Until now it has only been a fleeting shadow living in the edge of the lights cast by the Love Boat . ( A term we have given our back porch , since it is lit up like the deck of a cruise ship . ) We 'd seen it occasionally darting in and out of the chicken shack , sneaking food and water before returning to its home , which was a burrowed out hole leading under the concrete step off the back of the garage . I 'd held to the belief that it was a rabbit , and we were providing safe haven for a growing family of cute little bunnies . The hole grew bigger , yet we were not blessed with the joy of baby bunnies running around the backyard . But we saw the shadow more often under the safe cover of darkness at night . It grew bolder and came closer to the Love Boat when we were relaxing . Then our tomatoes began to disappear , and I found half - eaten tomato carcasses at the mouth of the hole . This unwanted guest began to dominate our discussions , and unable to sustain the burden of curiosity any more , we decided on a plan of action . We would flood the hole and see what came out . It was a rat . A very big , very wet , rat . Robert saw it in it 's entirety , I rushed to the window just in time to see it 's skinny little tail as it ran back into its flooded home . All I could think about was the cartoon version of rats - any rats . Glowing red eyes , long sharp fangs , hissing and generally looking for trouble . The rat clearly had to go . We could not cohabitate . We hatched a plan to pour a bag of concrete down into the wet hole and seal its destiny forever . We couldn 't quite bring ourselves to do that immediately , I don 't know why . I have no problem catching mice in traps , but suddenly the thought of taking a life wasn 't so easy . We debated a new plan of action , which included setting a live trap to see if we could get it to give up peacefully . We loaded it with cheese and pepperoni , and hoped it would do the right thing . The trap was empty the next morning as I headed out for Longmont , via public transit . I had mixed emotions about the rat as I sat waiting for my bus in Union Station . I was relieved to not have seen the rat , as the thought of it just creeps me out . But I was also disappointed , as I knew the absence of the rat 's voluntary surrender , forced the showdown closer to a deadly conclusion . I don 't know why I was suddenly worried about killing a rat . I was raised in the country and death of rodents and animals were not uncommon events , and I certainly didn 't have any feelings of affection for the rat . Conflicted , I sat in the station and watched the people go by . I distracted myself by focusing on the sounds of the station , specifically those of footsteps . I tried to guess who was passing from behind before I saw them , based on their footfalls . There was the click click of high heels , the clomp clomp of work boots , and the occasional squeaky loafer . I heard small footsteps approaching from behind , and guessed it must be a child , which is always a pleasure in the station because of their joy and wonder of trains and buses . I waited for the child to come into sight , and when it walked past me so I could see it , I couldn 't believe what I saw . I honestly thought for a moment I had experienced a psychotic break , or a stroke , or just lost my mind . The owner of the small steps was a woman , about five feet tall . She wore hard - soled boots and was taking tiny steps , almost like a shuffle . She clutched a yellow stuffed bird to her chest , and she was wearing a full , furry , one - pieced rat outfit . Yup . A rat outfit . The legs of her onesie were tucked into her boots , and there was a tail dangling from her bottom . The gray fur covered her chest and ended with a hood , topped with ears . She quickly shuffled , or scurried , across the terminal and stopped to look at a schedule . A moment later she scurried back across the terminal and checked out another schedule . She scurried her way down the terminal as I stared in disbelief . I wanted to shake my head to get the picture out of my mind , but was afraid if I 'd had a stroke shaking might make the damage worse . I just watched her . What was the universe telling me ? Was this really happening ? What the hell ? I guess I 've seen stranger things in downtown Denver , but really ? A rat ? I decided then and there that our rat could stay for a few more days . We would bait the trap with tastier treats , and I vowed to find a way to get it to leave peacefully . Clearly my killer instincts were not strong , and I wasn 't prepared to take a chance on doing something I would regret . So , as of this writing , the rat lives . The O bus is always full of characters . It travels the length of Broadway , which is a major North / South road that runs from downtown to Highlands Ranch , and is full of Mom and Pop stores , bars , restaurants , antique stores and marijuana dispensaries . I was on the last leg of my journey home , and watched as the regulars boarded the O at the Englewood station . First came the young man I call the Thug . He 's about 25 and wears baggy shorts , a funky ball cap askew on his head and walks the gangsta walk . Actually he has a legitimate reason for the walk , since he wears a knee brace