One-Hundred Fifty-Three.

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At an imprecise :55 after the hour daily, a bus to 42nd Street (New York) normally arrives at this very spot.  This spot is about a four minute walk from the house, and I have used this stop on many occasions.

To give you an idea, the spot is on a concrete island between the exit and on-ramps for the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, which we affectionately refer to in a simple code: R3E (Route 3 East).  Now this might seem like a crazy dangerous spot to have a bus stop, especially if I added in that it is just over the summit of a hilltop so as to make it a very blind approach for the oncoming traffic, and you would be right to think so.  In any case, the stop is heavily used during morning rush hour where the buses arrive every 10-15 minutes or so, because from here you can see Manhattan in the distance and it is about a 20 minute bus ride to midtown.  That… is a huge benefit.

Anyway, who cares about all that.  What i really came to talk about is not a bus stop, but that I am thankful I decided to pay attention to the message sent from the cosmos yesterday.

So here is what happened…  I took a picture of the bus stop because for all the good it does, I still find it funny that I catch the bus in the middle of a set of highway ramps (no crosswalk) and the bus comes to a quick halt in the shoulder of the expressway to pick us up.  Something is just funny about that.  So I took a snapshot of traffic going by to illustrate that point.  The bus in the photo is not the bus I was supposed to catch, but the bus I was supposed to catch went by just as quick!

I saw him pump the brakes once when he must of realized he completely blew the stop, and my first Jersey instant reaction was going to be to throw my fists in a fit of ravenous rage and then promptly a) call Transit to scream and yell or b) sue NJ Transit for gross negligence and hurt feelings.  But I paused.  Then I laughed.


Well I was going to the city out of sheer boredom while Matil was down the shore.  I would have probably (see: definitely) made a series of impulse buys at my Land-o-Kryptonite.  Although I am free to put myself in spending-harm’s way, I suddenly realized that there were a few things I could do at the house first, instead.

It all really worked out because shortly after my free house projects, Matil came home and we decided to head into the city for dinner together, which worked out really great because we got there fast enough for me to get my fix of Kryptonite window shopping first and then we had a great Oyster happy hour with $1 shucked Oysters from all around the Northeast: from Nova Scotia right on down to Long Island.

We had dinner at the Cull & Pistol (Huge respect if you know off the top of your head how that name relates to their business) in Chelsea Market.  I can’t recommend them enough with their $1 Oyster Happy Hour- from 4-6pm weekdays!  Get there early.

So anyway, had that bus driver stopped like he was supposed to, I would have been ready to head home from B&H by the time Matil made it home, and we would not have had such a great dinner.

So the moral is: sometimes screwing up at work is really helping someone else out.  And that’s ok.


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