It's Friday
Jan. 24th, 2004 12:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
novapsycheThe weather conspired against me.
I waited in 6 degree weather for 50 minutes for my first bus. Wait, no, the bus was over 50 minutes late. I actually waited longer than that.
I left work at 5:00. I didn't get to my midstop (Arborland Mall) until 6:30. That's when I usually am at my last connection--the bus with the driver who I invited to coffee.
I'd been wondering how to continue our conversation. Yesterday, I didn't ride the bus because it was so cold. Well, today it was cold and snowy. I picked the wrong day to ask my dad to pick me up directly from work.
Anyway, I got to the transit center in my town after 7:00 and discovered that my bus, the 20A, was running basically just an hour behind. If I were lucky, it'd be at the center within 15 minutes.
The bus indeed pulled up within that amount of time. As I approached the bus, I wondered if the lights were on fully in the cabin. Then I realized that the driver was not an older white man named Michael but in fact an older black woman whose name I did not know.
I ran my transfer--the transfer on which I'd written my number--through the machine and pitched it in the trash.
So. Plan B. There's always a Plan B.
I waited in 6 degree weather for 50 minutes for my first bus. Wait, no, the bus was over 50 minutes late. I actually waited longer than that.
I left work at 5:00. I didn't get to my midstop (Arborland Mall) until 6:30. That's when I usually am at my last connection--the bus with the driver who I invited to coffee.
I'd been wondering how to continue our conversation. Yesterday, I didn't ride the bus because it was so cold. Well, today it was cold and snowy. I picked the wrong day to ask my dad to pick me up directly from work.
Anyway, I got to the transit center in my town after 7:00 and discovered that my bus, the 20A, was running basically just an hour behind. If I were lucky, it'd be at the center within 15 minutes.
The bus indeed pulled up within that amount of time. As I approached the bus, I wondered if the lights were on fully in the cabin. Then I realized that the driver was not an older white man named Michael but in fact an older black woman whose name I did not know.
I ran my transfer--the transfer on which I'd written my number--through the machine and pitched it in the trash.
So. Plan B. There's always a Plan B.