Adventures In Busing.

It was dark when I left for work and still dark when I got to work. There were bits of ice on the car and light snow was falling. It was nice to get a white Twelfth Night. The rain doesn’t really raineth every day, despite what Shakespeare said, but I did like seeing the weekend rain transition to snow. The down side was, of course, going back to work in it. I’d taken just enough time off over the holidays to get used to sleeping until after sunrise, feeding dogs, going back to sleep, and having a leisurely breakfast later. Now I have to relearn my regular work routine of getting up before sunrise, feeding dogs, getting showered, and getting out the door and on the road hopefully ahead of the worst of the traffic.

On my way in a funny memory popped into my head from one summer at Camp Ozone. Maybe my brain was trying to keep me warm by conjuring thoughts of summer but also I remembered a specific summer, I think when I was thirteen, when one of the camp counselors was an exchange student from Spain. Her name was Gabriela but she was from Montserrat and for some reason that led to all of the kids calling her “Mons”. Mons was really funny and a fun counselor, and she taught us all some Spanish which I really enjoyed. She also sang some Spanish songs and taught, or tried to teach, them to us. One was a sad-sounding song sung by children who have to take a three-day holiday from school and they’re sad because they won’t see their teachers, they won’t have to do their lessons, they won’t have any homework, and the textbooks are sent to a pawn shop.

The slow, sad nature of the tune played nicely against the very funny premise, but after a few tries Mons realized it just wasn’t a great camp song. She switched instead to teaching us a Spanish version of the Chicken Dance song. Because that was the first time I’d heard it I thought for a really long time it had originated in Spain so I was always surprised when it popped up in the playlist at Czech family weddings. The original composer was actually Swiss but it belongs to the world now.

I haven’t been able to find the song about schoolchildren being sad about a three day holiday but the idea still made me smile as I was driving to work. By the time I’d parked the sky had gotten lighter. Street lights were still on but I realized we’re past the solstice now and the days are already getting longer. There will be a time when, even though I’m going to work, I’ll get up after sunrise. After all the sun it shineth every day.

They signed my order with a thank-you note which was a bonus.

I was picking up a takeout order at a restaurant. It was a chain place where they take your number and send you a text to let you know your order is being prepared. Then when you arrive you reply to the text with the number of your parking spot and someone brings your food to your car. That’s how it’s supposed to happen, anyway. It was a cold night and it had been raining and I wasn’t going to make some server carry a bag out to the parking lot just for me. I’d already been out in the cold and rain. So I went in and stood in the waiting area next to the kitchen where takeout orders are finalized and payments are entered.

I’d been there less than a minute when a guy in regular clothes whose gold nametag showed him to be a manager came in from the kitchen and asked, “Have you been helped yet, sir?” He was followed by a guy in a server’s uniform and a young woman in a server’s uniform carrying a bag that turned out to be my order. I stood there while the manager entered an order for the server guy. I quickly realized the server guy was checking out and getting his free shift meal, and I couldn’t help smiling because he was getting a prime rib sandwich. The restaurant where I worked many years ago had several restrictions on what you could get for your shift meal; I was glad the staff at this place could have the more expensive menu items. With steamed broccoli.

The server guy looked over at me and smiled too. “It’s like we’re all in here having this elevator moment, aren’t we?” he said.

I hadn’t thought of that but the waiting area was only slightly larger than an elevator so I said, “Yeah. And y’all all got in at the first floor because you work in the same office and I’m some schmuck who got in at the fifth floor because I’m only working a half day and I’m with a different company.”

They all laughed at that and the young woman holding my order said “I love how you just made a whole story out of that.”

The server guy’s order was finished and he and the manager went back to the kitchen, and the young woman with my order was busy entering my payment so I really didn’t get a chance to tell them that making up stories is something I do, though I surprised even myself there. Still it was a collaborative effort, only made possible because someone opened the door for me.

An insurance website has released a list of the most dangerous Christmas songs to drive to, and while I won’t copy the entire list I will say there are some surprises. The biggest surprise to me is that Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer wasn’t included, or at least didn’t crack the top ten. Maybe the idea of the elderly being hit by a careless sleigh driver makes drivers more careful, though.

I was less surprised that the under-appreciated melody Good King Wenceslas didn’t make the list either. Its toe-tapping beat might cause drivers to go up and down on the accelerator, but it’s not really a popular Christmas song anymore. I’d like to see it make a comeback since it tells the story of a king who goes out in heavy snow to spread some of his wealth around to those who need it. Maybe the legend is too obscure, and the song probably isn’t helped by being set on December 26^th, though I think there’s a solid message there that charity shouldn’t be limited to just the holidays. It’s also part of the funniest moment in Dylan Thomas’s A Child’s Christmas In Wales when a group of boys go caroling at what they think might be a haunted house and are suddenly terrified when a mysterious voice joins them singing Good King Wencelas looked out/On the Feast of Stephen…

I heard about this list while driving in to work because a couple of morning DJs were discussing it and offering up their own suggestions, including Jingle Bell Rock and I’ll Be Home For Christmas—the thought of getting home probably causes more than a few drivers to speed up. The list is actually based on an earlier study that found that any song, not just Christmas songs, with more than 120 beats per minute can have both psychological and cardiovascular effects that might lead to dangerous driving. And one of the DJs even said, “Yeah, any song with a rapid beat is probably gonna make you a little more reckless on the road.”

Then they played We Didn’t Start The Fire and I had to turn off the radio.

