Case of the Mondays

Something happened on Monday that had never happened before: I missed the bus. OK, it happened once since we moved to our new home, but this was more dramatic. When I opened the front door at 7:39 on Monday morning, I saw the bus at the bus stop. This was unusual since the bus isn’t supposed to arrive until 7:40 and usually doesn’t get there until closer to 7:45. I frantically raced towards the bus, but I was too late as the bus started pulling away. I was too far away for the driver or anyone on the bus to see me, but for 5 seconds, I thought that perhaps I could keep up with the bus until the next stop less than a 1/2 mile away. Unfortunately, I am not Usain Bolt. Plus, I was wearing shoes that would not allow me to run a 4.2, 40.

I had to think quickly. I couldn’t wait 30 minutes until the next bus arrived, but could I catch up to the bus? I raced back inside the house, where Ziggy was surprised and pleased to see me home so soon. I should also mention that Ziggy was partially to blame for me missing the bus in the first place. He decided to be cute before I left home and rolled on his back so that I could rub his stomach. Anyway, I brushed off Ziggy, went to the garage and got into my car. I caught up to the bus three stops later, but by the time I would have parked, the bus would have been off again.

I passed the bus and drove two stops ahead where I may or may not have run a red light. I parked in a shopping center and made it to the stop about 20 seconds before the bus arrived. When I got on the bus, I realized what went wrong. There was a new bus driver. How dare a new bus driver get to the stop on time or even a minute early? I walked to my seat, said hello to a fellow passenger who was shocked to see me at the new stop, and made it to work on time. Unfortunately, I left my cell phone at home.

Yesterday, the regular driver was back and the bus arrived at 7:44. I told the bus driver that I missed him on Monday, and he replied that it was nice to be missed. He has no idea.