As the Polygon Turns: Bus a Move (Episode 8)

17 Sep-
So the 0623 bus came early - at 0619. I was 3 houses away and I heard it and thought, "gee, that sounds like a bus; it's probably just a school bus, though. I'm not going to be faked out like usual and start hustling like a dufus." Then I watched it go by. "You've got to be fuckin' shitin' me!" I said aloud. Every bloody day I have waited out there 9 minutes before the bus is due and nothing, nothing. I just wait and wait and every time it has been 1 to 25 minutes late. But this morning, this morning, it takes me an extra couple of minutes to pack my bag since I was transferring things to a heartier backpack, and whammo! The tardy bus comes early. Humph. Another reason why I didn't come out here as early as usual is because I left my jacket at work and there is a bit of a chill in the air. Oh well, I thought, "I won't be out there but a few minutes..." 15 minutes LATER... I am still waiting, now with a moist nose (healthy pup). One of my neighbors showed up and I somehow deemed it my duty to rat on the 0623 bus. He said that he always shoots for the 0635 K bus since it is a horse race with the 0638 H bus. At this point two giant jockeys (dressed in kelly green and royal blue argyle pattern satin outfits) riding atop a metrobus apiece went racing past my mind... the buses were running just as fast as they could on clean natural gas, their brakes puffing and whinneying as they made their respective stops and lurched forward again, all the while the jockeys whipping them with crops and digging in their heels.

I smiled and sniff-chuckled to myself. Maybe I should shoot for the 0635K/0638H combo too. Moments later, the K bus showed up with the H rolling closely behind... As I heard announcers hawking a horsie play-by-play, I shook my head. I was truly cracking myself up. Ah well...

Later on, while we were trotting along, I realized something else about this horsie-bus: when the driver steps on the brakes ever so slightly, the bus makes a noise that from inside sounds like Roscoe Pico Train (excuse the spelling, I am no authority) from The Dukes of Hazard. "Coo-coo-cooh!" Where's Flash?

18 Sep-
No issues with the bus today. The afternoon one was a little late in arriving to take me home, but oh well. It must have been a tough day at the races. The General and the Colonel missed their meeting yesterday on account of a DoD shuttle bus. That was an interesting flail. Whatever the event, when a Flag Officer is involved and something goes awry, the fur starts flying. That too cracks me up; although I am truly sorry she missed her meeting - particularly given all of the time we (#1, Face and I) had spent prepping for it. This afternoon Mojo shared a story with me about how one time he called the transit authority as he was waiting for a bus that hadn't shown up. And although Mojo was enumerating the schedule to the person on the other end of the life, the motherfucker still denied it, saying the posted schedule must be wrong. As the conversation got more heated, and the man continued to deny such credible evidence like "I am reading the schedule posted here at the stop" --it must be out of date -- and "this is a brand new bus stop placard" -- well, it can't be right -- "I am reading it right in front of me. It says right here this bus was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago" -- well, I think you are lying; you weren't there when you said you were -- "Huh? Do you think I have that kind of time?" Shoot. Even if you did, THAT's what you'd do with it. Honestly! The DoD drivers... Who do they "work" for, anyway?

19 Sep-
This morning at 0613 as I was getting dressed, I heard a bus lumber by. "I had better get a move on. At least it sounds like it is on time this morning. That damn 6:23 bus..." I grumbled, recalling my follies earlier in the week.

"You know it's a 6:20 bus, right? Not 6:23," Russ said.

"Seriously?"

There is a life lesson somewhere in here; I am sure of it.

Later this morning, I took the infamously elusive DoD shuttle bus to the Main State Department office with no incident. It wasn't schoolbusish like the one that goes to the Anacostia ghetto. Rather it was the size of what we used to call tart carts when I was a kid. You know: the "short bus." Hmmmm, so what does that say about it; what does that say about me? The driver was Indian/Pakistani and digging his country music. Can you tell I have been spending my time reading and studying about how themes, messages, and images can map and govern not only how people think, but how they are portrayed?

Earlier this week I became conscious of this game that I play with myself. It's called "Would I wear that?". While many women, and men for that matter, might think that it is dull and creativity-squashing to wear a uniform everyday, I am actually glad. People, particularly women, are so often instantly judged by the image their clothes conveyed. The uniform levels the playing field, I think. Perhaps that is the idea; but seriously, it makes me feel like I will be assessed by my words and actions and not necessarily by a conclusion drawn from my garb. Heck, I am not saying I want to go out and wear a berka by any means... but I am attempting to do a professional job, to be judged equally, so it helps to look the same.

Holy crap, why did I go there? Oh yeah, I was talking about the game of "Would I wear that?". So, when I see a non-uniformed woman walking around, I ponder her outfit and think "Would I wear that?". It really does amuse me as I try to picture myself in a moo-moo or frumpy pants suit or a brightly patterned somethingorother. But in light of that last conversation, my game has kind of lost its luster. Ah well, the bus is almost at my stop. It is time to get a move on. Coo-coo-cooh!