Get Decent

I am on the bus.

The cell phone of the man sitting next to me plays a polyphonic version of the A-Team Theme song.

I look over to see if the phone-owner is the Captain of my Dream Team. Sadly, it appears not.

Guy: ‘lo?
Guy: Yeah, it’s the one with the white picket fence…go around the corner and through the back gate and then down the walk…and it’s the basement door. My wife will let you in.
Guy: Yeah, okay.
Guy: Okay, bye.

He punches numbers into his phone, waits, hangs up. continues reading copy of free, shitty paper. I try not to read over his shoulder, as free, shitty paper makes me feel dirty.

The A-Team Theme song plays again. My butt twitches in the seat. Damn, I love the A-Team Theme song.

Guy: ‘lo?
Guy: Hey, yeah, I called you twice. Once to tell you I bought [muffled]; the second time, just now to tell you that [muffled] is on his way over. So get decent.
Guy: What? I just thought you might not be decent.
Guy: Yeah, he just called me, wondering where our house is. So I told him and then I thought I’d give you a head’s up, so you could get decent.
Guy: Allright. See you later.

He puts his phone away and continues reading, (how do people stretch out the reading of the shitty paper so long? Are they really reading? Are they asleep? Are there secret messages in between the lines?) leaving me to wonder what constitutes “decent” these days. I mean, I know in the ’50s, when a man called his wife from the bus to tell her to get decent, he probably meant put on a clean apron and make sure there’s a fresh pot of coffee. But in the ’00s? Are there people who sit around their apartments who might not think to put some pants on before answering the doorbell?

I just don’t know, Wally. I just don’t know.