Two Women Fighting in Line for a Bus to Washington, DC
by Alex Littlefield
I’ve never heard the word “bitch” so many times in my life. It’s 7:30 p.m. on the Friday before Mother’s Day, and I’m in line for the 6:30 bus to DC, listening to a fight play out behind me between two exasperated—and possibly drunk—travelers.
“Where your kids, fat bitch?”
“F#@k you, bitch!”
“Where your kids, fat bitch?”
“F#@k you, bitch!”
I don’t know how the fight started—I don’t think anyone here does, and we’ve all been here for the whole thing. Both women are running out of steam, so they’re doing the broken-record version of a smack-down, which is actually more stressful for the onlookers than when they were coming up with fresh insults.
“F#@k you, bitch!”
“Happy Mother’s Day, bitch.”
The woman is strangely calm as she says it, which could be either exhaustion or a nod to the holiday spirit. All day I’ve been hearing women 
wishing each other a happy Mother’s Day, which struck me as a little self-congratulatory—sort of like Jesus wishing himself a Merry Christmas. But it’s a change of scenery, as it were, so I’ll take it.
“F#@k you, bitch!”
“Happy Mother’s Day, bitch.”
“F#@k you, bitch!”
How quickly we lapse into routine. But just as I think I may have to strangle myself with the strap of my overnight bag, there’s a break in the clouds. When her “f#@k you” cue comes, the calm woman pauses for a second. Everyone in line holds their breath.
“Go to Sears, fat bitch. I hear they have a new bra that’ll hold your whole body up.”
It is by far the best barb of the fight, and later, when I find myself on the same bus as the two women, I remind myself that I am richer for having heard it. By then, the gunfire from a cut-rate action movie has drowned out any possibility of argument. We really have so much to be thankful for.