Source: SkyView app

Mars was rising. It’s famous for being the red planet, harbinger of war, home of countless science fiction monsters and villains as well as a few hapless and sometimes stranded Earthlings, but its color varies from red to pale yellow. The object I saw in the eastern sky was red and so bright I thought at first it must be some plane’s navigation light, but it wasn’t moving, and there were no other lights around it. I had to pull up one of my astronomy apps to confirm that, yes, it was Mars, which right now happens to be just under 78.7 million miles away from us. That’s slightly over half its average distance of 140 million miles. So Mars isn’t as close as it could get—our two planets will come within roughly 34 million miles of each other, but that won’t happen for over two hundred years.

I first spotted it through the trees. The red line in the picture is the horizon and, as you can see, it’s in the constellation Cancer. There was a satellite underneath it, drifting. We used to have a thick wall of trees behind our house but then the houses on the street that runs parallel to ours were sold. The houses were knocked down and most of the trees were cleared to make space for bigger, taller houses. It’s the way things are going. All around us older houses are being sold, knocked down, new ones are going up. An hour or so later I went back outside and Mars, still red, still bright, had risen above the trees.

Because Thanksgiving is this Thursday it’s a short week for me. The office is quiet, most people having already left regardless of whether they’re staying close to home or not. The holiday will be, I know, a flurry of activity, but at least for now everything’s quiet. There are a few work-related matters to wrap up but most of the real work will be at home, making asparagus casserole and cinnamon peaches—that’s two different dishes, though I’m sure there’s some nouvelle cuisine somewhere that’s combined asparagus, peaches, and probably even cinnamon.

Mars, the blood-red planet, was so peaceful and still in the night sky when I went out to look at it. A great horned owl hooted in the distance. And then there was a barred owl, calling out, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?”

With Thanksgiving coming we’re all cooking.

I’m not sure why I keep finding hotel key cards. There are several hotels around where I work and I guess finding one or two a week isn’t that many considering the number of people who are guests. Mostly they’re on the sidewalk and try to put them in a prominent spot near where I find them to make it as easy as I can in case whoever dropped them retraces their steps searching for their card. I know they’re easily replaced, though, which can sometimes be a security issue, but at least they’re easier to replace than keys.

This one really got my attention though because it wants to be thrown away and replaced with an app. I don’t want to sound like a grumpy old guy but does everything have to be an app now? Most restaurants, even small, local ones where I get takeout push me to use their app for easier ordering. It’s a little easier than a standard phone call, or, for that matter, going to the restaurant itself, which I’m going to have to do anyway to pick up my order, but do I really need, or even want, an app for every single restaurant I order from? The answer is both no and also I should stop getting so much takeout food.

In addition I don’t want to sound like a grumpy, paranoid old guy but using an app on your phone as your hotel key seems like an even bigger security risk than a key card. Your phone can potentially be hacked. For that matter the app itself could be hacked, allowing someone access to every hotel room. Or private information about every guest without ever having to step inside the hotel. Someone who breaks into your hotel room isn’t likely to get into your email, your bank account, and who knows what else, but they will show up on the security cameras. An app connected to the credit card you used to pay for your hotel room could be a gateway for someone anywhere in the world access to a lot more than just your underwear and the Cokes you’ve got chilling in the ice bucket.

And finally I’ve seen more than one guitar player on stage fumble around for a pick then pull out a pocket knife and cut one out of their hotel key card. There are even multiple pick punches made just for that purpose—though I think the idea with a pick punch is to use old, discarded cards, not the one your hotel just gave you. Still that’s something you can’t do with an app.

This morning I saw someone running for the bus. I was stopped at a red light at an intersection. The bus was on the opposite side of the intersection, stopped at a shelter and letting some people get on. I’d been annoyed for several minutes because I’d wanted to get around the bus but every time I thought I had a chance to pass another car went by in the next lane or I was hemmed in at an intersection. As someone who used to ride the bus regularly and still rides buses when I can I don’t complain about sharing the road with buses until I get stuck behind one and then I complain a lot. And loudly. Fortunately no one can hear me because I’m in the car by myself. At least when I was at the red light there was nowhere I could go and I knew the bus would go straight while I had a turn at the next block and would finally have the road to myself.

That’s when I saw a guy running across a grassy area toward the bus. He was running as fast as he could while carrying a large backpack, and he had on a brown jacket, black slacks, nice shoes, and cap. He looked like someone who might work in the IT department of some company; maybe that backpack held his laptop and other equipment. It was large enough that it looked heavy. At that moment I knew that, even if the light turned green, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. At that moment I knew I’d be happy to be stuck behind the bus for another minute or two. Well, maybe “happy” isn’t the right word, but I’d be fine with it because, as a bus rider, I’d been that guy. I’d never carried a heavy backpack, though I do have a satchel with journals, books, sometimes a tablet. And I’d never been as nicely dressed as he was—a long time ago I worked in a job where I could only wear jeans on Fridays and every morning when I slip into denim, whether I’m conscious of it or not, I’m glad. The main thing is I’ve been that guy who sees the bus stopped and has had to run for it, hoping the driver sees me and waits for me to get there.

There have been times when I’ve been too late. There have been times when I’ve gotten to the bus stop just in time for the bus to pull away, and times when it didn’t matter how loudly I yelled. The driver didn’t see me, didn’t hear me, or just didn’t care.

And once when that happened a guy in a small car who’d been behind the bus stopped, rolled down his window, and said to me, “Get in, we’ll catch up with that bus.”

His name was Gary, he’d seen me running, and he stopped to pick me up. He got into the next lane and passed the bus so quickly I barely had a chance to even thank him before he dropped me at the next stop. He was so efficient I wondered if he did that sort of thing all the time.

The guy I saw running for the bus made it and even though I was happy for him a part of me still wishes I’d had a chance to stop and give him a lift. I would have been happy to help him. Well, I wouldn’t have complained anyway.