I’m writing this post from a bus stop.
Why?
Would that be the most relevant question? Perhaps.
You ask, why, if I was waiting for the bus since 3:30 in the post-night, would I be stuck at the same stop? Two and a half hours later?
Maybe the more relevant question would’ve been: WHAT just happened?
(Because the answer to that question doesn’t make me sound stupid like the first does, and it’s a much more interesting story to tell)
So after 2.5 grueling hours of patiently waiting, the bus driver paused, opened the door for –hmm, to put it generously– half a second before she started driving off. Without letting me on!
I stood there stunned for a couple seconds before I dashed madly after the bus. I ran my Thanksgiving-fat booty down the streets of New York like the back of the bus was stuffed with cheese and gravy.
But this is no happily ever after program brought to you by ABC Family. I chased it for 2 stops, and she adjusted her speed to just the right pace where I can’t catch her but I could have if I had just worn my extra stretchy jeans. Oh, driver lady, you. You planned this.
So I gave up. Then out of compulsive fury, I cursed and kicked the bus stop post until people started picking up their heads, then hung my head in shame as I dragged myself back. I could’ve sworn that the few standing on the streets at 6am this lovely morning actually nodded at me, as if to say, “Damn she burned you.”
But don’t take my word for it; I’m the craziest person I know.
Good morning world 🙂
Read Me 