that actually hinders his stride . Next came a middle - aged man who walks with a cane . I call him Grimace , because he always has a look of pain on his face . I can 't tell if he 's genuinely in pain or just has a scowl about him . They both took a seat at the front of the bus . Then Construction Guy got on the bus . He 's tall and about my age , and always has his orange construction vest on , shorts and dirty work boots that come just high enough up his ankles to allow room for his electronic monitoring anklet . He never smiles or acknowledges anyone when he gets on , and heads directly to the back of the bus . We all settled into our usual seats , and politely ignored each other . A few stops down the road a young man got on , early twenties I 'd say , and very , very buff . The kind of buff that not only shows muscles , but muscles on top of those muscles . He was carrying a case of water and as the bus began to move he grabbed onto the bar by the front seats , dropping his water and bumping into Grimace . He didn 't apologize , and as the bus went down the road he opted to keep standing right in front of Grimace , periodically bumping his legs . Grimace finally asked him to take a seat , and the young man bent down and got right in his face and placed one finger in front of his lips and made the " Shhhhhh … " motion to Grimace . The thug sat up a little straighter and Grimace 's eyes squinted . I could feel the level of testosterone quickly rising . Grimace stared at Buff Guy , and the driver encouraged him to sit down . Without breaking eye contact , he took the seat across from Grimace , and again made the " shhhh . . " motion . I was already sitting two rows back from the two , but at this point two other women sitting in the front got up and moved to the back , and a couple with a young child got off at the next stop . I checked both of them out to see if there was any sign of a gun , and was pretty sure they didn 't have one , so I rode it out . The tension continued for another couple of stops , then Grimace pulled the cord signaling he needed the next stop . As soon as he pulled the cord , Buff Guy stood up as if he were also exiting the bus , and stood in front of the door waiting to get off . But when the bus stopped and Grimace got up to leave , Buff Guy just stood in front of the doorway , blocking his exit . Of course Grimace just pushed into him , trying to force him down the stairs of the bus . Buff Guy braced himself and didn 't budge . The Thug got up and threw his weight into Buff Guy as well , and a full on scuffle began . Buff Guy against the two handicapped men . The bus driver stood up to help , and suddenly Construction Guy came running from the back of the bus to offer his assistance . He realized Buff Guy couldn 't be reached from there , so he came to the back door of the bus and got off , then went around to the front and pulled Buff Guy down the stairs and out of the bus . Of course Buff Guy tried to run back onto the bus , and as Grimace and the Thug made it off the bus , it looked as if they were going to go to blows . But the bus driver and Construction Guy held them apart , and the driver pointed out that Buff Guy probably didn 't want to go to jail for assaulting two guys with handicaps . Buff Guy argued , but Construction Guy got in his face and reinforced the bus driver 's sentiment . " They 're handicapped for hell 's sake ! He wears a cane and he has a leg brace ! " That seemed to snap Buff Guy out of it a bit , and reluctantly he hung his head and got back onto the bus . The driver and Construction Guy made sure Grimace and the Thug were okay , then they got back on the bus . Construction Guy sat next to Buff Guy and made sure he minded his manners until he got off the bus a few stops down . So here 's the kicker . Buff Guy was wearing a T - shirt from some anti - violence youth campaign with a slogan printed on the back . " Hearts not Hands . Make good choices . " One of the great benefits of riding the bus is the chance to read a book , daydream , listen to music or just generally get inside your head . The regional buses are pretty good for napping as well , which I usually do as I listen to music on the way to Longmont every Monday to see Jessica and Petra . The humming of the tires and the swaying of the bus can have a hypnotic effect , and it 's not uncommon to be so engrossed in relaxing that you miss your stop . It 's not a matter of if this will happen , but a matter of when . There 's a physical reaction that occurs when a stop is missed , and it 's pretty easy to spot the symptoms before the rider actually speaks out , which they always do , usually in the form of some kind of curse words . It must be some kind of muscle memory , because our bodies sense that we have traveled too far , and sends a message to our brain . The first sign a rider has missed their stop is the look of confusion as they lift their head from their book or take their earphones out . They look around the bus , then they lean over to look through the windows at the surroundings passing by . They they look to the front of the bus at the bus number and the next stop that is displayed on a lighted screen . It ultimately ends with a desperate look to fellow passengers , and the question