The Commute

I have a relatively easy commute to work. It's a 25 minute strait shot to downtown Indy from the south side. We don't have parking at the building off the circle, so we have to ride a shuttle from the parking lot.
It's a disaster.
Buried beneath the coats, purses, scarves, and lunch coolers; smashed against the window; and squashed between two large-bottomed gossiping women, I find myself each morning just one of the many employees foregoing the six-block walk from the parking lot to commute in the warm convenience of the shuttle buses.
This morning, there were appromately 73 passengers crammed into a 20-seat people mover.
With an elbow sticking into my ribs and the kneecap into my neck, I decided to walk from now on.
Before I disappeared in the seat cushions, my cries for help were drowned out by the Christian worship music blaring on the bus’s stereo and the morning banter of the chatty busybodies who are much too wide awake for 7:32 a.m. on a Wednesday.