Jack Traven was NOT on my bus and nor was Gigantor

Sometime very early Saturday morning a fuckhead sideswiped my car, breaking my car door handle on the driver's side and scratching the door very noticeably. The car is now in the body shop getting repaired, I'm out $500 plus MTA day passes for the week and now teeming iwth the masses on the public transportation system. Yesterday (technically) was Day 1 without a car, here's how it went:

The ride in was great. It was fast and very chill. The busses weren't particularly full and I learned that if there's a 3 in front of the route number it functions like an express and avoids minor stops. I love the 333 and even the 312. The only drawback was the bus stops. They were fucking gross. The sidewalk at the southeast corner of Overland and Venice is black with compressed filth. And it smelled like a dumpster, just like the dumpster behind the Bob Evans Restaurant I worked at back in college.

Well, there was one other drawback. The experience was nothing like Speed. There wasn't any removeable floor panel from to escape when we need to put the bus on a collision course. We didn't have any yokels or gum on the seats. Our driver didn't appear to smile. I honestly secretly (as secret as a public blog with about 12 readers is) sorta wanted a movie-like adventure. There was one Speed-like aspect. We didn't go nearly 50 on city streets, and neither did they in many shots.

Ride home not so good, but that was my fault. First off the 212 bus was a few minutes late, unlike my two morning rides. It was also more crowded and I was beat from working all day. My biggest hesitation throughout the years to riding the bus was that I wouldn't want to deal with the doubly long trip home after a full work day.

As it headed south on La Brea, I kicked back, listened to the iPod and started to zone a bit. I noticed that the girl across from me was reading Deathly Hallows, but not much more. After about 10 minutes I did manage to catch that the next stop was Pico and then Venice (my stop). When we stopped at Pico I said to myself, "next one is me," but when we got there my brain shorted out.

While people were boarding and disembarking (from what was my stop) I noticed a Pizza Hut/Taco Bell on the southeast corner of the intersection. I KNOW THAT THIS IS VENICE. But for some reason, in my head I thought it was still Pico. I didn't move. A few minutes after we leave that stop I notice that we're going up a hill, which is where Washington crosses La Brea. I MISSED MY STOP. I get off at Washington.

I now have to walk back north to Venice. I pull out my schedule and note that there was a 10-minute wait between my busses. I look at my watch and my unexpected shortcircuit has cost me four of those minutes. And I still have probably an at least five minute walk back. As I get to the Southwest corner of the Venice/La Brea intersection I see my bus leaving the stop heading west toward home. FUCK.

I cross the street and though I'm not sure the exact time of the next bus, I know that after 7 p.m. the busses run less frequently. I start walking west along Venice toward the next stop. I know that I'll get on the same bus whether I board at La Brea or Redondo, but I want to feel productive so I walk rather than stand. When I get to Redondo I've reached the crest of a slight hill. It's just enough so that I can't see the La Brea stop anymore. I decide it's not worth walking to the next stop, because the last thing I need is for that 33 bus to pass me in between two stops. These busses aren't driven by Sam and I'm not Annie.

After a solid 12 minutes of waiting for the bus, it comes. I get home. All is fine.