Never Quite The Same

I went to the food court for lunch today. I was pleasantly surprised to see Chicken Dumpling Soup on the menu at Bowls & Noodles.

It was delicious – don’t get me wrong – but it was not quite the same experience I had the first time. Somehow, it wasn’t the same as when I was expecting something else and got something even better. I enjoyed it a lot today, and when I see it again, I’ll order it again.

This time, I knew not to expect to eat it with a spoon.

I caught the 43 to work this morning, as usual. Passengers boarded at Summit & Olive, the bus pulled away, and as it was merging into the left lane to continue down the hill, some guy appeared from around the corner, waving his cane, and yelling for the bus to stop. The bus driver wisely didn’t stop. The guy with the cane yelled “Fuck you!” as the bus continued down the hill.

I know, from having missed this particular 43 in the past, that there’s another one 10 minutes later.

I don’t think that cursing at a bus driver is a good way to get them to stop for you.

A co-worker once asked me why bus drivers don’t stop for people running for the bus after it has left the stop. I replied, “Imagine you’re in the driver’s seat. You’re pulling away from the curb into traffic. Which way are you going to be looking: To your left, at the traffic, to see if you’re going to hit anything, or to your right, at the sidewalk?” I added that if a bus driver stops in the middle of the street for a passenger, and that passenger gets hit by a car pulling around the stopped bus, or if the bus gets rear-ended after the sudden stop, it’s going to be the bus driver’s fault in the eyes of Metro.

At my office building, there are six elevators serving thirteen floors. I stepped into an empty elevator in the lobby this morning. As the doors were closing, someone stuck their arm in to stop the doors. Then they held the doors open for someone else. A buzzer sounded, and an automated voice said to clear the doors. As the doors were closing the second time, two of my coworkers appeared – running for the elevator. That first person thrust their arm out again, to stop the doors, but they weren’t fast enough. The doors closed.

I stepped out at my floor. Before the doors completely closed behind me, those two coworkers stepped out of the elevator next to mine.

On my way home today, I stepped out of a 70 bus at Third and Pike. There was a 43 at Fourth and Pike, with at least a dozen passengers lined up to board. A few people ran past me, waving their arms at the 43. I didn’t even quicken my pace. I knew there was no way those dozen plus passengers were going to get into the bus and pay their fares before I could walk a block. And, I was right.

The art of commuting is knowing when to run and when not to.

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