PUBLIC TRANSIT IS WASTED ON SOME FOLKS

From Caledonia Street onwards she was upset. And voluble about it. And I myself, being naturally the sympathetic and caring type of man that I am, maintained a soft running commentary on her utterances. "F**king innefficient bus system!" [Ooh, ain't life hard, sweetheart.] "I'm not gonna f**king make it to San Rafael by nine fifteen!" [Um, you knew that when you got on, sweetheart.] "F**king lazy busdriver!" [Should have planned better, much better, sweetheart.] "We're not going to f**king get there till nearly f**king ten!" [Uh huh.] "These people f**king suck!" [Yep, none of us want you to get there by 9:15, sweetheart.] "They've f**king ruined my whole f**king day!" [Life is hard, and then you die, sweetheart.] "Why does it f**king have to stop here?!?" [It's to make you miserable, sweetheart.] "I f**king hate California!" [And that's probably reciprocated abundantly.]. There was more, much more, but these were the main points she repeated on the phone from the back of the bus to the person she was going to meet at ten.

She had gotten up at five. Propably dawdled over coffee. I had gotten up at six. But unlike her, I was going to get where I was going well before I needed to be there.
And I too had dawdled over coffee. But I time-budget better.


The bus back was also wonderful.


"Get back and sit down. Sit. Down!"

"Get off my bus now. This ain't a city bus!"

"No. No. No, we do not go to Fishermen's Wharf."


Bus drivers are saints. They have to put up with Karen.


Things to remember when taking public transit:
1) If you get on the bus at 8:45, you will never get to San Rafael by 9:15.
2) In this life, most buses do not go to Fisherman's Wharf.
3) I'm a sympathetic man, my piles bleed for you.



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