Walking to the Bus Stop

[My Work]

Rain pelts me from gray skies Monday afternoon, like rice thrown by vindictive wedding guests, as I walk the block and a half to the bus stop. After striking me, the rain runs down my green hooded rain pullover, occasionally coming into contact with my khaki pants, then flows over the front half of my black leather shoes before merging with the collecting water on the sidewalk.

As if concerned that the driving rain isn’t sufficiently earnest in its wishes for my prosperity, passing cars plow through the curb high water pooling from the edge of the road out toward the center of Prospect, propelling waves of dirty water before them. Even walking along the far right side of the sidewalk fails to enable me to escape the tire-generated bow waves. I am drenched from head to foot four times before reaching the bus stop. Dirty water makes its way into my mouth on one occasion. Oh, joy…

At Whitcomb, unable to avoid stepping into the overflowing gutter, first one then the other shoe-clad foot is reluctantly baptized. From this point on, I can feel the water inside of my shoes sloshing about with every step. The baptism is repeated on the other side of Whitcomb. Does this mean my feet are born again? Here, beyond the influence of Colorado State University, the sidewalk decreases to half of its former width. While this would seem to increase my peril, most cars have slowed at this point. Their decrease in speed was not for care of pedestrians, but rather to avoid running into each other.

I arrive at the bus stop. Checking my watch, I note that I’m a few minutes early. I consider then reject availing myself of the covered bus bench. I don’t think I can get much wetter. The front of the #2 bus peeks out from Whitcomb. After waiting for the light to change, the bus turns onto Prospect and slowly approaches the stop, opening its rear door. I’m not doused with water! I take a quick look through the open rear door to see if there are any exiting passengers, before boarding. Moving toward the front of the bus, I take a seat. I realize that I neglected to put on my mask before boarding. Neither driver nor passengers mention my Covid faux pas. I reach into the pocket of my hooded rain pullover, expecting to find a dry cloth mask. To my dismay, water has found its way into my pocket. I pull out a soaking wet mask. As this is my only mask, I give it a quick squeeze, water falling to the floor of the bus. Frowning, I don the cold, wet mask.

Filled with dark thoughts toward motorists and otherwise feeling sorry for myself, I am only peripherally aware of my surroundings and other passengers. I ride the #2 along Prospect, passing Shields, passing Taft Hill, passing Bauder Elementary before pulling the cord to request a stop. Debarking at Prospect and Larch, I make for home.

While the preceding scene amusingly illustrates my experience of riding the bus home that rainy Monday, imagine for a moment that, rather than lacking in good sense, I lacked the wherewithal to afford the price of an Uber ride, let alone a car.