Shuttlemen

The shuttle that transports me to and from work is a businesslike affair: black, unmarked, tinted windows and high-end upholstery. As it waited at the bus stop today, a dissheveled man with a fixed-gear bicycle walked up to the door and stared inside without saying a word. After a while, he finally spoke up: “Where’s this going, man?” He emphasized ‘going’, and for a minute the question took on deep metaphorical overtones. Where indeed? But the bus driver took it at face value and said Facebook. As we pull away five minutes later, I look out of my window and notice that we’re being chased by an orange-haired man with chains attached to his facial jewelry. He’s wearing very tight pants, which makes it difficult for him to run, but it’s mainly the orange head, like a prison jumpsuit, that stands out through the tinted windows. He clearly wants to get on the bus, and by the time the driver stops, he is pouring sweat and his face chains have become entangled in each other. Catching his breath, the orange haired man asks: is this bus going to Google?