The following story did not happen on the short bus, but instead in the lobby of my apartment building, while I was waiting for the short bus.  It just so happens, through scheduling and random timing, that I often end up around the same group of folks each weekday morning.  There is the Front Desk Guy, the Maintenance Guy, one of a few Security Guys, and a slightly varying set of Fellow Apartment Dwellers.  I don't think many of us know one another's names, but we exchange pleasantries in the wee hours of the morning as we prepare to either start or, in the case of the Front Desk Guy, end our day.  I actually really like most of them to the point that, if I didn't think it would sound either very pathetic or mildly stalker-ish, I'd ask them if they wanted to go out for coffee sometime or something. 
 

Well, anyhow, on this particular morning, one of the Fellow Apartment Dwellers was waiting for a taxi she had called to take her to work.  She had requested her ride for 6:30 am.  When I came down, at the usual 6:45 am, she was on her cell phone waiting on hold with the cab company, trying to figure out why the cab hadn't showed.  The cab driver told the supervisor that he had been right out front for some time.  The Front Desk Guy, Another Apartment Dweller, and me all verified in unison that he was definitely not "right out front."  We all had an unobstructed view of the entire driveway and there were no vehicles at all, taxis or otherwise.  Confronted with collaborating eye-witnesses, the cabbie then admitted that he was actually in front of another apartment building a block away.  He claimed he couldn't tell it was the wrong building because "it was raining too hard" and that his "GPS wasn't working."

 

By the time he did show up, my Fellow Apartment Dweller was going to be late and had called a different cab company.  We all watched in disbelief as the first taxi driver, instead of pulling up under the entrance way's nice dry covered archway, parked across the street, got out into the pouring rain, and jaywalked across the busy street to the lobby doors.  The Fellow Apartment Dweller commented to the Front Desk Guy, "I'm not going anywhere with him.  He looks drunk."  Her suspicions were bolstered by what happened next.

 

The entrance of our apartment building has two sets of double doors.  The first set, which leads into a glassed-in alcove, is unlocked.  The second set is normally locked.  To get through those, you need to do one of three things.  Each resident has a key fob that they touch to a security box to unlock the door.  Or visitors can call residents on a call box in the alcove and be buzzed in.  Or in some cases the Front Desk Guy has a special button he can press to momentarily deactivate the lock.  More often than not, residents and non-residents alike default to the third option.  They'll knock on the glass and wave and smile until the Front Desk Guy breaks protocol and beeps them in.  In truth, our secured entry way is not very secure.  But this morning, further shattering any illusion of protection, one of the pair of inside doors was completely propped open.  Sometimes this happens when it sticks on the rubber trim of the alcove's door mat.  Sometimes it's mechanically held ajar by the handicapped door opener that suddenly decides to work and gets stuck in overdrive.  For whatever reason, it was yawning wide in the early morning air.