Longjohns

Editor’s Note: This story was originally published in 2012. No details have been changed so as to retain the spirit of the original story. 

“Does anyone know what longjohns are?”

No one on the bus answered. He stood there, desperately clutching a sopping wet towel to his waist, his short ponytail weighed down by the rain. Although it had rained on and off throughout the day, the night time brought on fresh clouds and heavy rains that added an extra challenge to my commute.

Waiting under the protective eaves that sheltered Panera Bread’s walkway from the elements, I stood to wait for the bus to arrive. Finishing an iced green tea, I saw the now-familiar blue and white vehicle turn the corner towards me, and made a dash to the welcome and dry mobile haven.

Sitting down in front, the bus moved on towards LaSalle square, and then it happened. A tall skinny gentleman boarded, dripping from the ever-worsening rain that poured down outside. He had a short, curly ponytail, pointed face and bare feet, the towel dripping slowly on the floor beneath him.

“Sir, where are your shoes?” the bus driver asked, cool and composed, not allowing the man to jar his control.” They’re lost, they got lost on their way to the bar.. they just fell off,” he said, unsure of his words. The bus driver continued on, ” Sir, are you wearing any pants?” clearly knowing the answer to the question, but wanting the man to respond…

“I’m wearing longjohns. Don’t you know what they are?”

“I don’t know what longjohns are.”

Then he turned to the passengers, asking whether anyone knew what longjohns were. I wanted to respond to him, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. No one said a word, and the man began swearing, reluctantly turning and getting off the bus. He walked away, and the commuters remained silent.