Transit violation

By Jim

The TriMet schedule is part of my DNA. I twitch when the 44 is late. Standing at my stop, I look up the street four blocks, hoping my myopic eyes will conjure up a fuzzy image of my ride leaving PCC. Take me, bus baby! I'm wearing my come-pick-me-up pumps!

No dice today. I'm standing out there, jilted, wondering what went wrong. It's supposed to be there at 2:10. But 2:15 comes. Then 2:20. I'M GONNA BE LATE FOR WORK, TRIMET, WHERE IN THE HOLY HAMMERED HELL ARE YOU?

People just want their bus to be there. They don't care if it's a nice bus, a clean bus, an air-conditioned bus, a bus that talks to you and tells you what stop you're rolling into. JUST BE THERE! WE'RE POOR AND WE HAVE JOBS TO GET TO! TILL WE GET LAID OFF, AND THEN WE'RE REALLY GONNA BE POOR!

It's like computers. We don't care if the box has some sparkly little piece of software that does something we'll never use. Some wonky wireless widget. We just want it to work. EVERY FREAKING TIME WE TURN IT ON! Are you listening, Microsoft? Are you listening, Apple? I didn't think so.

So 2:25 comes. Sometimes it's hard to know when to leave. But I know this one is over. I feel violated, but I move on. I run over to Barbur Boulevard, on the rebound, to try to catch a "frequent service" 12. I wait 15 more minutes. It finally arrives.

When we pull into the Fourth and Jefferson stop downtown, I'm already 35 minutes late for work. I get off in a hurry. Another bus pulls up behind the 12. It's the 44. Too late. We're through. Goodbye. Don't bother me anymore.