That day, the bus line was not my friend. Oh, it started out well enough. I hit the 205, debated whether I wanted to try to figure out where at the college was early voting, or go to an easier spot. I set my mind on going to a public library on the 104 line. Not only could I do my civic duty, but there was the ‘Rich People’s’ Dollar Tree near it. It is next to the wealthiest gated community in town, and unlike any other Dollar Tree I’ve been to, there is no frozen food section, which makes it have more different things sometimes. (Unlike any other store with ‘Dollar’ in it, Dollar Trees don’t pop up on every corner in poorer neighborhoods, and wealthy people seem to like them as much as us poors. YouTube is filled with housewives in well appointed homes raving about their Dollar Tree finds as though it was from Pier 21. I digress. Dollar stores now are my raison d’être, and I could pontificate on them for quite awhile).
Only 2 more buses to go. 101, which goes through the worst part of town and the 104, which goes through the best. Two men, no masks to be seen, got in front of me. I decided perhaps it wouldn’t be rude to change seats. The driver of the 101 is kind of a douche anyway, and he’s ensconced in Plexiglass, so why would he care if the fellows weren’t following the mandate?
I settled behind a masked woman reading a pocket Gideon New Testament, her braids piled into an elaborate, impressive bun above her head.
When I got on the 104, the driver waited until every other bus had left the station before announcing that the bus was having trouble and we would have to wait until Maintenance arrived. A bus that usually goes to the university, swung us around. I went to the Board of Elections instead. The wait was about 15 minutes. The pen was brand new. A sign warned constituents not to dare even use any electronic device or take photos. Under penalty of law. Fascists. I sized up the people around me and felt “democrat” vibes. Here’s hoping.
When I got out, I realized I needed to walk up to a far away bus stop to get home. I made it with time to spare, but the 107 NEVER CAME!
I called the station and got the hateful shit who sometimes answers there. “The bus is supposed to be at the station now. Satellite tracking for this bus isn’t working. And this is the last bus,” he said in his best “fuck off” tone.
I contacted my friend and begged for Lyft fare (she owed me her half of our shared Sling TV subscription. She was still mad at me for being annoying or alive or something, but she acquiesced.
As now there was no particular hurry, I sauntered over to yet another Dollar Tree. All’s well that ends well.