Oh, THAT Michael Jackson

One stretch of my afternoon commute—specifically, the stretch between the train ride and the walk—is on a shuttle, which is a lot like a bus, except that it’s shorter, there’s less graffiti, and the drivers get to listen to the radio. As of yet (and this is actually true of every East Bay shuttle I’ve ever ridden), I haven’t had a driver whose station of choice is not 102.9 KBLX: The Quiet Storm. You wouldn’t know it from their tagline, “Soft and Warm,” but they’re basically a soul station. Tangentially, they have the world’s worst morning show, and that’s saying something.

At the stop yesterday, while we waited for stragglers from the train to make their way onboard, the DJ played a Michael Jackson song. Again. Because no one’s tired of that yet.

A woman sitting in the back row said, “Turn it up!”

The driver, engaged in a through-the-window conversation with a friend, either didn’t hear or chose to ignore her.

“It’s Michael Jackson! Turn it up!”

He swiveled his head around and gave her a look. “What?”

“Michael Jackson?” she said . “From the Jackson Five? Motown?”

He snorted, but he did turn the volume knob. Immediately, she started clapping along to the rhythm. After a verse, she noticed that no one was joining in. I think she’d hoped this would be a unifying moment for all of us.

“I guess there aren’t any Michael Jackson fans on this bus,” she said. Then she started clapping again.

Later, she announced that due to the quality of the sidewalks in Oakland, she could fall and break her neck any day. Also, that there are too many fat people in America.