Accidents Happen

My bus almost hit a car this morning.

Literally sent the entire busload of people (again, the strangely long accordian style bus) of people crashing to the ground. No one was hurt, but bags, backpacks and people were flying. Poles were hardly helpful as "oh shit handles" as the sheer force of the crowds caused a dominoe effect.

I was seated, and had the terrible urge to laugh out loud.

I held it in.

I'm actually quite proud of myself for that.

Soggy Strangers

Why is it that when people are crammed together in a public place, for example the CTA bus, and they experience some sort of oddity or crisis, they all feel the need to theorize and share their opinions with everyone within earshot?

Yesterday, Chicago had a freak flash flood from 3-3:45. Apparently we got 4 inches of rain in that period. Which is huge. So, Lake Shore Drive, and the underpass from Michigan specifically, was a complete disaster. I suppose it was flooding.

The trip down Michigan took about an hour to go 6 blocks. If I had known, I would have gotten off and walked home.

Anyway, back to the part about strangers. This guy seated next to me (while I was precariously perched in the accordian part of the super-sized buses) had a full view of the window, and therefore, felt the need to report every little activity outside the window. While this sort of information sharing is often encouraged, I would have preferred that the news come from a reliable source, you know, like the BUS DRIVER. They're the ones in charge, buddy.

So he goes on reporting that we're likely behind a huge accident. That he thinks he sees the wreckage. On and on. Come to find out, there is no explanation, but the police do have the underpass blocked. We teeter and totter over to Inner Lake Shore only to sit dead still for even longer. People don't know how to merge in this town. Or anywhere, I'm guessing.

Finally we get moving, and he must have had a hard time NOT sharing this "we're all stuck on this bus going nowhere" feeling with everyone around him, so he starts randomly spouting out his theories. They ranged from the car accident variety ("someone's probably dead under the bridge") to the conspiracy sort ("cops just want to cause problems") to the eventual logical type ("maybe it had something to do with the rain"). He's a rocket scientist, clearly.

Everyone is ignoring him. Including me, with whom for some reason he just wanted to make eye contact and keep talking. I refuse to engage. I give him the tight-lipped smile/nod move that I reserve for strangers with whom I'd like no further contact. He plods on.

I am wearing headphones and reading a 700-page book, mind you.

Not stopping this guy. He's like a flood. And the gates were open.

We do eventually make it up to Outer Lake Shore when it hits him. He literally shouts, "I know! I bet (contradictory, much?) that the underpass was flooded and blocked?!" to no one in particular. We all smile/nod. Ignoring him.

I made it home after 1.5 hours of this. And, I live 3 miles away. What a night.

And, the news reported that the genius on the bus was in fact right. So he likely got to say all day today, "I knew it."

Yes you did, sir. And, thanks to you, we all did, too.

Shouting Match

So, today was nothing short of interesting as I commuted to work. I boarded the 146 southbound at 8:30 am, thinking I had plenty of time for a leisurely ride down Lake Shore and Michigan Ave. Little did I know what I would encounter.

The bus was markedly empty; given the warm weather, I attributed it to the dawn of Summer Fridays in the city. What I didn't notice was a little ball of fire to my right, seated near the window ready to roar.

Just south of Cornelia, only 2 short blocks from my home, the bus took a long time waiting patiently behind a bus that appeared not to be leaving the stop anytime soon. The aforementioned lady passenger (in her 70s if she was a day) began to shout, "GO! GO! Can't you go around this bus!? We've been sitting here a long time!"

The handful of passengers were seemingly unfazed, distracted by their iPods, books and newspapers. I found it hard to focus on my girly novel with such a ruckus.

A few more blocks after we passed the Cornelia stop, picking up passengers at each terminal, we approached the Belmont stop which is known to have the most boarding people, and the longest wait times. Admittedly, we paused through at least 3 cycles of the red light while we boarded Friday morning commuters.

After approximately 4 minutes of this causual, open-door boarding, our lady started to shout again, saying, "Come on! We can't sit here all day! Let's go!"

At this point, the crowd onboard was wearily observing her outrage. A man, also in his 70s I'd guess, concurred with the outspoken granny by shouting, "She's right, Driver, you're terrible!"

It was at this time that the driver (who had been quite thus far) turned around in his seat and shouted back, defending himeself, his abilities, and his driving choices. He blurted, "I waited for you to hobble up to the bus for a good 2 minutes - don't you think I owe it to these passengers to do the same?"

That was just far too rational for her to handle. She growled, grumbled and erupted in a poorly articulated screaming match that consisted of screaming "I don't care! We've missed the green light already 5 or 6 times!"

The poor passengers that were just coming onboard could hardly believe the mess to which they were quickly becoming a part - one woman with a slight limp saying, "I"m sorry - I just had knee surgery and was moving as fast as I could!"

It was just atrocious. I mean, we're all in a hurry, but the morning is not the time to vent your overall frustrations with life. I just wanted to swing my trashy novel at the loud-mouthed granny, asking her what it was that she was so late for. I mean, really. TGIF, lady.

Stalled out on LSD

Today, I was on the 135 cruising down Lake Shore Drive, and the double-length bus I was on kept stalling out. Without a word to the passengers from the bus driver, the bus would just shudder, slow down and then ultimately come to a stop. The electronic signs would fade out, and the air conditioning halted...and we all looked around wondering what was happening.

Naturally, I had no seat and was standing at the back of the bus, hanging over more comfortable passengers while I tried to balance a book bag and a paperback without landing in granny's lap.

The bus driver got the bus working (still no kind updates from her) and we chug on. Only to stall out not 300 yards later.

Again, the passengers wonder (now, aloud to each other) what was up.

The air went off, we began to sweat and the bus started to smell like a riot about to be caused.

Finally, she gets the old boy going again and we continue our less-than-3-mile journey to Wacker Drive.

And, yes, the stalling happens a third time (why are we surprised? Don't all things happen in threes?) and this time the bus driver (bless her heart) gives up. No words to us, but the doors open and people just start climbing off.

Onto the side of the road. On Lake Shore Drive.

Cars honking, people glaring, and traffic whizzing by, we stand in the small triangle grass median and wait for a rescue bus. Which, incidentally, wasn't far behind. Opens the doors, lets us on, and off we go.

Until we reach the Wacker and Columbus stop, where the rescue bus' doors don't close. Yep, even the rescue bus was broken.

Finally (after what seemed like 10 minutes), and with frustrated commuting abandonees leaving in droves through the wide-open back doors, we take off.

I made it to work in one piece, with a sense of humor about it all, but it was worthy of noting.