No Bus, No President
It’s the day after Election Day, it’s early morning, around 6:30 a.m. It’s a bit chilly outside. Today I will be going to one of the Manhattan offices before making my way to my office in a part of Queens that takes me at least one and a half hours to get to via public transportation. I stand at the bus stop beneath the sign that clearly indicates that both the Q22 and Q17 stop right here.
To my right, behind me, was a young white lady and to my left, behind me, a young African-American girl—both obviously high school students. Both were absorbed by their respective worlds of music pumping into their ears through their Star-Trek like headsets.
Sighted in the distance—a bus. It approaches, QM 17. It doesn’t slow down neither does the driver make any motion to us that would suggest him asking if we want the bus to stop. He passes by full speed ahead. How did he know we didn’t want the QM 17? How did he arrive at his decision not to stop? Was there something in the way we were dressed (or not dressed) that indicated that we could not have possibly wanted to go to Manhattan? Or maybe it was something as simple as his physical abilities?
New elected officials, re-elected officials and no decision on who the country’s President is. (Maybe I should have worn my tie today.)