The Bus


You decide to take your kid to breakfast.

There is a diner in your old neighborhood, about a half mile away.

Your kid has never been on the bus, so you think this will be fun for him.

Tracking it on your phone, you give yourself twenty minutes to put on his entire winter get up and also yours.

You forgot you are a block away from the intersection, not down the street.

But it works out anyway.

He loves the bus.

When you get off three stops away, the restaurant looks closed.

It is.

There is a sign on the door saying it’s closed on Sundays indefinitely.

There is nothing else within walking distance except for Starbucks. But that’s not breakfast and that’s not worth a bus ride.

There are some other restaurants six blocks away. You are not going to waste this opportunity by throwing in the towel and going home.

You wait for another bus.

It’s nine minutes away.

It’s cold.

You contemplate taking a Lift, even though your Ventra card has a monthly pass on it and it seems like a waste of money.

Then you remember the Lift car won’t have a car seat. The you realize you can’t do anything in an emergency in the future because no one will have a car seat.

Your kid is getting pissed. He does not want to wait for the bus.

You do not want to wait for the bus.

But finally it comes. Not before two other buses going in different directions pass, confusing your kid and making me even more pissed.

The bus driver is very nice. He tells you he’ll wait for you to sit down. He announces every stop and tells you to be careful when you get off.

The restaurant is mostly empty, except for a family with two little girls.

You and the mother exchange apologies for being in one another’s way, you with the highchair, her removing winter gear.

You hear the conversation between the mother and father and daughters and silently affirm your decision to only have one kid.

The kids menu is very reasonable. You decide the restaurant is smart to do this because most parents would opt to share their meal. But $3.50 french toast sticks and 1.50 for juice is worth it.

The plate comes out very fancy, with whip cream and fresh fruit and you vow to come back even though your $12 chicken and waffles looks kind of sad. Actually, it ends up being pretty good because it comes with jalapeno butter and while you were going to pass on it, the syrup wasn’t enough.

You decide to walk home. It’s only four blocks.

Your kid wants to take the bus.

He cries for half of the trip, lying down in the snow, sobbing “bus”.

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