About a bus

Today as I stood waiting for the bus, I had an idea for a blog. You see, the bus and I have a magical off-and-on relationship. Today it was off. So, so off.

Until I moved to Philadelphia, the idea of riding a public transportation bus worried me greatly. I was okay with the underground, but the bus just seemed so poor. I know, this is not an okay thing to think. I know.

I have no car in Philadelphia. Taxis aren't ridiculously expensive, but they add up. Oh, and I live in the ghetto. I mean, it only takes thirty minutes to get to Center City (and thus to work), but it's so much easier just to hop on the bus. Walk up to Grey's Ferry, hitch a bus, and see what happens.

I will say that I have come to love my fellow bus passengers. This morning, two ladies spied the bus and shouted at somebody walking up that they needed to hurry so they would make it. Us bus cronies, we look out for one another. I mean, yeah, sometimes there's a creepy man with his nose gushing boogers into his beard that decides to stare at me. That's no good. But most of the time, the people are pleasant.

When I had an idea for a blog today at the bus stop, this is what I was thinking of writing about. The bond we all share when we ride the bus. But then the bus didn't come. I was cut loose from work at 2 p.m. and waited at the bus stop until 3:05. I waited and waited and waited. My fellow 12-ers stood around looking down the street anxiously as the 21 passed for the seventh time. We hoped and we talked and we laughed ironically about how much we hated Septa in the snow.

But a whole hour passed.

My toes were frozen. Frozen. Waiting for the bus for an hour is fine, unless it's 29 degrees outside. I could have walked home and back in the time that I was waiting for the bus. But I refused to budge. It was a matter of will-power. I knew that the Septa gods would throw a bus at my stop as soon as I had decided to walk home and I wasn't going to risk it. I knew a cab would be expensive. I knew I needed to wait.

I didn't wait.

After an hour at the bus stop, I hailed a cab. I bade my newfound friends goodbye and good luck and hopped into that little yellow car. The only thing I really regretted was leaving my comrades behind. They soldiered on. They waited longer. I gave in to the cold and paid 5 times as much money to get home as I would have on the 12. And dammit, I'm not happy about it.

So here is the real purpose of my blog. It's a big effffff yoooooou to Septa. I checked your website, the bus was supposed to come THREE TIMES in the hour that I was waiting. And your website reported delays for the 35 only, not for my route on the 12. And the lady with me, my faithful companion, she even tried calling you but it was not successful. When we plaintively asked the other bus drivers for the other routes if they knew anything about the 12, they just closed their bus doors and drove off. You hurt my heart. It was injured bad.

But I will keep using you, like any unhappy but convenient relationship. And there's a chance that you'll keep taking advantage of me, like any big fat jerk. Shape up, Septa. Please?