of " where are we ? " At that point , the bus comes alive with suggestions of back - up plans . Which bus to take at the next stop , whether to ride on and wait for a turnaround , or sometimes the bus driver just stops at an unauthorized spot to let the traveler off . I once had a driver on the 27 bus who knew we would be going through a detour , but none of us did . When she left the station and turned the wrong direction , all of us reacted the same way , and as she looked in her mirror at her bus full of panicked faces , she laughed and laughed . Last week as we were nearing my stop on the L bus in Longmont , I noticed the driver was not in the left - hand turning lane , which took us the two blocks over to my stop . I figured he was taking a detour , as he had done earlier to get us through some construction . As we traveled through the light , all the passengers looked up and took notice . We looked at each other questioningly as the driver drove farther from our stop . " Aren 't we supposed to turn here ? " One asked . " I thought so , maybe we 're on a detour . " Offered another . We went another several blocks before the lady in front of me finally spoke out . " Driver , weren 't we supposed to turn there ? " Halfway through her sentence the driver let fly a cuss word . The look on his face was the same , well known look of passengers who had gotten so absorbed in their thoughts they forgot to get off the bus . He quickly pulled into the left turn lane and headed back toward our stop , apologizing all the way . " Music . " He named a specific song that I was not familiar with . " I played it for my teenager the other night and he wasn 't impressed . I was trying to figure out if I played it wrong , or if I could do it better . " He apologized again as we neared our stop . The 66 serves a route that is heavily populated by blind people . ( Or visually impaired for the PC Nazis . ) Nearly every stop from where I board on Broadway to the Littleton downtown light rail station involves a blind person getting on the bus . They all seem to know each other , and which stops they get on , because they greet each other and take seats in the front as they discuss their plans for the day , politics , tell jokes or even trade friendly insults with each other . When we arrive at the station , they all pile off the bus , thrust their white canes in front of them , and march across the busy street to get to the light rail . I used to be frightened for them , now I am just in awe of them . And I can 't help but wonder if I would have the courage to wander out into the world without being able to see my surroundings . I 'm pretty sure I would not . Now don 't get me wrong , I 'm a strong person . I can get stuff done and I can handle a lot of situations , but I really don 't think I would prosper if I ever lost my vision . Today I boarded the 66 bus an hour later than usual , and the blind people had already been delivered to their destinations . I sat alone on the bus , wondering about their daily lives and a little sad I 'd missed them . Then we pulled up to a stop on Littleton Boulevard , and I saw the tip of a white cane come through the front door of the bus . The woman who stepped up was one I 'd seen before . She was pretty and usually laughing . She carefully tapped her cane along the seats before settling in the front . Today , there was something different about her . It struck fear in my heart , while at the same time bringing a tear to my eye at the thought of her courage . She had her usual heavy backpack on , but strapped on her stomach was a baby of about 8 or 9 months old . The baby was facing toward me , and was adorable . I noticed the woman took a little more time settling in , mindful of the precious package she was carrying . The baby had a lot of dark curly hair , and large brown eyes that seemed to take in everything around her . She was seeing everything her mother could only hear . I immediately had mixed feelings . How safe was it to take a baby out into the world when you couldn 't see ? What if they got lost ? What if she stepped out in traffic ? How could she possibly keep that baby safe ? What if ? … Well , obviously my prejudice was showing , and I reasoned with myself pretty quickly that like any other mother she was capable of taking care of her child . Perhaps she was even more aware of the goings on around them , due to a heightened sense of hearing and smell . Perhaps she was even a superior parent because she could sense dangers long before we ever would . She nuzzled her nose in her baby 's hair , and the baby smiled and cooed . Obviously they loved each other . I wondered if the mother knew she and her daughter didn 't share the same color of skin . When we exited the bus at the station , I was worried about them crossing the street . I hung back and followed them off the bus . This time , instead of the woman sticking her cane out into the street and heading boldly into traffic , I followed her as she walked down the sidewalk to the crosswalk . She stopped , unaware that I was stalking her . Where I would look both ways for cars , she did the same , only with her ears . She tilted her head slightly toward the left , then toward the right , listening for the sound of cars . I