Today on Fourth Avenue

Commuting shouldn't be so complex. It should just be about getting to and from work. But, in true Jenn And The City fashion, I can make a cluge (new word, must use) out of my commuting options.

Normally, I take the train into downtown. It's convenient, clean, comfortable, the people are boring and the scenery is unparalleled. I can get wifi and actually do work while the Sounder whistles and clangs past the whitecaps and herons along Puget Sound.

Pffffui. Enough of the suburban, don't make eye-contact with your neighbor BS. Such is the world of the train.

However, I have a love/hate relationship with the bus. The bus is noisy and bumpy. One has questionable seatmates. The woman this morning couldn't stop fidgeting. Another fellow, obviously drunk, lost control of bodily functions. The juvenile with the skull cap and skateboard yesterday was a model passenger. Taking the bus means I get to hang out on Fourth Avenue. Mind you, taking the train means hanging out near Pioneer Square and Jackson Street, supposedly the "seedier" part of town. By the mission, and homeless shelters and gangs. But they've got nothing on Fourth Avenue bus stops.

Today on Fourth Avenue, the Po-Lice were kindly evicting a woman from the "W" Hotel bar. I like the "W" Hotel bar. It's a high class establishment, normally without law enforcement, and they have great wasabi peas and make a mean Manhattan. This is Mercedes and Maserati country. The European cars have a mandatory exit before they get as far south as Jackson.

So I was waiting for the bus as the po-lice were quietly removing Stephanie from the "W" bar. I was there before they went in, and I overheard the highly classified po-lice discussion that they expected Stephanie to be no trouble.

Ha. Stephanie decided to create a Scene.

This is Fourth Avenue! Stephanie turned out to be one of "us". Right down to her designer boots and her Cosmo magazine. When one of "us" decides to make the po-lice miserable, the homeless and drug-addled have no chance to even weigh in on the scale.

As a front-row ticket-holder to the Scene, I am now aware that Stephanie feels that the cops are a bunch of motherf^$%)*rs. She seems to have the same opinion of her cheatin' son of a b!tch husband. I got to be front row because Stephanie stopped right next to me on her way out of the bar and chose to have her dialog with the po-lice while standing right next to me. I don't dare move. Stephanie's not a threat to me, but she's enough on the edge that I don't want to distract Officer Friendly confronting her.

So here we are, me waiting for the bus on Fourth Avenue, Stephanie, who just wants the world to go away and leave her alone, the cops, who are just trying to do their job, and passersby, staring in wonderment at the daily spectacle.

And then the bus arrived. Stephanie went to Harborview for a mental evaluation, the po-lice handled the situation with dignity and grace, the "W" bar welcomed its normal happy hour crowd of VIPs and business sorts, and I went home.

Just another day on Fourth Avenue. The train got nothin' on this cluge.