Hell Hath No Fury....

Dear lord, dear lord, why do I do it? Why/how have I become little more than one gigantic exposed nerve end? Why do I fly into such uncontrollable rages that I cannot speak a coherent sentence? Why does the slightest frustration, which other people simply ignore or easily brush off, become a major trauma for me? I am a grenade with the pin pulled, and I realize the harm I am doing myself, but I cannot stop it.

The latest incident: It's a lovely if cool day in Chicago, and I had to go a Postal Plus store to send off a fax to extend the purchase contract on my dead friend Norm's condo. I decided to walk the eight blocks for the exercise. Fine. No problem. Sent the fax. No problem. Stopped at Walgreen's for a few things. No problem. Just as I was crossing the street heading home, a bus pulled up and I decided to catch it back rather than walk.

Now, in Chicago senior citizens ride public transportation free. I am not a senior citizen. I'm not! I'm not! But they somehow offered me free transportation and I took it. They issue a special electronic card with the person's photo, an ID number, and a prominently featured card-expiration date. I have to admit, I have no idea whose photo they put on the card they issued me...some wizened, desiccated old fart I had never seen before and hope never to see again. But I digress (oh, write that one down! It's a first!).

I keep the pass inside a plastic sleeve in my wallet, and merely pass it in front of an electronic scanner in every bus and subway/elevated turnstile in the city. The scanner then flashes a series of cheery lights and beeps happily to welcome me aboard. I got on the bus, passed my sleeved electronic card in front of the electric scanner which I have done several hundred times without incident. No happy beep. I pass it in front of the scanner again. Surly silence. No cheery lights.

"You have to take the card out of your wallet," the driver said.

No, I don't have to take it out of my wallet! I've never taken it out of my wallet before. Why should I have to do it now? But rather than make a fuss, I take the card out of my wallet and place it in front of the scanner. Nothing. I jiggle the card frantically back and forth. Nothing.

"Sometimes it doesn't read the card," the driver said, holding out his hand for the card. I gave it to him. He carefully inspected it, verifying that it was not a forgery and was indeed issued by the Chicago Transit Authority. He looked at the expiration date, which clearly proclaims "October 2011" in large red letters. He looked from the photo to me and obviously realized that the handsome young man standing before him was not the dried-apple-core carving on the card.

"You'll have to pay a dollar," he says.

I what?? It's not the dollar that is the issue...I owe the kind folks at the CTA far, far more than that for two years of free transportation...but it sure as hell is the principle of the thing! Why should I pay even a dime for some piece of machinery's malfunction? They gave me the card. They said I could ride free. It was also the fact that the driver had it in his power to simply say "you'd better get this checked" and let me go on about my business, but did not. He insisted I pay for his scanner's error!

He should have been very glad there were other people on the bus who didn't deserve to be treated to a nuclear meltdown, or I would have refused to pay and let him call the police to come resolve the issue. I probably still would have had to pay the dollar, but, oh, he would have had to earn it!

And how was your day?

New entries are posted by 10 a.m. Central time every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Please come back...and bring a friend. Your comments are always welcome. And you're invited to stop by my website at http://www.doriengrey.com, or drop me a note at doriengrey@att.net.