Okay, so my monthly pass ran out and I needed to get a new one, so it was jump off the 102 and head into the Glass Palace of Incompetence and Arrogance to pick up a new one.
This time, I had the cash to pay for it, speeding up the process and avoiding any need to whip out 20 forms of ID and give skin scrapings. Odd, how they don't bother with all that rigamarole when they rob the public of their hard-earned dollars through the sales tax (without representation).
I figure, no way I'll catch the 9. I'm calm. I'm cool. I'm resigned to wait for the next one, that worthless always-late sourpuss old coot barely in front of the next 9, constantly being nudged forward along the route into the end of the line.
Maybe I'll just do the Danger Train to Wheeler and 25 it today...
I grab my pass, stroll out the front door, and I realize the 9 is there at the rail stop, waiting with its door open.
Whoa. Hold the horses, Mildred.
Do mine eyes lie to me?
NINE! RIGHT THERE! LATE, BUT THERE!
This can't be happening. Maybe it's one of a billion 66's, 56's, or other empty non-commuter buses that taunts and tease me, distracting me from I book as I wait for Mr. Always Late Sourpuss.
Nope. It's Early Lady Driver. Right there. With her Nine.
Run, Forrest! Run!
Screw the lights. Run across the street, dash across the wheelchair-eating tracks, and leap on to the bus.
Early Lady Driver saw me coming out of the DTC, recognized the gigantic blue workbag, and waited.
Awesome, man. Pure awesomeness. So shines a good deed in a weary world.
Driver: "Sure beats having to wait for the next one, right?"
Ed: "But the schedule says it'll be here at 5:12." (snicker)
Me: "That asshole hasn't seen 5:12 in his life. With Daylight Savings Time, I'd be surprised if he were here by seven."
iPod back on, the Wall Of Fog embraces me until it's time to yank the cord and flee Frankie's Seatbelt-Free Rolling Deathtrap.
I say count your blessings.
Uncle Guido says count your targets, then count your ammo.
What a wonderful wooooooooooorld.