Riding the Bus

 by Zvi Baranoff 

She elbowed me sharply as she pushed her way to the front of the line and climbed into the bus. The driver tapped the fare box to remind her about dropping some coins in.

She coughed and spit and then, in a strong Yiddish accent she said to the driver, "Oy! Money you vant from me?!? You! Don't you worry about squeezing a kopek out of me!  Listen, sonny! If you knew vat I haff, you would let me ride without bothering me for money!" The driver shrugged and waved her by.

The bus was crowded. There were no empty seats. On the bus sat a man, minding his own business, reading the Forverts. This woman stood right next to him and huffed and sighed and moaned. 

Then, she leaned into the man that was reading the Yiddish newspaper and spoke loudly. "Mister," she said, "you sit reading your newspaper without a care in the world! It's a shanda! If you knew vat I haff, you would get up off your tuchus and let me have a seat. Oy!"

The gentleman apologized and gave her his seat.

After a while, this same woman started yelling for the driver to stop the bus and to let her off. The driver politely stated that he could only stop at a bus stop and not in the middle of a block.

"Oy! Oy! Oy!" she yelled. "I must get off right now! If you knew vat I haff you wouldn't play games! Let me off dis bus NOW!"

The driver stopped the bus right there in the middle of the block. As she was climbing down from the bus, I just had to ask her one question.

"Hey, Lady! What is it that you have?" I asked her.

"Vat do I haff?" she yelled. "Vat do I haff? Vat DO I haff?!? You vant to know vat is it that I haff? Chutzpah! That's vat I haff. I haff a LOT of chutzpah."