Red skirt runs after the colectivo

Monday was the day of the Apocalypse when it comes to weather conditions. The first bout of warm weather turned out to be incineratingly warm, and the wind was obnoxious enough that the dust storm left a dirty brown haze in the sky and a light powdery blanket on each of the parked cars, not to mention the occasional grittiness in my mouth. But we aren´t talking about the lovely dust storms of Latin America. Let me amuse you with my story of running after the bus, or ¨colectivo¨ as we would say. The bus I must take to go anywhere out of my neighborhood is the N5. Sometimes I imagine it to be the name of a gang or drug cartel organization, but most of the time I view it as a pathetic response to infrastructure and the promises of improved transportation. 

I waited at one of the bus stops. I saw the orange letters of the N5 coming towards me like the infantry in a battle, tearing down the dusty road. I lept from my perch, and standing in the road I raised my arm in a salutatory beckon to my obligatory salvation. The bus driver and I made eye contact. He motioned something with his hand, and drove on. I can´t remember if I had the look of disbelief on my face or the look of anger and an already deep-seeded hatred for the N5. I didn´t know what to do - I had missed my bus, and the chances of another one coming by were close to another thirty minutes of waiting, which would mean that I would then be thirty mintutes late to class.

A woman across the street yelled in Spanish ¨run to the next stop,¨ which is exactly what I did, without even saying a thank you. I sprinted a good three or four streets, and as I was coming upon the back of the bus it began to take off at full speed. I stopped with disbelief because I knew that I would not be able to make it to the next stop which was an even further distance. I weighed my options. 1. I could wait for thirty minutes and take the chances that the bus be late. 2. I could walk 25 minutes down another street to the main road and take any of the buses that passed. 

As I was pondering my misfortunes, another N5 bus passed - which never happens. I stuck out my arm in hopes that the driver would be kind enough to stop even though I wasn´t even at a stop. He wasn´t even looking at the road while he was eating his sandwich. And that´s when I ran five or six blocks. The bus by then had pulled up to the red light and was waiting. The doors to the bus were open because of the heat, and just as the light was about to turn green I yelled ¨Señor¨ and jumped onto the bus as it was rolling away. I swiped my card and collapsed into a heap in the only available seat on that N5.

This tall, blonde-haired girl in a red skirt running after the bus had caused other cars to stop, but not the N5. The next time I have to run after the N5, I sure hope it´s not during another dust storm in 100 degree weather while I am wearing my pretty, red skirt.