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by beginningstoendings

“No, no.  Just waiting to see if the speed limit changes.  Yep, oh yeah I know the bus stop is down there, I’m waiting to see if the speed changes.  It looks like it might, very fickle these speed limits.  Yes, thank you anyway.  Really I know that…ok thanks.”

I run full tilt to the actual bus stop, tripping a bit on the sole that has started to lift on one of my shoes.  Thank God, the line isn’t a mile and a half long.  There’s about seven or eight bored looking people standing mute at the stop, scanning through games on IPhones and texting on Blackberries.

My perfect sunny Vancouver morning has been trampled by my own idiocy and my ego, which rarely gets the opportunity to build to a wholesome size over an entire week let alone in a single morning, has been crushed in the process.  It has once again been cut down to its original minuscule dimensions—a mere hanky of self worth.  It wouldn’t surprise me if an anvil were to fall out of nowhere on my head to really round off the slapstick comedy that is my ‘going to school’ ritual, so I wait for one.

I hope I at least get a seat on the bus.  I think I deserve one after the upsetting ordeal I’ve been through already today.  But seats are dirty. I wonder if they’re as dirty as the handles or if they’re slightly better.  If you grab the handles you can wash your hands after, whereas your pants will be tainted all day by transit germs if you sit down.   I think about catching STD’s from bus seats and ponder the likelihood of this happening to me.  It’s a conundrum.  Something I should look up…no…focus.

Can’t focus.  The thoughts about the dirty handles and germ-ridden seats leads me to start thinking about the British.  They like dirty things I mean just looks at their transit!

Gross.  Who cleans the London tube?  Nobody?  More importantly whose voice tells you to ‘Mind the gap’?  They’re famous!  Fame achieved by telling people to look where they’re going.  I could do that: tell people to watch their step (though I don’t listen to my own advice).  That’s brilliant!  The person who figured they could make it by doing something so simple clearly wasn’t failing out of university like I am.

There is someone in a wheelchair getting off the bus and I’m realizing that because of how long she’s taking I’m going to be late for school.  Alright, I’ll say it, this is a bloody inconvenience…though thinking so is terribly cruel of me.  I feel bad for thinking thoughts like that but sometimes they just pop into my head and I now feel guilty for walking here, especially that extra little sprint at the end and the tripping, that was just rude—it’s like I’m showing off how sturdy my own legs are.  How dare I!  How dare I cross my stubby legs when I sit, tie my shoes and feel how tight the laces are on my feet.  How dare I notice if and when I stub my toe.  How dare I trip on the peeling sole of my old shoes.  How dare I think of becoming famous by telling people to ‘Mind the gap’.  I didn’t mean to.  She’s having difficulty getting around the corner onto the exit ramp.  If the bus driver doesn’t help her off he’s an asshole but since I’m third in line to get on if I help her I’ll look self-righteous and nobody likes self-righteous people, just look at vegans and Catholics.