Where Is The Bus?!

I have to say that every year, I forget how horrible the winters are here in Chicago! I long for the day when I no longer have to trudge over mountains of frozen hills full of dirty ice and snow. When I can walk on my own two feet and trust that I will not fall on my face from slipping on a thin sheet of ice. It seems that no pair of shoes can have enough traction to keep my feet on solid ground.

With that said, why does cold weather make buses run slower? My only means of transportation in this city is by bus and train. When it is impossible to get from one side of the city to the other by warm train, I am forced to wait for 30 minutes at two different bus stops to get me across town. As I wait, my hands and feet become numb and I am placed in a world of mental and bodily malfunction.

As I wait, I am forced to sing happy songs, and pretend that I am on a tropical island far away from this arctic city. I peer down the street, past the oncoming traffic hopping to see a bus approach. Nothing. As I continue to wait, anger grows inside me towards those who pass by in their warm cars. Music pounds from their closed windows and exhaust pours from the rear of their salty vehicles. I catch myself glaring into their frosted windows to see if there is any mercy. "Help me!" I want to scream. "Where are you going? Want to give me a ride?" Of course I know I cannot do this, because my safety is concerned. Does it even matter? I sometimes wonder if I'd rather die in the cold or in a warm car. I check again, nothing.

I crush ice with my boots that have now become bricks of ice themselves. Again, I look... wait, I see something. It looks like orange lights blinking up ahead. I squint my teary eyes and anticipate bus #152 going west bound. Waiting. Waiting. Nope. It was a mirage.

After 30 minutes, the bus arrives. By this point I am so frozen I have lost all energy to punch the bus driver with my icy hand. All premeditated thoughts have dissipated about what I would scream at the driver. I was going to explain to them about how slow they drive and about how they needed to surpass all other stops and just get me there! Yet, I think: IF I do all of that, if I actually say what's on my mind at this very moment, I will not get to my destination anyway.

So I step into the warm bus and take my seat among all of the other freezing citizens of Chicago.