Diabolical Masterminds

Heading downtown on the 38, a man boarded with a small, black Yorkshire Terrier under his arm. He made a big to-do out of saying hello to the bus driver, as though he were an old acquaintance (prompting the driver to release a long, exasperated sigh, as though he were an old annoyance) then sat down next to Allen (and his brother) and myself.

I learned that the dog’s name was none-other-than Emma Peel, and was introduce quite formally to her. She was on her way to the groomers where she would have maintenance performed on her immaculately sculpted bangs, and likely topped off with an appropriately colored bow of some type.

Clearly the one in charge, Emma Peel rode on the man’s lap in a bored fashion. She feigned disinterest in me; all too accustom to this routine, nothing excited her. However, after our formal introduction (and to the man’s surprise) Emma pounced in my lap to further make my acquaintance. I seemed to have met with her approval. He informed me that she never did that to anyone, and that usually she regarded most Muni riders with apathy.

Allen thought it was cute and ribbed me about finally making some new friends in the city. We ended up getting off at a stop before Emma and only after my soles hit the pavement, it occurred to me I never got the name of the man; not that he had even thought to take the time to offer it up after introducing Emma, either.