Hi, I took the Charlotte Area Transit Sytem to work this morning.
Emphasis on the I TOOK because that dadgum bus didn't know where it was going and neither did I.
I climbed aboard in my sporty suit jacket around 7:30am and said, "Hi, does this bus go to the 7th Street Station?" Poli(AR)te bus driving lady says, "Yes, yes it does. $1.20 please."
"DON'T MIND IF I DO!"
I was on my way! No, I wasn't!
After falling into a woman's large bag of produce twice I changed my bus surfing position immediately. Buses in Chicago rarely make wide turns, so it's easy to dangle a gay pinky around the pole and rummage through your bag with the other. Let's talk about me gripping that pole with every last appendage like a god damned old school koala bear car antenna accessory. I bruised my privates and I'm likely never to have children.
We approached the Transit Center and all of my bus friends got off. The buses were multiplying in the station. They were breeding! If my mission was to reproduce then I had failed miserably. I was the weakest link. I was the weakest commuter sperm! Everyone else found their ready and willing eggs while I dangled in front of my maker pouting, "But you s-s-said this bus went to 7th Street Station?!"
She rattled off several other buses that might take me to my destination so I decided to buck up and GET IT TOGETHER, MAN! It could have been a lot worse. In fact it was hilariously fortunate. Name a better place to be lost while you're looking for the right bus that tops BUS STATION.
By this time it was 7:45am and I had 15 minutes to make an second prompt appearance at my new job (I left out that tiny part about me becoming an assistant at a property management office in a large fancy building uptown.)
I decided to brush dignity aside and flail on board a few buses reproducing the role of "frantic woman in bus statio" a la Penelope Ann Miller as Brenda in Adventures in Babysitting. 4 buses later I was finally/hopefully headed in the right direction with 5 minutes to spare.
I shed a tiny secret bus tear when we approached my stop. At that moment I heard The Crusaders' "Street Life" IMH harder than I've ever heard it IRL.
The elevator with a t.v. inside approached Floor 26 at 7:59am and my coworkers rewarded me with a cup of JOE (mama, SIKE). I told them my story as one of them peeled the cat hair off of my black suit with a lint brush and a smile.
I am a mentos commercial and I have no idea what buses I'm taking home.
I climbed aboard in my sporty suit jacket around 7:30am and said, "Hi, does this bus go to the 7th Street Station?" Poli(AR)te bus driving lady says, "Yes, yes it does. $1.20 please."
"DON'T MIND IF I DO!"
I was on my way! No, I wasn't!
After falling into a woman's large bag of produce twice I changed my bus surfing position immediately. Buses in Chicago rarely make wide turns, so it's easy to dangle a gay pinky around the pole and rummage through your bag with the other. Let's talk about me gripping that pole with every last appendage like a god damned old school koala bear car antenna accessory. I bruised my privates and I'm likely never to have children.
We approached the Transit Center and all of my bus friends got off. The buses were multiplying in the station. They were breeding! If my mission was to reproduce then I had failed miserably. I was the weakest link. I was the weakest commuter sperm! Everyone else found their ready and willing eggs while I dangled in front of my maker pouting, "But you s-s-said this bus went to 7th Street Station?!"
She rattled off several other buses that might take me to my destination so I decided to buck up and GET IT TOGETHER, MAN! It could have been a lot worse. In fact it was hilariously fortunate. Name a better place to be lost while you're looking for the right bus that tops BUS STATION.
By this time it was 7:45am and I had 15 minutes to make an second prompt appearance at my new job (I left out that tiny part about me becoming an assistant at a property management office in a large fancy building uptown.)
I decided to brush dignity aside and flail on board a few buses reproducing the role of "frantic woman in bus statio" a la Penelope Ann Miller as Brenda in Adventures in Babysitting. 4 buses later I was finally/hopefully headed in the right direction with 5 minutes to spare.
I shed a tiny secret bus tear when we approached my stop. At that moment I heard The Crusaders' "Street Life" IMH harder than I've ever heard it IRL.
The elevator with a t.v. inside approached Floor 26 at 7:59am and my coworkers rewarded me with a cup of JOE (mama, SIKE). I told them my story as one of them peeled the cat hair off of my black suit with a lint brush and a smile.
I am a mentos commercial and I have no idea what buses I'm taking home.