To the left of the bus stop, Kaplan has a steep downhill slope long enough that most cars build up speed way past the 35 MPH speed limit if they're not paying attention, and there's a good place for a cop to catch them hiding in the entrance to Kentwood Park, which is hidden by trees when you're coming down that hill.
That happened to some poor soul this morning. Krappy way to start your day on Kaplan.
There were only three people on the bus when I boarded, one being a lady sitting in front of me who was totally obsessed with her hair. She just kept running her fingers through it, alternating with grabbing pieces of it to carefully lay down or tuck behind her ears. It made me think of one of the plays that Manbites Dog Theater's Other Voices series is staging later in the season: I Love My Hair When It's Good & Then Again When It Looks Defiant and Impressive.
Taking a break from that, she took a Costco-sized bottle of moisturizer out of her purse and proceeded to lube up both of her legs in long, slow strokes. I was glad to see that she didn't later return her hands and fingers to her hair—at least not while I was still on the bus.
I spent my morning finishing usability testing on a Google tool that the programmers in my area are developing. I finished ambivalent about the contribution, more from a philosophical perspective than anything else.
I joined the cool kids (Jen, Nick, Vanessa, and Jason) for lunch on Hillsborough Street at Chile Bomba, which used to be El Rodeo. That website is out of date.
The service was way too slow for my taste, but I'll definitely give them another chance, as once my dish finally arrived it was most delicious. I had the:
Grilled chicken breast topped with mushrooms, spicy chorizo, and melted cheese; served with rice, beans, sour cream salad, pico de gallo, and tortillas
I ordered it without the beans, and after all that waiting, it arrived with beans, so I sent it back. But once it was right, as I said, it was most delicious, and I'd definitely have it again.
I left work late, particularly for a Friday, and the weather was crappy. I managed to arrive at the shelter before it started raining, which it started doing about a minute before the bus arrived.
A guy sitting to my left was eating a salad, taking a big bite just as we approached the stop on Beryl road where the route changes from outbound to inbound and when the recording plays, "There's no smoking, eating, or drinking on the CAT bus."
He knew the bus driver and they were having a loud conversation back and forth, mostly because they had to speak loudly in order to hear each other.
As the bus turned onto Method Road from Beryl Road, the salad eater said to the driver indicating a residential area off to the left, "Greg? That thing over here. It still goin' on?"
"Huh?" the driver responded.
This time more loudly and without food in his mouth, he said, "That thing over there. That still going on?"
The driver laughed, and said, "Oh yeah. In fact I'm seeing her tonight."
I think I still have a little bit of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) from the horrid experience I had with Hurricane Fran in 1996.
With Hurricane Irene on the heels of making landfall in NC overnight and tomorrow, I just wanted to go to bed and wake up on Sunday.
I did go to bed at about 7:00, but woke up two-and-a-half hours later instead of Sunday morning.
I played some Scrabble online, caught up my blog entries, and then read some more of Outliers, before going back to sleep for the night.