sensed her hesitancy , and jumped at my chance to help . " Yeah , but we 're good to go now , " I said and she followed the sound of my voice into the street . " Your baby is adorable . She 's made my day , " I said . It was another scorching day in Denver . Thankfully I spent the day inside the air - conditioned donation center , and reluctantly left the cool comfort to begin my journey home for the day . The temperatures had come down a little as the clouds rolled in , and I was enjoying the change as I stood on Monaco waiting for the 65 bus . Clad in shorts and a tank top , I began to worry a little as the clouds got darker and the bus officially became late . Summer storms can roll in quickly , and I cursed myself for having switched bags and not putting my rain jacket in the bag I was now carrying . As the first rain drop fell it became a race against time . If the bus showed up immediately , I would still have time to make it to the Hampden light rail station , where there was a tunnel and shelter from the rain . A young girl with big hair joined me under the tree as we waited for the bus , and just as the rain began to really fall we saw the bus pulling up to the light . Less than a quarter mile down the road the rain turned to hail , and within a half mile the hail was the size of my thumb . The pounding on the top of the bus sounded like the ice balls would come right through , and outside the scene was a white out , but with hail so thick we couldn 't see . The hail grew bigger and bigger , and the bus driver began pulling over to pick people up who were not waiting at the bus stop , but were just trying to get out of the brutal hail . One woman was dressed only in a small sun dress , and when we stopped for her she was crying and nearly hysterical . We stopped to pick up two women , one older and one with special needs . They had several suitcases and a rolling cart . As soon as the driver opened the doors two male passengers jumped off the bus and rushed out into the storm to help the women with their luggage . The sound was unlike anything I had ever heard before , and as a collective people we were all stunned and unsure of what to do as we pulled into the station . Other travelers boarded with looks of fear and dismay , and one gentleman was rubbing his shoulder where the hail had hit him . We all had a hard decision to make . Should we get off the bus ? Or just stay on it and keep riding around until it stopped . Myself and another young man decided to make a run for it . We had a few yards of open space , then down two flights of stairs , and at the bottom was a tunnel where we could take refuge to wait for the train . He looked at me and I looked at him and together we ran off the bus . And Holy Hail ! The first few seconds were not that bad , but then I felt the chunks of ice hit my shoulders and the back of my legs . It was a searing hot pain where they hit , and some of them were jagged so I was sure they were tearing through my flesh . Halfway down the stairs I regretted my decision . As I hit the bottom of the stairs and the entryway to the tunnel , it was like a scene out of a horror show . Dozens of people were standing just inside the tunnel , ankle deep in water and hail . They encouraged us as we ran toward them , and the masses parted to let the newest refugees into the space of safety . Some of them had looks of sympathy for us on their faces , while others clearly thought we were fools . An older man offered me his handkerchief to dry off with , and as I wiped down my arms I noticed huge red welts where I had been hit . Others gathered around to tend to our wounds , or more accurately to see the damage . We huddled in the tunnel as the carnage continued above us , the sound was so loud we couldn 't hear each other speak . Body language was all we had to communicate . I saw young men helping the elderly people , and business men huddling with the families and little children . Two people had taken up post at the top of the stairs , and hollered down to us below whenever a train came along . As soon as they announced the E line to Lincoln was pulling up , myself and dozens of others ran up the stairs to board the train . Once again safe and moving in the direction of home , we laughed and shared our horror stories with those on the train . Despite the welts and one small scrape on my leg , it was a great experience to see my fellow humans come together , especially after all the violence that has occurred in the world lately . There was no race , sex or age in that tunnel . There were only people . People being beaten and held hostage by hail . It is a common occurrence when venturing to downtown Denver to be repeatedly asked for money by panhandlers . When I lived downtown the first person who asked me usually ended up with the little change I had in my pocket . I used to write profiles of homeless people who were vendors for the Denver Voice newspaper , so I have come to not judge anyone , since many of their circumstances were tragic and unavoidable . There are of course always a few youngsters who are clearly on the streets because they can 't be bothered to get a job , or are living " free " like America promised them . This day was no different . I was headed to Longmont