No Room On The Short Bus

I ride a downtown shuttle every day. Twice. So, what's that? Twice a day.

This is a service I appreciate, of course. Thank you, county taxpayers! Huzzah!

So, yesterday afternoon, I was alone on the shuttle with four mentally-retarded adults. Okay, three mentally-retarded* adults, and one mentally-retarded teenager-bordering-on-adult**. Embrace the hyphens; buckle up, it's gonna' be a bumpy ride.

The group was completely silent when I boarded. You'd think that wouldn't make an impression, but I've grown so used to over-hearing strangers yammering on their cell phones that this utter silence was kinda' startling. The other thing worth mentioning? Though I came to learn they were together, there was no indication of that at first. They sat as far apart as the tiny shuttle allowed. No two shared a seat or even a row. I did manage to find my own seat, though. I sat down and stared at anything but them... pretty much standard commuting behavior.

The shuttle rounded the corner; passed the "Jeff Garcia Memorial Jack-in-the-Box", when the man (in a dirty Giants cap and wearing one glove) blurted out "He's in a coma, you know."

Woman: Who? Jack? You see him?
Man: You know I mean Jack. He's in a coma, you know. No, I don't... I can't... well, on TV.
Girl: Jack? Still?
Man: You know... yeah. Jack. Still?
Woman: You still mean Jack?
Girl: Still on TV?
Man: Well, yeah, he's -- hey, tacos!
Girl: Tacos? But Jack's--
Woman: I like jacks. Don't have any. Not now, anyway.
Girl: Jack's in a coma? But what about--
Man: That guy says he'll run things, but you know he can't do it, I mean--
Girl: The food?
Woman: The tacos are good, right?
Man: He can't--
Girl: Jack?
Man: No, Jack can, but he can't--
Woman: He? That's not nice, saying that about Jack. He's hurt.
Man: That man... he says Jack is dead, but he's not dead--
Girl: Well, he's talking...
Man: No, Jack--
Girl: The man is talking.
Driver: Excuse me...
Woman: Jack talks--tacos!
Man: No, tacos--Jack says--
Girl: The food is real good!
Woman: But Jack--
Man: I heard he was in a coma.
Driver: Was that your stop?

Now, here's the thing: I've spent a lot of hours in a lot of meetings, and for the life of me, I can't tell the difference between their discussion today on the shuttle, and most of our discussions in those conference rooms only slightly less cramped and unpleasant... but at least they were much less mobile.

And I'm not even sure our meetings were any more productive. At least I got the feeling on the shuttle that these four would be enjoying tacos before too long.

*Before you email me, it's a clinical term. Dust off your DSM and read for yourself.
**And I know that it's classified as "mental retardation" if the onset is before 18 years, and "dementia" if the onset is at 18+. Let's just assume a pre-18 diagnosis for the shuttle-load, shall we?