As a passenger on the D6 with my roommate this morning, I watched what could have been a perfect documentary of my own life. Lines of people dressed in dark colors marched obediently yet chaotically in front of the bus, stomping through puddles in their sensible shoes. They held an umbrella in one hand, and a styrofoam coffee cup in the other. Like drones, they sullenly walked to their respective places of employment. This crossed socio-economic lines... hardhats replaced ties, or workboots replaced pumps in some instances, but the gloomy representation of our patterned, predictable existence looked me in eye as if to mock my voluntary compliance. Women carried smaller, less effective umbrellas evident by the water spattered across them. Men carried larger umbrellas that reinforced the ridiculous gender roles into which I too often fall, my floral, pocket-sized umbrella a rude reminder.
My roommate and I sat in horror as the bus just barely missed running down a pedestrian. No matter how many times that almost happens, it's never any less terrifying. Rainy days are the worst on the bus. People stand with their umbrellas dripping on the floor, on your shoulders, and in your purse. They all smell a little worse because the water brings up whatever aromas were marinating in thier jackets or hair before and they waft across the bus. No one talks, so I have no good stories. In fact, the audio highlight of this morning was a lonely guy singing off key to his ipod and swaying a bit strangely to what was, presumably, a rhythm of sorts. A sorry story for DC bus goers accustomed to a higher caliber entertainment on their morning commute.
Leaving the bus, I laughed a bit as I opened my pretty little useless umbrella in attempt to keep, at the very least, my hair dry on the way into Caribou coffee. My morning commute is reliably hilarious, but it is less frequent that I identify myself as the object of said humor. Crossing my fingers for a dry commute back and entertaining rap lyrics or something.
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