Cryogenic Gluteus Maximus Removal

January 14, 2017 at 12:05 pm (Cussed Dumbers, On the road again..., That's not funny...)

No. Just no.

No. Just no.

I’m surprised I’m not seeing little piles of gluteus maximus all over downtown. I almost froze my ass off last night.

I texted Dr T; “If Giggles is still there, tell him I’m gonna punch him in the head if he’s late tonight. We had to sit almost two hours to catch the last and only bus. That ain’t happenin’ again.”

I was pissed.

Giggles must think it’s fashionably cool to be 5-15 minutes late. He’s been getting away with it for years. I have ways to work around him. But when Mother Nature gets involved, my plans don’t always work accordingly.

It was a usual Friday night, with the exception of it being 24 degrees outside, and a snowy frosting covering the region. I’ve been getting around pretty well. The YakTrax keep me upright, and I’ve memorized the clear sidewalks downtown so I can slither around like the flash. We figured we’d be okay getting home. I’m a Transit Tracker whiz. There were buses 2.5 miles away, and 7.8 miles away. (They switch from ‘estimated time of arrival’ to ‘distance to stop’ in deep snow.) If we hurried, we could catch the 2.5. If we walked normally we could catch the 7.8. We could make good time, if only Giggles would get here.

I got everything prepped. Coat laid out, YakTrax set out. Dinner pizza in a bag, ready to roll. 11:45. No Giggles.

11:50, no Giggles. 11:55, I call Transit Tracker. 2.5 has gone, 7.8 closing in on downtowm. We can make it. Where the fuck is Giggles?

11:56 he rushes through the door, runs to his till and signs in. Then he takes off his coat, leaving his Yarmulke ballcap on. We don’t speak; I would lose my temper.

I count quickly while he heads to the back. I have my till counted and ready to go before he comes out of the back. I toss my money and paperwork in the safe, dress as quickly as humanly possible, and hurry like a chased mouse toward the bus stop.

With two blocks to go, 7.8 pulled away from our stop. Sonofabitch.

At least we got seats at the bus stop. It was 24 degrees outside according to my phone. I called the Tracker again. Two buses coming seven miles and eight miles away. We sit here, get a little stoned, it won’t be too bad…

Except the buses never came.

I waited a while, and called the Tracker, hoping for good news. Now one bus, 12.8 miles away.

That’s the end of the line. Shit.

I kept calling back, with varying results. Some buses were canceled, or would blip off Tracker, then return either closer or farther away. 12:30 became 1:15, and no buses were due, according to Tracker. I had to pee. I called one more time, and a bus was on the way. 7.8 miles again. Popular spot with drivers, whatever it is. I waited a minute, and called again. 6.8 miles. !! We have motion!! I got up and peed on the newspaperbox in front of City Hall.

I’d been fooled before. Any disappearances, cancellations or other nonsense with the buses would result in me walking back to the store, calling a cab and letting the boss collect from Giggles.

I should not have to endure this.

We waited forever longer. I was almost ready to walk back to get a cab so I wouldn’t have to walk the last half-mile home from the bus stop. Our street is brutal. A small cheer erupted as we saw the #14 pass through the park on its way to us. Oh happy day!

The driver looked like Santa’s little brother, and he spared no time. “We’re rolling!” I might have bitched about being thrown around another time, but getting out of the wind would be worth taking a punch. We got outta there.

As we rolled along, I began decompressing from work, and the travel. I was still pissed at Giggles. This is the same fucking bus I’d have been on if he’d been on time. I tried not to think about it. i would get too mad.

Besides, my Sister was along, making for excellent company. She provided vapor pens of various flavor and strength, and she drank a bottle of “mystery juice” while we passed the ride. Soon we were back into the elements, and I was mad again.

We had to walk nine blocks into a 20 MPH wind, in 18 degree weather. I could feel myself weakening, and was amazed how people can survive a night out in this shit. My homeless friends, you are amazing. If I survived, I would cuss Giggles out. If I lose a toe, or a Sister, I will cut his fat fucking head off. Did I mention I was mad?

We will have a rational discussion tonight. I will maintain low tones. I will not hit. But I will not lose my life or appendages because he can’t read a fucking clock. It will be war, and heads will roll.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready to go back out in that shit.


1 Comment

  1. Richard said,

    If he can hang around here 2 1/2 hours AFTER he gets off, the least he can do is get there on time to start his shift . Hell, a little early wouldn’t hurt.

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