Priority Seating for Elderly and Disabled Passengers

"So, how's your Japanese class going?" Yesenia says. "It's fine," I say, "wonderful actually, I love it." "Cool," "can you read that?", she says pointing to a sign in Korean. "Umm, no, not really" -"oh"- We are on the 207 bus going down Western Ave. toward Pico Blvd. We did not take the 357 because it does not stop close enough to her house. Our talk of what we will do at the Westside Pavillion is interrupted by a shrill voice.
"You seen what she just did?" a young girl sitting in the front says. A sign abover her reads: Priority Seating for Elderly and Disabled Passengers.
"You seen how she went step all over my new shoes, damn bitch, prolly cain't see 'cause of her crooked eyes." She smiles. I am still trying to make out what's going on.
"Who, girl?" her friend says, murder in her voice.
"This old bitch in front of me. See?" She laughs.
"And she ain't even say 'scuse me? You should tell her off."
"Yeah. But her ching-chong ass prolly ain't gonna comprehend my vocalary. You know she only speak Chinese."
I look over at the girls sitting in the front and see that the lady who has caused the commotion among them must be in her late 70s. She stands. She smiles when the leader of the pack looks at her.
As we near our stop I hear the girl demand that the old lady apologize for ruining her "brand new boots" with "old, smelly slippers."
"I'm sorry," the old lady says as she tries to move away.
"Yeah, you best be sorry. I should get you to clean my shoes, too. But you ain't worth it, you prolly ruin them more."
The bus comes to a halt and people begin to descend. I make it a point to get as close as possible to the elderly lady and the girls.
"Excuse me" she says as she gets off the bus.
"Nah, it ain't excuse me, hoe. It's "step aside bitch." the girl spews, laughing.

I turn, look the girl in the eye, and say: yeah, step aside bitch! Recovering from her intial shock she screams, then says "Ain't no Mesican goin' tell me what to do."  I turn back, look at her again, smile, then say: "I'm not Mexican."
She grunts, she grinds her teeth and clenches her fists. Yesenia and I get off the bus. She starts to make obscene gestures with her hand before the bus departs. I smile and wave back. Then the bus leaves. Yesenia and I cross the street to take the next one on our route.