Tea and a cuddle

On my way to work, I decided to take the silver line bus because it might be faster than walking my usual route. I was already running late after the train sat in JP station for about 20 minutes. Getting on the bus, I noticed there were only about 4 other people. I sat down to read my thoroughly engrossing book (the one displayed on the side column here). The bus automated voice announced my stop. I continued reading, waiting to feel the bus slow, or even stop, before I got up. The bus never stopped. Quickly I lurched up to the driver to ask if I had indeed heard the correct stop announced.

"Yah, that was courthouse station," he replied. I stood there, blankly, for about a minute, not knowing how to respond or what to do. The driver continued driving and finally got annoyed or his conscience kicked in by my presence because he said, not really apologetically, "I slowed down. I looked if anyone was getting up and no one was. I didn't stop." In a robotic voice, I asked him if I could get a bus back from the next stop. He told me yes and even so kindly went on to tell me how to get to the other side, as though I obviously had to be told this since I was the kind of person who misses their bus stop.

The next stop was not far ahead and as I exited the bus, I saw another coming the opposite way. I sprinted up the steps, over the walkway, and down the other side to get on that bus, in case this driver also decided not to stop. As I ran, I heard the other bus driver calling out something to me. He was standing outside his bus as I got a seat on the new one. Nice try buddy, too late to be nice, I thought to myself. One stop later, I got off the bus and took the seemingly half mile long escalator up because I felt too emotionally fragile to walk.

I wanted to cry. In the middle of this empty bus station, I wanted to cry. For missing my stop. For unapologetic people. For my resentment at unapologetic people. For not sleeping well. For all the little hurts that we store in our minds, even when we think we've forgotten them. For the time in third grade when all my classmates picked on me. For all the hurt that makes me a timid, fragile person sometimes.

If the bus driver had been super nice to me, my mood may not have been much different. Or would it? If he'd been kind, maybe my already bruised feelings would have healed. Instead, I'm passing on the bad day...a woman came into my cubicle to ask me a question and I couldn't even muster a smile. It didn't help that she caught me mid-checking my cellphone voice mail either.

Yay NaBloPoMo! We're off to a great start.


ps @ 2pm when my day still matches the weather - I went to buy breakfast from my work's restaurant. My usual work treat is a big breakfast - eggs, sausage, toast, and hash browns like the ones from McDonalds. All this for about $6. Today I wanted a healthier meal, so went for some oatmeal, an english muffin and an oj. It was $5! Does this not make sense to anyone else or just me?