to spend the day with Jess and Petra , and boarded the free mall shuttle to take me to Union Station , where I would catch the L bus . The shuttle has a row of seats that run along the back , allowing riders to look toward the front of the shuttle . I took a seat near the back , but along the side , and made myself comfortable . Shortly into the ride , an older man who was sitting in the back seat , looked directly at me and I prepared myself for my defensive response . The problem was I DID have something to eat . I had a whole lunch bag full of homemade pizza with chicken and artichoke toppings . I had an entire baggy full of fresh grapes , and I had a couple of cookies and a yogurt . I had plenty of food , and it certainly wasn 't the only food I would have access to that day . I felt horrible . I watched as he lowered his head to his chest and appeared to fall asleep . He hadn 't asked me for cash . He had only asked me for the most basic of human needs - food . I tried to remember the last time I was hungry . It was a few weeks ago , and I was certain I would faint doing the most mundane tasks around the house if I went another moment without food . I wondered if sleeping abated the pains of an empty stomach , as I watched him and fought back tears . His clothes were mostly clean , as well as his gray hair and face . He didn 't appear to be homeless , perhaps he was just hungry . Even after these thoughts , I am ashamed to admit that I still debated at all whether or not to give him some food . I thought about what I was willing to part with . The pizza was not that great , but was homemade and looked impressive . The grapes are natural fruit , so that seemed like the best idea . The yogurt and cookies I intended to share with Petra so I ruled them out . I continued to watch him until we were two stops away from Union Station . Sad and ashamed , I moved into the seat next to him , and pulled the pizza out of my lunch bag . I touched his hand lightly and he lifted his head , opened his eyes and looked at me . They were the watery , cloudy eyes of an old man , like those of my grandfather . I fought back tears and tried not to think about what circumstances had brought this man to the point of asking for food from strangers . " Thank you , it looks really good . " He took a bite and looked at me with those watery eyes , and praised me as if I had just served him some filet mignon . I was a fine cook , he said , in between bites , which he truly savored - I like to think it was really delicious , and not just his extreme hunger that fueled his compliments . " May the bird of paradise fly up your nose , may an elephant caress you with his toes … " Those were the lyrics of a song by Little Jimmy Dickens that my parents used to listen to when I was growing up . I 've always remembered the words to this song , and as an adult I realized this song was all about Karma . And if ever there was a time to call upon Karma , this morning was it . I hiked to the bus stop on Broadway to catch the 0 bus to work , and as I approached the bus shelter I saw a man I have come to refer to as our local Camper . He 's older , and sleeps along the canal road in a small shelter he made for himself out of branches and logs . He 's always been respectful when our paths cross . He 's never asked for money , and is always up early to break his camp and get on the road . Usually I see him tramping up Broadway with his backpack , I suspect heading nowhere in particular . Occasionally he was at the bus shelter before I arrived , and was always courteous as I approached . If he was smoking a cigarette , he would step around the back of the shelter so I wouldn 't have to smell it . If not , he would stand up and move out of the shelter , insisting I take the seat to wait for the bus . He never spoke , but I got an occasional grunt and nod in response to my greeting . Today he was standing next to the shelter , and two young men were sitting on the bench inside the shelter . I greeted the camper as I approached , and he nodded silently . He seemed out of sorts , at least as out of sorts as a stranger can be . I noticed immediately that the two young men also appeared to be homeless - their several layers of clothes were filthy , as were their hands and the white plastic bags that held their belongings . They sat on the bench inside the shelter , smoking cigarettes and talking . Their conversation was laced with expletives , and they acted as if they hadn 't noticed my arrival . I wondered how , and why the Camper came to be hanging out with these two . Clearly they were not of the same caliber of people he was . The Camper seemed frustrated and a little embarrassed at the behavior of his two friends , and avoided making any eye contact with me . I stood to the other side of the shelter , trying to avoid the cigarette smoke , vulgar conversation and general stink of these two youngsters . When the bus arrived , however , the Camper stood up and took the front of the line , they motioned for me to get on first . I thanked him , paid my fare and took a seat near the front . The stinky young men flashed their transfers and headed to the back of the bus , where they continued their awful interaction . I was glad they hurried to the back and