A group of people from work met for happy hour last night at the Granfalloon on the Plaza. Something occurred to me as I was on my way there. I had never gone there sober, outside of packed-bar-hours, or alone. I was walking from my car over to where I thought it was, and walked to the far end of the Plaza before I called Chris to ask where it was. I finally met up with everyone and we got a table. They just put 2 Below, New Belgium's Winter Seasonal, on tap. It was very tasty.
We talked about work, each other, Wayne's truth issues, and other stupid crap. We ate, played some pool/bowling/pacman games, and I called it an evening. I went home and was in bed and asleep by 9:30pm. It was a record.
I awoke to the sound of the alarm this morning at 6:20am. Whenever I get up at 6:20am, it doesn't matter how much sleep I've gotten. My first instinct will always be to change the alarm for 7:50am, meaning that I mean to drive to work. But after relieving myself as I always do, I am more awake, and the idea of sleeping in seems less reasonable than before. This morning reason won out.
I had an errand to run on the way to work, so I caught the MAX at 6:45am as opposed to my semi-customary 25 at 7:03am. I took the bus down to Main and Linwood and started walking down the east side of the street toward Lamar's. I was late for last week's staff meeting, therefore I am obliged to provide donuts for this week's meeting. The MAX runs every fifteen minutes during rush hour, so my plan this morning was to take the Plaza-only MAX to Lamar's in Midtown, get the donuts, and walk down to Armour to catch the next Waldo bus, expected fifteen minutes after I got off.
I was walking along at a brisk pace as I normally do, and as I passed McDonald's I heard a shouting voice over my shoulder from close behind me. I had headphones on, so he must have really been shouting loud to get my attention. I know from previous experience that people will go to great lengths in Kansas City to get the attention of a possible mark. I half turned my head toward him, waved my hand to him and said, "sorry." I never slowed down or took off my headphones.
The staff at Lamar's took a while, because a woman in front of me in line wanted four dozen donuts. This forced one of the two women working the counter to run back into the kitchen to procure the forty eight donuts that had been ordered. I ordered mine, paid, and left. Right about the time I reached the west(southbound) side of the street, the Waldo bus rolled up behind me. I still had about a hundred yards and the light at Armour to cross before I was at the next bus stop, so I started running. I was running with a backpack over one shoulder, and two obvious boxes of donuts. The bus stopped to pick me up.
I thanked the driver voraciously when I climbed on, panting. "Well you got donuts," he said. The majority of the people on the crowded bus started laughing. Embarrassed by the spotlight, I found a seat. Since the stop at Armour was only a short distance away, the bus stopped again before I even got a seat. As I finally did sit down, the man I had waved away earlier got on the bus. He walked up to me and announced that I was a "cruel dude." Nobody paid him very much heed, and he got off only a couple blocks later.
I got off in Brookside, and found that the next bus would be along in only about fifteen minutes. Heartened by this, I sat down and talked with another guy who was sitting at the 63rd St bus stop. He asked me if he could have my transfer, but I didn't have one. (Let me also state here that I love having a monthly pass.) We talked about the buses, stem cells, and the upcoming light rail route. He gave up trying to find someone to give him a transfer and started walking for downtown, over fifty blocks away. I wish that I'd had a transfer for him. If I ride again tomorrow, I'll give him the $2.50 change card I have at home that I'll never use now that I have a monthly pass.
Now I'm sitting here in my cube, waiting for the 9:30am staff meeting, with the smell of delicious donuts taunting me.