>>> Edited For Content
By staff writer Mike Forest
December 15, 2004
Monday morning I had a final in Spanish. I should tell you that I hate that class with a passion, (The Passion of The Beech – Not soon to be coming to a theater near you), but I have to take it because they will eventually take over North America and there isn't a damn thing to be done about it. Either that or it's a requirement for my major—something about being well-rounded. But I digress….
To get to this final, I had to take the bus because I no longer have the wreck of a car that I was borrowing. I live in the middle of nowhere, smack dab in the middle of the area that gives “MooU” its infamous moniker. This means it takes me approximately four and a half hours to get to class and I have to leave for work three days early. I always make sure to get to the bus stop a few minutes early to commence shivering. This is Michigan. We have snow. And I am a pussy.
I see the bus pass me going south. This is good because I am near the end of the line and it should only take a few minutes to go to the end and turn around.
Twenty-five minutes later: no bus.
I call the hotline and am told that my call may be recorded. Super. “The buses are all running,” I am told. “The weather is delaying them a little.”
“I call the bus stop hotline of facetiousness again. I am again told that my call may be recorded.”
“But it's been twenty-five minutes,” I said, clearing icicles from my beard.
“Please be patient, sir,” said the operator, obviously trying to readjust her feet in front of a space heater.
Bitch.
I see another bus go by heading south. I am confused. Surely one of them should have turned around and been on its way to pick me up?
Fifteen more minutes go by.
Shit. Fuck. Dammit.
I look over and see that some stupid bitch has run off the road across from me and spun her car almost 180 degrees. I watch her spin her tires. As is my nature, I chuckle derisively.
Then it dawns on me: I'm supposed to help her.
I'm not sure if I believe in fate. It was just a coincidence that I was waiting in the middle of nowhere for 45 minutes with nothing else to do but stand there. There was no special reason that a bus had managed to go by me without the driver seeing me or me seeing the bus. It was just dumb luck that I was still there…right?
I run over to her car. She turns it off. I shake my head.
“No! Turn it back on! You have front wheel drive, right?”
She looks at me dumbfounded. Luckily I had seen her wheels spin so I knew I was right (as usual).
“Put it in reverse! I'm gonna push!” I shout.
She taps the pedal and the car moves backward a bit. She panics and lets off the gas, it starts to roll back on me.
“No! Keep going!”
I forgive her for being a woman and thus less likely to know how to drive or do anything practical. The car starts to move again under my direction. I dig my boots in and throw my full 175-pound, pudgy body into it. I am not now, nor have I ever been known as, the strong one. I rely on my good looks and superior intelligence, not my muscles to get me through life; but somehow, I am able to push the car enough so that it gets back on the street and the dumb bitch can get to her AA meeting.
I run back to the bus stop. She drives off.
I could have asked for a ride. I could have even demanded it. If I hadn't been the suave superhero that I am, her ass would probably STILL be there…. Oh well.
I call the hotline of facetiousness again. I am again told that my call may be recorded. I ask where the hell the buses are and I'm again told that they're running behind. I wanted to be angry, but I knew why the bus didn't pick me up when it was supposed to. I found comfort in the fact that at least I can get angry at the fact that I can't be angry.
Five minutes later the bus comes. I get on. I am thirty-five minutes late for my final, but they let me take it anyway.
The true “happy ending” of this story would end with me acing the final and getting to bone that smoking hot chick in my class. I'll let you know if that happens, but don't hold your breath.
Te veré a la parada de autobús.
Happy holidays.