Transportation Conspiracies and Cafe Cubano Catastrophies

I hate Metro. And let me just pause for a moment. I really hate those folks. Hate. Harsh. Strong. I know. But I must be true to myself and in this trueness one things is clear. I fucking hate Metro.

Some of you are aware of my newly discovered hatred of Metro route number two. Metro route number two allegedly arrives at a set schedule. However, I do not believe it. I have a theory. The Metro route number two schedule was created, fabricated if you will, to convince large groups of people to wait for the route two at specific set intervals. Metro route number two never arrives at these set intervals. The question is simple. What is happening during these periods of time when mass quantities of individuals are waiting for the two?

I do not have the answer.

I believe it is something very very bad. If you have any thoughts or ideas of inside information, please contact me immediately. Especially if you do now or have in the past worked for Metro.

But there is more to this tale. Much more. Last night, something happened.

Last night I discovered a Metro bus route that I despise even more than I despise the two. You may be thinking that this is not possible. Two days ago I may have agreed with you. Now I must assure you that it certainly is possible. The route I now despise more than the two is Metro route thirteen. Is it a coincidence that this route also travels to the top of Queen Anne hill. I think not. What we have is yet another non-schedule schedule conspiracy.

And this is how conspiracy theories are built. On truth. Hard solid fucking evidence people. Solid fucking evidence.

Last night I waited so long for the route thirteen that a muthafuckin' two arrived. That people, is a very long time.

But there's more.

My thirteen-two travels led me to a glorious cup of cafe Cubano. Thick. Rich. Sweet. Dark. All of this coupled with cool breezing. Creative companion. Well fine, tripled then. You get the idea. The two. The thirteen. Lost in my mind.

And then it happened.

Sipping. Sipping. Sipping sweetness.

"this little light of mine"

It couldn't be. Not here. Not now.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

But it was happening. It was happening badly. And it was too late.

"this little light of mine"

I sat paralyzed.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

I could not speak. I could not make a sound.

"this little light of mine"

I could not even blink.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

I was screwed.

"let it shine, let it shine, let it shine"

I'm not really sure why this happened. This horrible man was singing. Someone gave him a microphone. It was the worst rendition of the song I had ever heard. At a Cuban themed coffee house. It was decidedly inappropriate. It was a head on collision. I didn't want to look. But I couldn't stop myself. And then. I wished I hadn't.

As I walked down Queen Anne hill -- for I certainly wasn't going to tempt fate twice in the same evening by waiting for the two or the thirteen -- I began to do something I do not typically do. I began to hum.

"this little light of mine"

Oh shit.

I hummed all the way down the hill. I hummed while waiting for a non-two non-thirteen bus that typically does arrive on time. I hummed while getting on the bus. I hummed on the bus. I hummed while getting off the bus. I hummed while walking home. I hummed going up the steps to my door. I was still humming while I walked into the foyer. Glanced at the junk mail. Humming.

I have now come to believe that there is a strong and significant connection between Metro route number two, thirteen and "This Little Light of Mine."

If anyone can shed light on the above, please contact me immediately.

"let it shine, let it shine, let it shine"