On the way home on Tuesday, the bus kept stalling. Right there on Michigan Avenue. I know, I know - you faithful blog readers think this stalling busines is old news by now since I've already experienced it many times.
However, this time was unique in the "audience response."
And, yes, we are an audience. I have begun to think and react differently to the trials commuting, knowing that I can use it as blog material (can't you see me on there just scripting in my head?) Totally different mindset now.
Anyway, so the accordian-style bus keeps slowing to the bus stop, shuddering, and then everything goes quiet. The air goes off, the hush falls over the crowd. With anticipation (and prayers) we mentally cheer for the huge-bus-that-could as the driver patiently restarts it.
It goes! Yay. Only to dissapoint us at the next block. And the next one. And the next one. You see the pattern. Still, this dogged driver never gave up (better man than most).
The second to last block before the end of Michigan Avenue comes, and the bus stop approaches. We ease up, and the shuddering begins. It was almost like our poor bus was just sobbing, and couldn't help it. Just the mere weight of all of the Chicagoans and tourists was too much for it to bear. (Ok, that may be taking it a little too far. More likely the tax dollars just aren't there to properly maintain the beasts, but bear with me while I romanticize it a touch.)
Shuddering to a stop, it got quiet. Everyone (cynics, elderly, clueless, totally annoyed) just looked around. Making eye contact was almost more than we could handle. Then, out of the radio silence comes a stale, recored, distant male voice: "Thank you for riding the CTA. If you ever have comments or complaints about our service, please call XXX or email us at XXX@transitchicago.com."
The irony overtook us. Timing is a bitch, huh? The entire bus cracked up. Even the cynics. Possibly even the clueless. Some guy shouted, "Did anyone catch that number?" More laughs. Everyone's a comedian.
Not being able to see our bus driver's face at this moment, I'm left to the devices of my own imagination.
I can practically hear him talking to God. "God, please just let me get past Delaware. I just want to pass the Drake Hotel and accelerate onto the Lake Shore Drive underpass and then I'm golden. Come on God, help me out here, buddy!"
So we do. (Guess he and God are close.) As we make our way north, and the traffic builds, I know he must have been chanting that prayer over and over.
Maybe we should get that prayer on a recording, to kick in when it is most needed, and in the silence of the stalled bus?
Just a thought. I could suggest it.
Did anyone catch that email address?
Posts
