Sunday, August 25, 2013
Now, it never occurred to me that midnight is the end of the public transit gig. There were no trains or buses leaving the transit center until morning. I checked my pocket to see how much cash was there, then realized that it wasn't enough to get me about eight miles in a cab. So my tired old body picked up the heavy bag to begin walking.
Initially I was a bit upset to learn that TriMet neglects the nocturnal. Along the way I stepped in very foul smelling dog feces that would have repulsed a fly. It was impossible to clean it all off without water, so the stench wafted into my frustrated nostril as I kept on trucking, thinking that the smell is something like a TriMet manager must smell .
After a few miles I started enjoying the cool night, although I was sweating as I carried the heavy bag that, thankfully, was very sturdy. Walking past a couple of young party pigs and their girlfriends, one of them tried to impress his girl by stomping his boots loudly while coming up behind me after I'd passed, but I didn't react, perhaps avoiding a conflict the Jerry Springarian might have liked to engage in. The moon is close to full and it was clear as the pulse of city night quietly beat on and I thought about what's right in the world.
I hate to drive and greatly respect the drivers who deal with Spingarians on a daily basis, along with terrorist drivers and managers who are too busy dealing with their own stresses to ease the burdens of drivers much. Besides, if I had planned ahead it wouldn't have been necessary to stumble through what remains of irresponsible pet owners' dog walks in the middle of the night. The exercise was more than I'd planned on, but -- as I listen to the album "Tommy" by The Who -- I realize that most of us have it pretty good and TriMet takes on an enormous task. Still, they kind of stink sometimes.