Center of the Universe

A lumbering man dressed entirely in nothing but clear plastic, stentoriously repeating three words, over and over again: "JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY! JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY! JEFFER..." 

Here's one guy who knows where he wants to go. With him is a caretaker, very discreet and quiet, as if hoping to balance out the outré nature of his charge. "JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY," the fellow repeats, crinkling plastic while he sits down, slurring out the location as best he can. 
I get on the mic as we approach the zone: "Coming up next is,"
"-JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY-"
"Like the man said, Jefferson and Broadway, our stop for Swedish main campus..." I wish I could say I timed it perfectly, but it was just slightly off. We're in the real world, after all. 

In the gospel tradition of call-and-response preaching patterns, I buoy up his declarations:
"JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY;"
"Oh yeah,"
"JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY;"
"Uh-huh, you got that right,"
"JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY;"
"Gettin' it said-"

"There it is," I say as we reach the highly anticipated location.
"JEFFERSON AND BROADWAY," he roars, by way of thanks.
Suddenly he loses all motor skills in his arms and legs, and has to be dragged off bodily by his able caretaker, clunking down the steps. I get the impression they've done this before. The caretaker looks at me with a rueful smile, shaking his head when I offer to help. "JEFFERSON AND..."

There's Mo, driving the 3 on the other side, in the Central District. He pulls alongside opposite my 4 and leans out his window. He's smiling. He says, "this is so much fun!"
"I think so too!"
"Only for us though!"
"Yeah, probably just you and me!"
 
And some other operators, of course. It's an acquired taste.