At about 7:55, the Asian Man pounded madly on his back for about a minute, and then took off sprinting down the street. He looked up Kent to see if the bus was coming yet, and then he sprinted back. More infomercial exercises that perhaps resulted in a run happy jockstrap purchase.
At 8:00, the black kid said to me, "Excuse me, sir, what time did you get here?"
I replied, "I've been here since 7:47, so there's no way we missed the bus, unless it left Beryl Road early."
Beryl Road is its inbound starting point and if it leaves there when it's supposed to at 7:45, there is no way it can get to our stop before 7:47. I called Capital Area Transit and after waiting on hold for at least five minutes, I asked the guy where the inbound 7:45 #12 was, and he answered, "It's at Cameron Village, which is where it's supposed to be at this time."
I told him that it must have left Beryl Road early this morning, because I'd been at Kent and Kaplan since 7:47 and there was no way it could've gotten there before 7:47 if it left at 7:45. "Uh, er, well I'll make a note of that, sir, and check on it." Yeah, right. And do what? Call me back and tell me how sorry your are for my plight. Please. You don't mind if I don't hold my breath waiting for all that.
When I turned around the black kid was gone. He'd been on the phone right before I got on, and it sounded like he was negotiating someone to come get him as he was going to be late for [something] if he had to wait for the next bus. Then the Asian man asked me what the CAT people said, and when I told him, he said, "I'll go catch the Avent Ferry bus," and he took off.
This is not how I like starting my day. It was cold out this morning, and I'd left my jacket behind my door in my office yesterday. I had to wait another ten minutes for the 8:15 bus, which arrived at 8:21, this one obviously not having left Beryl Road early.
The Magazine Lady was aboard this morning, but she wasn't reading a magazine today. Instead, she had a long, heavy navy blue coat with her, which she had laying over her lap and from which she was picking white lint with her fingertips.
Rhonda and I started off the morning by trying to work through a task put forth to us by her boss, which had to do with references to Unity accounts in procedures, rules, and regulations. We met in a conference room, which we had for an hour, but thankfully, we were done in about 20 minutes.
I got so involved in working on my presentation for tomorrow that at 10 minutes after 1:00, Jen stuck her head in my office and said, "Uh, the Google meeting?"
At first I didn't know what she meant, and then I got it. The weekly meeting that I take minutes for had started 10 minutes ago. I rushed down to the conference room and picked up note-taking as soon as I accessed the Google document in which to do it.
I worked on my presentation until time to catch the bus home, and then continued to do so once home, up until time to leave for dinner before dancing, which Casey and I had at The Borough.
Sitting at the bar, I ordered my standard bourbon and Diet Coke, and Casey said, "A Roy Roger?" to which the bartender scrunched up her face as if it were an alien order, and Casey clarified, "A cherry Coke." I was proud of him for not adding the appositive, "bitch," to the end of his clarification.
We both got:
|The Brute Squad $8.00|
1/2 lb. ground beef topped with thin fried onions, grilled mushrooms, jack cheese and special sauce on a toasted bun.
Casey got his cooked medium; I got mine medium-well and "hold the fried onions." Mine ended up coming with the onions and the bartender/server sent it back for them to scrape them off, even though I told her I'd go ahead and eat them. It's not like I don't like onions, I just try not to eat them (or garlic) before going out dancing.
Dancing was fun tonight, although at times it was like defensive bumper car driving on the floor, with two guys who were dancing to the beat of a different drummer, which is all fine and dandy in free-form dancing, but doesn't work so well in line-dancing, when everyone's, well, dancing in a line, and well, expected to move in the same directions, doing the same steps.
I got tons of dances in, including both line dances and two-steps. A good night of fun and exercise.