hopefully , after putting on my headphones , I wouldn 't have to listen to them anymore . After fishing my headphones out of my bag , I looked up to see the driver and the Camper in a discussion . The Camper 's eyes narrowed , and he hollered at the two men in the back of the bus . " Hey man , I need that transfer you promised . " That explained a lot . He was hanging with them because they promised him a free bus ride , probably downtown to a food bank or shelter where he could get something to eat . I suspect he traded cigarettes for the promise . Downtown was a good five or six mile walk . I couldn 't fault him for that exchange . " Dude , sorry . We only have one for two of us . " The two laughed at having fooled the old man . The Camper 's eyes glowed with rage , and I could tell he would love to get them alone in a dark alley . And I kind of hoped he would someday . He couldn 't mask the shame he must have felt , as everyone on the bus looked at him , knowing he would be put off the bus because of lack of fare . The pride on his face at that moment reminded me of my father . A man who was proud of who he was , regardless of circumstance . " I 'll pay this fare . " I said . The Camper looked me directly in the eyes and gave me a slight nod . I don 't know which was harder for him to accept - being duped by a couple of stinky bums , or having to accept my help . I smiled at him and hoped he would go directly to the back of the bus and confront the little snots , as their laughing had died down when they realized he would be riding the bus with them after all . But he didn 't . He took the first seat at the front of the bus , placed his backpack at his feet , and silently faced the front . I , however , invoked the power of Karma . " May the bird of paradise fly up your snotty , stinky , horrible little noses . I watched the man as I waited patiently for the L bus to bring me home from an overnight visit with Jessica in Longmont . Being a conscientious commuter , I sat on the bench in front of the designated loading spot for the bus . The man was large , looked to be about 30 or so , and paced back and forth behind the bus stop shelter . I watched him out of the corner of my eye , waiting for him to swoop in when the bus pulled up and butt in line . I really am a stickler for bus protocol , and it really angers me when people just strut all around the bus stop , then jump in front of those who patiently waited in line . The man eventually tired of pacing and came to sit on the bench across from me . He was holding something very carefully in his hands . I looked closer and saw that he was cradling a small sculpture . About six inches around , it was a piece of driftwood with a tiny yellow and green ceramic bird perched on it , and was decorated with flowers and greenery . He held it as if it were made of gold , and I felt compelled to compliment him on his trinket . " Well , it makes me happy to look at so I guess it was worth it . " He smiled again and I realized he was perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed . His clothes were clean , and he chose his words carefully , and I couldn 't help by smile myself as he told me the story of his bird . " I liked this bird because he sings . " He pushed a button and the bird 's beak began moving and his tail flitting about as a chirping sound came from the trinket . " And look , he comes off the log , so if I don 't want to take him out with this , I can just take him off and put him in my pocket . " He plucked the tiny bird off the perch to demonstrate how easily he could remove it . He stroked it lovingly before putting it back on the perch . " Yeah , there used to be a bigger bird on this stick , but I don 't like him as much so I leave him at home usually . " I raved about his bird and how pretty the set up was , and he was obviously proud of his plastic pet . After a few minutes his voice got serious . Unbeknownst to me , today would be the beginning of a string of unusual events , nothing serious in retrospect , but just a few days of hilarious insanity . It began with the books locking me out of the room . Here I must attempt to describe , in a bit of a technical manner , the layout of the donation center . It was originally a tanning salon , built as the lifelong dream of a man whom I choose to believe was a wonderful man . He ultimately suffered a heart attack in the center and lay dead for quite some time before anyone discovered his body . Anyway , the office has a large receiving area , then a long hallway with small rooms on each side where tanning beds were located . The walls separating each room don 't reach all the way to the ceiling . With about a four foot gap over each wall , one can easily climb over and between the rooms . I had received about a dozen boxes of books , which I stacked mostly securely in one of the rooms . Not securely as I thought , apparently , because as I was working in the front I heard the familiar sound of boxes shifting . I figured it was a small box of decorations I had thrown to the top of the pile , and was frighteningly surprised when I heard the roar of many boxes falling , followed by the slamming of a door . I rushed back to see what was the matter , only to find the door closed and unmoving