Conclusion: I should post on my blog.

It started at 4:00 on a Friday.

"Ellyn, the place is dead. You can go home early if you want," my coworker says. I'm not quite sure how to take this; has she noticed that I haven't actually been doing any work for the past hour, and wants me to go home so that I'm not getting dishonestly paid? Or is she being considerate and thinking I would rather be at home than doing nothing here at work? I appreciate both sentiments, I think. I decide to leave.

Now, a tangent on the UTA Bus System. I appreciate it; I really do. I have no vehicle of my own right now, and it is a convenient and fairly cheap method to get to work every day. The stops are convenient for both home and work, and in general the bus drivers are friendly (I won't go into the time I chatted happily with my sister for ten minutes until the bus driver stops at an intersection and says, "Miss, can you keep it down? I can hear your whole conversation. It's very distracting," or my subsequent embarrassment because I had been talking about the boy I like. No, I won't go into that.), so all in all it's an asset rather than a hindrance to my well-being and my bank.

But. It does not appear to excel at communication; between drivers, of routes, or towards the customers. Recently the stop nearest my work has moved several times; there is construction happening on that side of the street. This I understand: construction is annoying but we have to work around it. If the stop moves down the street, farther from my work, I will be slightly disgruntled but will walk the distance anyway because, hey, there's construction. If on one day the northbound and the southbound buses stop at the same place and the other day they stop 50 yards apart, I understand, although my level of disgruntlement will raise because I had to run like a fool to get to the bus. All this I understand, albeit disgruntledly.

Where my understanding lacks, however, is when the southbound bus stops at the northbound stop in the morning, and in the evening when I get off of work early and expect to be able to take a bus shortly after 4:00, the northbound bus drives right by the northbound stop I had been trotting towards and stops briefly at the southbound stop, the driver looking vaguely in my direction when I wave furiously but never stopping to answer my query of whether he was, in fact, a northbound or a southbound bus. See, that is what I don't understand.

Hence, we find Ellyn standing in the midst of construction and feeling more than a little disgruntled that she will now have to wait half an hour for the next bus: a northbound 832. Well, at least I'll get some time to think to myself.

Soon enough Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before walks up. We briefly chat; I've seen him in the office where I work several times and we laugh about one of the deans. Silence, until the occasional person stops by and asks if this stop is northbound or southbound; North, we answer, At least we think it is. Aren't the buses frustrating this week? Good luck getting on the right one.

Halfway through my self-allotted wait time I think to myself: Am I unhappy about this situation? Am I discontent with my life and my choices? The answer I arrive at is No. I am a little annoyed, to be sure, and my knees are starting to hurt, but it could certainly be worse. It's not cold, it's not hot, and here's a chance to work on improving my posture. Oh, well now it's started to rain. Still not unhappy; sometimes it's nice to feel the rain for a little while. Such were my musings.

At least, until Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before gets onto the 830 northbound bus and it drives away.

Now, I know that I do not ride the 830. I ride the 832. I am aware of the fact that the 830 and the 832 have similar routes and both eventually get to the Timpanogos Transit Center, my intended destination. I am aware that if I were to step onto the northbound 830 I would make it home as surely as if I were to step onto a northbound 832.

But I read the website, and the website says that the 830 is a special FrontRunner bus designed specifically for commuters, and has a higher fare. My student pass will not work on the 830, and I am not willing to pay for a fare when I've already paid for my pass; that thing cost money, yaar, and I aint spending any more. Hence, I will not step onto the 830 even though I know it will get me home.

But then why did Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before ride it? He is clearly a student. I saw him swipe a card as he stepped onto the bus, but he must have some sort of special card or be willing to pay the difference. I resolve not to worry about it; I am safe in the knowledge that I read the website and that the northbound 832 will be coming in ten minutes anyway.

Soon enough, Guy In A Red Shirt walks up and asks if this is the northbound or the southbound stop. Northbound, I say with confidence. There's a knocked-over sign right there and a northbound bus just stopped here a few minutes ago. He trusts me and stays, exchanging brief small talk about the inconveniences of the bus system. I hear ya, bro.

We stand in companionable silence until another bus comes up; this one is a northbound 830. Hold on a minute, we just had one of those. Isn't it time for the 832 to come by? Red Shirt moves forward to enter the bus but it drives by and stops at the southbound stop; he is now disgruntled as he is forced to trot to get onto the bus, having been deceived by a girl standing at the northbound stop that the bus would indeed stop where it was supposed to. Sorry, I call as he jogs away. I'm not sorry. I'm disgruntled.

By the time 40 minutes since I have arrived at the bus stop have passed, I have decided that I am officially unhappy with the situation. The northbound 832 bus that was supposed to arrive around 4:30 is clearly not coming, it has begun to rain harder and colder, and I am getting the niggling feeling that I could have, in fact, followed Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before's example and boarded the northbound 830 bus. I resolve then and there that if another northbound 830 bus stops by, I will step on board and ask if the bus will take my student pass.

Soon enough I am given the opportunity to test my resolve. I step on board.

"Do you take student passes?" I ask the driver.

"Swipe it and see," he shrugs. I do so. I get a green light.

It is 4:48, nearly fifty minutes after I missed my original northbound 832 bus. My level of disgruntlement has now reached its peak. I had started out happy: excited to get home early, eat dinner, and take my time getting ready for the show tonight. I ended up quite unhappy: I had stood in the rain forever, likely catching a cold, I had deceived my fellow UTA customers, and worst of all I could have been home half an hour earlier if I has just followed Guy I've Noticed On My Bus Before onto the first northbound 830, and would now have been sitting at home munching on nachos or leftover Indian food or whatever I could scrounge up for dinner.

At least, I thought as the bus pulled into the Timpanogos Transit Center, my internal narrative would make a pretty good first post for my blog.