Stop Requested

My car is in the shop, so every day this week I've caught the 80 bus from my house to the Brown Line. It's only about 9 blocks, but it's a long and cold 9 blocks. Don't you judge me.

On any given morning, roughly a quarter of the people on the bus will be getting off and transferring to the train. Not one of them, however, wants to be the person who pulls the cord for that stop.

Why this is, I have no idea. But every morning, a game of chicken takes place on the bus. The blocks tick by and the Brown Line creeps closer and closer. Everyone feigns nonchalance, looking out the window or examining their fingernails. Surely someone else will pull the cord. Damen goes by. Then Wolcott. Okay, it's now or never, people. If no one yanks that cord in the next 3 seconds we're all going to be hoofing it back the three blocks from Ashland. It's a battle of nerves! Who will blink first?

I'll tell you who: ME. Every day, I'm the one who buckles. I pull the damn cord and when the bus stops fifteen people suddenly jump up and pile off after me. Then they wait to see if I'll get pancaked by a cement truck before following me across the street.

I just don't understand it. Who pulls the cord on the days when I walk? Or do they all just end up at Lake Michigan, looking blase and really really late for work?

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I'm supposed to be in a meeting now, but it was boring and no one was talking about me so I left.

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Have you seen? Those pimptards at Urban Outfitters are trying to bring back the footless-leggings-under-a-dress look. Vote "no" on that one, won't you?

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Sorry about the post below this. Sometimes I'm very lazy.

That's a really good song though.