when I pushed on it . The boxes of books had toppled and spilled against the inside of the door , and no matter how hard I pushed it wouldn 't budge . I stood perplexed for a few minutes , angry at first , but after realizing the absurdity of being locked out of a room by inanimate objects , I couldn 't help but laugh . I got the big ladder from the storage room and peeked over the wall , and sure enough there were dozens of books scattered along the floor and against the door . I lowered myself into the room , feeling very much like a cat burglar , and cleared the doorway . I stacked the books in much shorter piles this time . The day continued to be busy , but I avoided any further fiasco . I headed downtown to my apartment . The train was full of an odd mix of riders for a weekday . Of course school is out for some students , so there were quite a few young people . There must have been a play or convention as well , because middle aged and older riders took up the rest of the seats . We traveled one stop down the line , and realized the doors were not closing as quickly as they usually do after picking up passengers . A courteous voice sounded over the intercom . " Move away from the doors so I can close them ! " Still no movement . " You are holding up every person on this train ! It is not their fault you weren 't prepared ! Get away from the doors ! " We all looked around for the offending party . They were not on our car , all the doors were clear . The train finally began moving , but the conductor was not to be so easily appeased . The day began wonderfully . I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Robert , and had several errands to run downtown , but nothing super - important . I was looking forward to spending the day riding buses , trains , and having plenty of time to finish a great book I was reading . One of the benefits of being a regular public transit rider in the suburbs , is that Rocco picks me up at Robert 's house in the short bus . Rocco is the morning driver , and Ricki is the afternoon driver . They pick me up and deliver me to the light rail station , or will take me to the grocery store if I need . It 's a great service , but I usually only take advantage of it in the morning , or when I 'm carrying a lot of goods home . The rest of the time I enjoy the two mile walk from the station . Today I had to be downtown by 10 : 30 to interview a homeless man for a monthly profile for the VOICE . When Rocco arrived to pick me up the air was cool and smelled of wet , fresh grass . The sun was rising , and it was shaping up to be a hot , but beautiful day . I had a moment of spontaneous euphoria as Rocco drove to the station , windows open and the cool breeze washing over me . It was going to be a good day . Or so I thought . My interview turned out to be too time consuming and tedious . If I spend more than one hour on an interview , I end up making an hourly wage that is miniscule . The profile only entails 500 words , so a quick synopsis of their life is sufficient , mostly I need a couple of quote about selling the paper , and the point is to let readers know where to find them . It was quickly apparent that the theme of this interview was , as a man with undiagnosed bi - polar disorder , his life was disrupted and he remained homeless because he cycled through success and destruction every 4 to 6 months . I was sympathetic to his story , but he insisted on reciting EVERY detail of EVERY failure , EVERY six months of his life . I gently tried to prod him along , but he was insistent upon the details . It 's always hard for me because I do my best to respect every subject and make them feel that everything they say is of the utmost importance , but I really couldn 't afford to spend the three hours the interview was turning into . I left a little angry with myself . Both for rushing the interview , and for letting it go on too long . I scolded myself as I walked the 1 . 3 miles home to my apartment . My next point of business was to renew my discount prescription card . I had let it lapse , and I only use it for certain items , my diabetic drugs I get at another pharmacy , which was my third stop for the day . So I entered the apothecary with my 15 pages of renewal paperwork , only to be told that it would not be honored . When I first signed up for the card , they allowed me to use the receipts and paperwork until my official card came in the mail . I assumed that would be the case again . Not so . For some reason , the law is that if you let it lapse there is no leeway for renewals . Why ? I asked , that 's rather ridiculous . The young girls were sympathetic , but raised their arms in the air and made the statement , " We know it 's ridiculous . And there 's no reason for it . But it 's the law . " Frustrated I left . Mostly because there was nobody to rage against . Nobody to call and say " What the hell were you thinking ? " It seems like just another ridiculous bit of control that is exercised against us in the name of " Medical Care . " Between the never - ending interview and time spent arguing unsuccessfully , my bus transfer had expired , which meant I would have to spent another $ 2 . 