I was alone, not driving the bus but just having parked my car, at 10:38 AM, on East Burnside outside the Philo House thrift shop, which opens at eleven, and I popped out to look into the window, to see if it might be worthwhile coming back later to look for used drapes for my house. Two giant corn-fed sixty-something white republicans were strolling East on the sidewalk, and they remarked rather pointedly that I was in a no-parking zone.
I should explain that there is a bumper sticker on the back of my car that says "one man, one man, no on 36," and it was cobbled together from appropriated "yes on 36" stickers by my artistic daughter, and it has been the cause of many a rage-filled comment since that smear-the-queers law was passed a year or so ago.
"Tri-Met, eh," said the man, and pulled out a cell phone and began dialing. He wanted to report employee misconduct. Now this sort of thing doesn't work at all; I have a union. So I had nothing to fear from this gesture, but I was infuriated that anyone would engage in such aggression against me just because I'm queer and working-class. So I told him and his good lady wife just what I thought of them and the horse that they had rode in on. Loudly. Angrily. Which was when the woman said something very interesting: "I have a gun."