A slow and cold version of hell
In popular culture, hell is hot. Permit me to present an alternative take on things.
Public transit relies on two important parties; on the one side, the rider. On the other side, the bus. Do whatever it takes, but get the bus to the rider, at the appointed time, and take her where she wants to go. Otherwise, it’s all for naught. On Thursday, my bus didn’t come by. I waited thirty-five in -35, and then I took an alternate route. I called client service, and they were polite. Nothing more. Pass by Friday. Pass by a weekend. Start another week, and the same bus did not come by. Similar MO.
I waited for thirty, at -30, and then took an alternate route. I understand the basics of the game. However, when a bus doesn’t go by, the riders tend to pile up, like tumbleweed. The next bus was full, and three stops later, the driver had to refuse entry to a baker’s dozen. Sorry, just wait another thirty at -30. My time on the road was a full two hours and ten minutes, for something that a car can do in eighteen. Just because I’m very cold doesn’t mean that I will forget, or forgive. Hell, for some, had better be very hot!
Our car didn’t get home, directly. Sudden illness, and a substitute driver. I returned, later, to pick up the grey beast, which meant that I had my first ride with son #1. He’s learning the truth about winter driving. No room for speed, other than reflexes.
