Promises of a wondrous event filled my head and the promise I would be there, even though the weather was arctic thunderous. Too bad my jar of hot tea had dribbled on my sleeve, rather doused it and my other glove was in my apartment. I contemplated turning back but the bus arrived and the driver was so nice and appreciative of my battle that I sang him my song that I was on my way to sing at the new meet-up. He was astounded and I could tell he meant it. “You’re great.” I would have sang more but here was the hang out for my connection. No shelter, a frozen sleeve and hand. Fortunately I ducked into a store that was closing but willing to let me buy a grapefruit and ask questions. Was this piece of produce owned by the Queen of Sheba?
I struck up a conversation with a large woman who kept me warm with her proximity and she told she was going to Walmart and that my stop was far far away and listen for it. Then she got off and I listened. It was over an hour, far. I was in desolate, wide open country and hadn’t a clue which street was which. I asked but now was it right or left. Finally a number, wrong direction, nothing was open , dark and frightening. A University bus came, and at least the driver pointed out a Tim Horton’s with a warm bathroom. Unfortunately it was closing and the employee wouldn’t open the door. There’s always another door and I dashed in before she saw me. Oh no the lights went out and I couldn’t find the latch, something dropped and then I found it, released the motion detectors turned on the lights, my glasses were on the floor. I was hysterical over the thought of waiting for a bus in this weather.
She said there wasn’t a phone and mine was elsewhere. She was very insistent that I should leave immediately. I went to an open pizza place who didn’t want me either and was sent to a bar.
I asked to use their phone to call the police but they didn’t think the police should be summoned. Their suggestions weren’t too helpful as I was unwilling to wait on a far off corner in the cold and not enough cash to pay a cab, with zilch at home. But they were going to help me.
And finally who came in, the squad. I was briefly interrogated and as a cancerous old lady, I melted their hearts; yes, a ride home in the back seat, recorded and videoed.
A car almost hit us and the police car screeched to a halt. Oh boy, would I be sharing my seat? The officer wrote up “some paper” and we were back on the road.
Thrilling but not like singing and I was home and grateful.
Is there a lesson here?Yes Can I have a ride next week?
A picture tells the story too but together it’s Romance .