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December
19, 2005. Coming off of a very filling Christmas family gathering, and then having a hilariously exhausting phone conversation with Woody which left me laughing my ass off (as usual), I was more than prepared last night to drop into a slumber so deep that the snooze function on my cell phone was but a mere button to push, just part of the Game of Life. Let the world deep-freeze. I have two cats and several layers of blankets. I have five pillows. Let the temperature drop into the low teens as I burrow ever deeper into cotton sheets. Let the temperature drop further still into single digits as I curl the blanket around the tips of my toes. I was late out the door today, natch. No car to hop in for those kinds of days, any more. No, sir. I knew I was still in a decent window of time that I might be, oh, three minutes late for work, but not so late that anyone would truly notice, and have cause for alarm. 99% of the time, I get to work at least a half hour early, so I tried not to worry. I walked out, had to twist the key a bit more firmly in the lock because of the cold, and I stomped down the walk to the street I normally turn on to get to the bus stop. There was a bus. Right there. Passing me by. My street is between two stops, see: I can either get on a bit earlier by walking a half block and crossing a street, or I can wait a one stop later, by crossing a street and then walking a half block. Pretty freaking convenient (Chad, the stop we nearly froze at is the former, heh). And yet, there was the bus, at the halfway point, right in front of me. I had stepped once into the street, and like a girl watching her soldier go off to war, I stood still and stoic and let my eyes follow the bus. I tried not to look pathetic, and I tried not to whine with my body language as I realized the bus driver had totally seen me. Had seen me and my transit hunger. And then, something miraculous happened. The bus slowed, and stayed in its prime spot in the lane. Hardly believing this, I skipped behind the bus and ran along the door side, and saw it hove open with a tired, wintery sigh. I jogged to it, and hopped up on the steps, breathlessly exclaiming, "You! Are! the best! bus driver in! the! world!!!" I swiped my card in front of the sensor, and it beeped satisfactorily. He mumbled something like, "I uh, dunno about thaaaat ..." I giggled, and hoped the other passengers weren't grumpy about the unofficial stop. I said, humbly, "and me, with the sad expression on my face ..." He looked at me wisely. "You had the CTA look on your face." go
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