It was my own fault. I knew I should have gotten up earlier but I'd barely shut my eyes when morning came. It was just too hard to drag myself from bed and then I had trouble finding my boots, packing my lunch, shutting down the computer that continued to run, trying to process queries that just got slower and slower with more and more data. But I should have left sooner.
That's what I generally mutter under my breath when I see people running for the Metro.
"Should have left sooner," I grumble.
I say the same when I see people doing things that seem stupid or dangerous behind the wheels of their cars, the people who appear too impatient to sit through a light, as if everyone else on the road had decided on joy rides while they, kings and queens of the world, had more important lives and jobs and places to be.
"Should have left sooner."
And I should have. I should have gotten up when the alarm first sounded or second sounded or third. Fourth, even. Anything earlier would have been fine. I should have packed my lunch before bed. Or picked out my outfit. Or both. I could have done any number of things that would have gotten me out the door earlier on a Wednesday morning, but I didn't and I was late.
I already needed to drive to the Metro. I knew I'd be out long after the sun had set and not particularly close to a cab. I wanted to be safe; though, shaving a little time on the morning commute wouldn't hurt.
I climbed into my car, started the engine and gave silent thanks that the gaslight wasn't on yet. I pulled out of my space, rolling back and forward and back again before clearing the cars on either end and pulling onto my narrow street, and then I stopped. In front of me, a van blocked the road. Completely. Utterly. Blocked. With a honk of a horn and a flash of brake lights.
Gripping the wheel, I waited and watched as the driver climbed out of the van. Looking back at my Jeep, he reopened the door and turned on the hazards. As if I couldn't tell that the road was blocked. As if I had anywhere else to go.
The man sauntered up the stairs and rang the doorbell, and an elderly woman appeared. A woman with walker and a visible shake.
"You cannot honk at an elderly woman," I observed under my breath as I waited, as he helped her down the stairs and into the street. Crossing. Crossing. Crossing. Into the van. Made sure she was buckled and the door tightly closed. He stored the walker in back and climbed into the front, strapping his seatbelt and turning off the hazards before moving on.
"Should have left sooner," I berated myself.
Red light. Green going nowhere. Red light again. I took a slightly different route to a very different station, stopping every block or so for a stop sign. Red light. Stop. Near the Metro, I parked my car and climbed out, swinging my bag to my shoulder as a man ran past. He stopped at the top of the escalator, though, blocking my descent and I waited through his confusion.
"Should have left sooner."
A train arrived soon, though, and I found a seat in the crowded car. In front of me, a woman appeared to claim a pole as her own, leaning back with it and blocking the metal for a good three feet or so between upper legs, torso and head. The bit at the bottom seemed rather useless, blocked by her bag and too low for comfort. The part at the top was almost out of reach, and I watched in fascination as she reclined against the Metro pole.
At the other end, at my station, I walked briskly, sidestepping tourists and other travelers. I made it through the turnstile that didn't turn at all but rather retracted and up to the elevator where I pressed the button and waited. Waited. Waited. Finally, the doors opened and I boarded with a couple of others, one who held out his briefcase as the doors started to close and held them ajar.
"Thank you," said a woman who'd been halfway down the hall and the man who came in after her and the one after that. And the one after that. And the one after that. Eventually, the people stopped coming or he stopped holding and we made it up to the street.
All in all, I wasn't that late. I was almost on time but I definitely wasn't early. I would have felt guilty but there was someone even later than me to the meeting, someone who came in a half hour late. She really should have left sooner.
Tag:
Commute