I'm a huge proponent of public transportation. The secret-place-I-disappeared-to this past weekend has excellent public transport and it's incredibly bicycle-friendly should you need your independence.
So when I returned home and my car died, -- not just a "spell" but an absolute death to the 1987 Acura Integra with approximately four kajillion miles on it -- I just shrugged and decided to not have a car for a while.
Friend-with-a-Truck offered to leave work to drive me the 2.5 miles down Bardstown Road yesterday, but I was stubborn and didn't want to interrupt anyone's work day when I could easily hop the bus. Prepared with six quarters (I have no idea how much TARC costs these days), I walked to a bus stop and waited. And waited. And waited.
It was 95 degrees (not an exagerration), and I was sweaty, hot, annoyed, and now running late. I had been waiting 20 minutes for the bus that should have come within 5, when a wine-connoisseur friend from The Wine Market called out to me. (Just because I know the Wine guy by name doesn't mean I have a problem.)
About that same time, I felt something land on my head. I reached up to swat it away, and I was stung by a bee. On the head. By a bee. It had now been 24 minutes I'd been waiting for the stupid bus, and I just completely gave up.
I pouted a bit, went into The Wine Market for some cold air and good conversation, spent my six quarters on a fancy ginger ale, and called Friend-with-a-Smart-Car for a ride.
I might buy a car tomorrow. Or move to this secret-place-I-visited-last-weekend and bring my bicycle.
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