standing under the canopy is the Hasidic hippie. He is heavy set with a very full beard. He bows his head back and forth and mumbles incoherently at an imaginary wall. While displaying his head bobbing skills, his Roy Rogers hat moves in time with the movement of his head, the assemblage of rings attached to his ears, lips, nose and other parts left only to the imagination are but a back drop for the tats he displays on his arms, which state on one arm “Jesus Loves Me” and “Myrna in Miami” on the other arm.

~~~

At last my bus arrives, the #19-Woodstock, but before I can board, a smartly dressed young woman, I would say about 25, no older, steps in front of me just as I am about to step up to show my bus pass. This young woman has taken great care in color coordinating her wardrobe, shoes, skirt, blouse, make-up, it is all so perfect, even her rudeness. She is speaking on her cell phone and waving a transfer slip in the driver’s face, but the driver is having none of her nonsense and tells her the transfer is outdated, meanwhile I am still on the outside looking in. The driver waves her in while she is still speaking on her phone to only god knows who. I am not alone in my desire to board the nice warm bus, there is also Mr. Preppy…My guess is that he teaches at Portland State University, a safe assumption since the bus stops right at PSU, just before it heads for the suburbs. I am right! Mr. Preppy is taking notes on a legal pad which as it turns out are for a class that starts very soon. When the driver announces the PSU stop, Mr. Preppy looks up from his legal pad, checks his watch and non verbally tells everyone…’look at how pretty I am, with my pressed dark blue slacks, light blue  striped shirt, accented by my medium blue sweater. My hair is slightly tussled, but I paid $45.00 to look so tumble dried.’ There he goes along with Ms. Uptight who is still holding her damned phone to her ear. The funny thing is no one really cares about their over indulgence of self-importance.

~~~

These are just a select few of the many members in good standing of the Riff-Raff Club. If you want to join us at our next meeting, we would love to see you at the bus stop Monday morning. Until then this meeting of the riff-raff club is adjourned.