Yesterday afternoon, I ducked into a deli right in front of my bus stop to relieve myself, when I came out, all of the folks that were waiting for the bus were gone. Any sensible human being would go to the train station a mere 1 1/2 blocks from the stop. Any sensible person would do that. I live light years from sensible; I hauled ass for the bus! Why? Good question, I wish the answer was. Maybe it was pride. I mean, I couldn't let the bus get away w/it, I mean really, it's an inanimate object composed of, well, smaller inanimate objects. Couldn't let the bus make a fool of me. Maybe I simply couldn't let the bus win.
Yeah, real deep Tony.
Maybe I couldn't let all of the passengers on my bus make fun of me while I wasn't there...'cause I'm certain that they don't say anything about me when I'm out of earshot. Right.
Maybe, I like the bus sooooo much that I'm willing to make a blathering (I say blathering because that's what I was doing. Arms and legs flopping about like Kermit the Frog on fire, lungs burning; drooling, sweating, panting, farting towards the nearest bus stop! I mean sure, years from now when I'm retelling this story to my grandkids, I'm sure "grampa" will be hauling ass like Michael Johnson, gold shoes flailing through the wind, breaking nary a sweat...) fool of myself in front of several tourist, foreign and domestic, in order to make the bus and cherish the remaining blocks I have left on my commute. Yes, I love the bus so much, I made a total spectacle of myself AND ran past a perfectly good train station to make my bus! Sure.
Or maybe, it's sheer stupidity.
No. It's habit.
Habit. I didn't want to break my daily routine. We humans are truly creatures of habit. I felt so uptight when my fellow passengers weren't there when I came out of the bathroom that I knew immediately what had transpired and sprinted for the front door of the deli. I saw the back of the bus and quickly ticked off my list of options:
-Run for the bus.
-Wait for the next bus.
-Walk. I had five or six hours to kill.
-F*** the bus, I'm taking the train, another train and then the bus...but I won't be sweaty.
I chose the first, ended up making an aforementioned blathering idiot of myself in front of strangers from the heartland, looked like a fool in front of my fellow passengers when they saw me running alongside the bus, stumbled on board, plopped down on the nearest vacant seat. I couldn't hear anyone over the sound of my own heart trying to jump out of my f***ing chest and I couldn't suppress the coughing fit that lasted for the remainder of my trip. And there I was, a hot, sweaty, panting, coughing mess of a human lump; I'm still sore from the running.
Dumb.
http://www.donorschoose.org/
Yeah, real deep Tony.
Maybe I couldn't let all of the passengers on my bus make fun of me while I wasn't there...'cause I'm certain that they don't say anything about me when I'm out of earshot. Right.
Maybe, I like the bus sooooo much that I'm willing to make a blathering (I say blathering because that's what I was doing. Arms and legs flopping about like Kermit the Frog on fire, lungs burning; drooling, sweating, panting, farting towards the nearest bus stop! I mean sure, years from now when I'm retelling this story to my grandkids, I'm sure "grampa" will be hauling ass like Michael Johnson, gold shoes flailing through the wind, breaking nary a sweat...) fool of myself in front of several tourist, foreign and domestic, in order to make the bus and cherish the remaining blocks I have left on my commute. Yes, I love the bus so much, I made a total spectacle of myself AND ran past a perfectly good train station to make my bus! Sure.
Or maybe, it's sheer stupidity.
No. It's habit.
Habit. I didn't want to break my daily routine. We humans are truly creatures of habit. I felt so uptight when my fellow passengers weren't there when I came out of the bathroom that I knew immediately what had transpired and sprinted for the front door of the deli. I saw the back of the bus and quickly ticked off my list of options:
-Run for the bus.
-Wait for the next bus.
-Walk. I had five or six hours to kill.
-F*** the bus, I'm taking the train, another train and then the bus...but I won't be sweaty.
I chose the first, ended up making an aforementioned blathering idiot of myself in front of strangers from the heartland, looked like a fool in front of my fellow passengers when they saw me running alongside the bus, stumbled on board, plopped down on the nearest vacant seat. I couldn't hear anyone over the sound of my own heart trying to jump out of my f***ing chest and I couldn't suppress the coughing fit that lasted for the remainder of my trip. And there I was, a hot, sweaty, panting, coughing mess of a human lump; I'm still sore from the running.
Dumb.
http://www.donorschoose.org/
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