Sometimes the universe just opens up on you for a 24-hour period.
This morning on my way to work, the bus I was riding was hit by a car.
The accident was completely the other driver's fault -- someone the other riders said refused to slow down in the merge lane. The bus neatly severed one of the car's outside mirrors, and everything came to a halt.
The other driver -- an older woman with an air of entitled indignation and a handicapped license plate on her luxury sedan -- insisted on calling the police and waiting for them to arrive.
It was another of those "everyone off" moments, only this time we were in the middle of Lake Shore Drive.
As everyone else milled about the scene, she sat in her car, avoiding the wrath of a hundred angry public transportation passengers wondering how they were going to get to work.
And I'm ashamed to say this, but I walked right up to her car and gave her the finger.
It took three buses to pick up all of us, and our accommodations were cozy to say the least. I ended up standing right next to the driver, who was prompted by another, especially chatty, refugee to regale us with CTA gossip.
He claimed their regular budget crises are all the result of CTA President Frank Kruese wasting tax dollars on his high-powered friends. He called the organization Chicago's political dumping ground, and claimed that CTA actually stands for "cover thy ass."
I am happy to report that my trip home was entirely uneventful.