Thrusting lightrail ticket into mechanical jaws seconds tick by. Finally gears engage, ink-stained paper emerges and I make a run for it. I've seen those 'peace officers" checking tickets. Embarrassed trespassers surrounded, rounded up, escorted unsmilingly off the train.
Toes clenched I leap down stairs two at a time, praying my sandals and I are going in the same direction. Eyes fixed firmly on gaping carriage doors my heart sinks as metal meets, and I breathe a wet mist onto the glass.
Index finger drills green target and the driver looks away as the train departs. I utter an obscenity knowing this will cost another ten to fifteen minutes already pushed for time.
Arriving downtown I ponder, “Sunday, do I risk waiting for the bus or walk really fast claw-toed uphill, burdened by excess shoulder baggage. I wait and say a quick prayer. Twenty minutes later inwardly berating myself I breathe a sigh of relief as the bus appears.
Four blocks from my destination, the bus makes a foreign right turn. “What???” “Road’s blocked, Lilac Parade” he says. “Where are you going?” “Not sure.” “Let me off, I Plead!” Three blocks later he sails past and waves.
Clinic phone engaged, sweating and ten minutes late I arrive with apology prepared and a crooked smile pasted on my face. Office manager looks up and says, “Relax, no rush, your client cancelled, couldn’t find a parking place.”
Terry Petersen
May 29th, 2011 ¸
Thursday, September 15, 2011
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