Hey, mister driver man, don't be slow,
'Cause I've got somewhere I gotta go.
Hey, mister driver man, drive that thing fast;
My precious time keeps slipping past.
—Violent Femmes, "Waiting for a bus"
I had an epiphany this morning on my way to work. I live downtown and work in the burbs, so at least my inside-out commute is less crowded than if it were the other way around. But sometimes it's frustrating. This morning (not for the first time) we stopped and sat outside a Tim's for a while while the driver went in and got himself a coffee. While we were all waiting for him to return to his seat, I had time to reflect, and I think I understand now what a whoopee cushion is for.
Let's call the mayor, let's complain:
Looks like the city's done it to us again.
—ibid.
Then I got to work and spotted seven white-tailed deer grazing on the soccer field in the light dusting of early-April snow, and my resentment melted away.