Metro Journal: Nov 12 Stop Sinus Affliction

I can't seem to recall anything memorable about the commute this morning. I'm not even sure I was conscious, come to think about it. Oh, I do remember some guy at Hollywood & Vine yelling to cars going by.


On the evening DASH, when someone pulled the stop request cord, I noticed that not only did it not ring the bell, but the Stop Requested sign seemed permanently lit. The woman in question did not apparently notice this. The driver either hadn't noticed or no longer cared, so he didn't start slowing down for the next stop. The woman started saying, "STOP! Stop! Stop stop stop! Stop! Stop stop!" And continued in this vein even after the driver did stop and opened the doors. Stop saying "stop" already, ok? Thanks!

Three or four people were standing in front of the Red Line Station smoking a weed. A really stinky weed. If it was actually marijuana, I think they should probably have rinsed the manure used as a fertilizer off first, but I suspect someone picked some dandelion leaves growing next to a sidewalk and rolled them. Between that and the fresh coat of pant on the plywood covering the construction site on top of the Red Line Station (they had been putting up the yellow Caution tape when I walked by this morning), the damned corner really stank.

An LAPD car then made a left turn onto Hollywood Blvd from the south side of Argyle. As it was turning, the officer driving seemed to be leaning out of the window. I wondered if he would make a U-turn and bust the herbalists, but as the turn put him on the opposite side of Hollywood and both eastbound lanes were full of cars stopped at the red light, he would have had to wait. By the time the cars cleared, the police car was gone. Oh, ok.

No, person who was standing in my line-of-sight for the bus, I was not staring at you. I was trying to see if the bus was coming. Now turn around. Thanks!

When the 780 showed, this highly-tattooed couple waited until the doors had opened and people were getting on to figure out which of them had fare for both of them. As soon as they straighten that out, they should really try to figure out which one is supposed to be carrying the clue.

For a while, someone was sitting close to me who smelled like they had just spent the day near a deep-fat fryer. My nose was taking a real beating, I tell you. Almost makes me long for the Santa Ana-induced sinus headaches, because at least I couldn't smell things, even if my head was threatening to explode.