25 to get to the pharmacy for my insulin . I get a great sense of accomplishment at planning my day precisely so I can get around with only one pass . It was already noon and I was cranky as I boarded the 52 bus bound for Denver Health . The driver was a nice old lady who met me with a big smile , and in a very pleasant voice announced every stop . I was feeling more relaxed as I got off the bus . I would pick up my test strips and insulin , have lunch , and still be able to make it home on the same transfer , since they were good for three hours . Then I noticed the nice driver had not changed the time for the hour , and my transfer was only good for two hours . Dammit ! I rallied again when I saw the line to drop off prescriptions was not that long . And I admit I rallied a little more as I listened to the man in front of me argue with the clerk about his prescription . They had the wrong units , or read the prescription wrong , whatever the problem , I heard that they were unable to give him enough insulin to get him through the month . He was a huge man , and when I overheard how much he was taking I thought it was impossible that one human could take that much and not die . I was very happy , and a little smug , knowing that my prescription included much less insulin , and , having promised my doctor I would keep a log of all food and insulin taken , I was feeling pretty high and mighty that my visit here would be much more pleasant . Wrong again . I approached the window and told the apathetic clerk I would like two vials of humalog . Without checking the computer , she looked directly at me and said , " You can only get one . " " They let me get two at a time . I do it every couple of months . " I replied . She didn 't bat an eye , and still didn 't even pull up my record . " No . You can 't get two . " I checked my temper . It wasn 't that imperative , but since there was a minimal charge for them , it was more convenient to cover two months at a time . Whatever . " I 'm sorry . My doctor has instructed me to check my blood sugar five times a day . I can 't do that without test strips . Can you please look at my record ? " Her apathy was replaced with snottiness . " You can use the house phone to call him , then he can re - write the order and we can re - process the order . But no , I can 't do anything from here . You can come back tomorrow , then it will be 30 days . " " Fine , it will be about 45 minutes . " She showed the first sign of emotion , in the form of delight as she informed me I would be waiting a long time . Ha ! I had news for her . " Wonderful ! " I said , flashing her a big smile . " I have a good book I 've been dying to finish , and the cafeteria has great salads . " That showed her . I marched off and went to pay too much money for a really bad salad , but dammit , I did read my book . Insulin in hand , I got back on the 52 bus to continue my journey back out to Robert 's , where I looked forward to lounging on the patio and wrapping up some blog posts . I was in immediate trouble with the driver , as I tried to board the bus without realizing a wheel chair was trying to exit . He yelled at me to " hold up , " then I waited as he lowered the ramp and the chair rolled off . He made it a point to hold me at bay for about 30 second longer than necessary after he raised the ramp , I think just to make sure I knew he was the boss . I took a seat in the back and looked at my transfer . It expired at 3 o ' clock . It was now 2 : 45 . We would get to the train station about 2 : 58 , and I my stop was about 10 minutes past that . Angry at the original driver all over again , I wondered what the technicalities of the pass were . If I boarded the train while the pass was still good , would it count ? Given my experience with RTD employees , it would not . But we were talking about a matter of minutes . My internal battle was interrupted by a woman in the middle of the bus yelling " This is my stop ! " " I stopped for the stop you rang the bell for ! That was on the other side of the street ! No bell was rung for THIS stop ! " The driver yelled , as he slammed on the brakes , pitching all of us forward as the woman worked her way off the bus . That seemed like the final sign that this day was not the day to tempt fate . I bought a fresh ticket at the station , but was still grumbling about it as I bumped along . Then , two stops before my exit , a transit cop appeared from behind me . " Tickets please . " I was giddy with relief as I flashed him my pass , he smiled , wished me a good day , and moved on to the next person . I looked at the time . It was 3 : 03 . I replayed my ridiculously tedious day in my head as I began the two mile walk home . But soon the bunny rabbits were darting across my path , the geese meandered toward me to shake me down for food , and I noticed the trees had finally started to turn green . Sure the day had cost me three transit passes , but I did come away with an interview , a bottle of insulin , and narrowly escaped a transit fine of $ 75 . And in retrospect , I couldn 't really remember the last time I had such a terrible day . Most of my days have been good , so I shed my worries along the walking path , happy to know that I probably had another six months or so before I would have a bad day again . May 22 , 2013 Posted by tabdeans |