I’m a bussing man, I’ll admit it. In middle school I had a great bike and could ride all over town. Then, in high school, I had a car and could drive all over town. When I went to uni, I lived in the middle of a big city and didn’t need a car, so I sold it. Since then, I’ve been riding buses everywhere. They’re cheap and good for the environment; I can’t complain.

I saw the bus coming. It was one of the less reliable ones: the kind that drives too fast and always seems to pass me.

That said, sometimes I really hate riding the bus. Yesterday was one of those days. In the morning, I ran to catch it; in fact, I ran in front of the bus while crossing the street. I waved the driver down, but he drove right by me, making a small gesture that I should catch the next one, which arrived five minutes later. That night, traffic was busy again and the bus couldn’t pull over. Passed again. The following bus arrived 10-15 minutes later, and I was late for my meeting.

Today I vowed not to let the bus pass me. I woke up, put on my bright yellow shirt, and waited by the stop. I saw the bus coming. It was one of the less reliable ones: the kind that drives too fast and always seems to pass me. It moved into the other lane, and I knew it was going to pass. I jumped up and down, waving my hands wildly, and luckily it stopped. Sort of, at least. It didn’t come to a complete stop, so I had to run and jump through the door as it rolled slowly down the road.

Regardless: Mission accomplished.