Bus luck

Thursday: Our bus bottomed out after I got on. Seriously. As soon as we boarded at my stop and the bus pulled away, it made this horrible scraping sound on the pavement. So we had to get off and wait for a new bus. And I had to lay off the doughnuts for a whole day.

Friday: I got stuck waiting with Impatient Bus Lady, who insisted on doing her bus waiting in the middle of the street.

Monday: The bus didn’t come for 35 minutes. It was hot. There is no cool, shady, spa-like shelter featuring oily bodybuilders wafting bergamot-scented palm fronds at my stop for some reason. So I was a sweaty, sticky mess by the time I finally rolled into work. Just in time for lunch.

Today: Our brakes locked up three stops after I got on. The driver couldn’t make the bus move, though her jerky attempts to get going made us all a bit queasy. So we had to get off, find our sea legs and wait for another bus.

Tomorrow: At the rate I’m going, I’ll probably end up sitting next to a sweaty Rush Limbaugh. And you know that bitch is gonna be a seat hog. And as a drug-addled divorce junkie, he’s probably gonna be all hands.