Every morning I walk down to the bus stop, hop it, and head to the T station. My whole commute takes about a half an hour at the longest which generally includes waiting for a bus and waiting for the T. But taking public transportation is hardly predictable as I witnessed this morning. And it brings out the worst in everybody, especially me.

Waiting twenty minutes for the bus is one thing, but waiting in the rain first thing in the morning with a very chatty companion is an entirely different beast. I’m no morning person, and I do not want to talk to you about the FOOT OF SNOW you heard fell on New Hampshire last night. I’m sure. A FOOT during the last week of March. Sure, buddy.

When the bus finally arrived, I quickly closed up my umbrella only to wait in the rain another five minutes as a mother disembarked with her toddler riding in a stroller. Thanks for taking your kid and your SUV STROLLER on public transportation in the middle of rush-hour. Really great idea. I was, at this point, officially the world’s worst person.

Between every stop, my chatty companion kept walking to the front to discuss with the bus driver why his CharlieCard appeared to be charged twice. The overly-friendly driver kept calmly reassuring him that he could fix the problem at the next T station and repeating over and over “there’s really no reason to swear, sir.” He muttered to himself and walked back to his seat stepping on the tail of the adorable golden retriever seeing eye dog of the young lady who had just boarded. He realized his error and squatted down to pet the dog, which we all know you are not supposed to do while it’s on duty. The dog calmly ignored Chattster and curled up on the floor of the bus directly across from me for the sole purpose of testing my ability to refrain from snookering him and speaking to him in my small-adorable-soft-animal voice. He was the cutest thing I had ever seen and I was quickly running out of self-control.

Next to board was a whole hoard of people dripping rain and pushing to get on to the wet and smelly bus. An Asian lady stood in front of me holding on for dear life as we careened towards the T station, now 25 minutes late. Perhaps it was accidental, but I think I saw a glimmer of evil in her eye as she dropped her arm and stabbed the aforementioned pup with the sharp tip of her umbrella. This was almost more than I could bear as my mind reeled with visions of drop-kicking her to the sidewalk and stabbing her in her left pinky with that same vicious implement of death that she had used on the sweet service dog.

I also wondered if the blind lady would notice if I accidentally slipped off with her golden? Surely she could get another, right? This dog NEEDED me. I was the only one who could single-handedly protect him from bus-riding ruffians!

I contemplated my life’s worth as I arrived at the station and boarded the next orange line train. Is this what I’ve become? The type of person who is so desperate to have a dog of my own that I contemplate stealing service dogs? A man with a T uniform and a very thick Russian accent eyed me as though I was a terrorist. I might as well be. I try to steal service dogs. Take me away to a maximum security prison where I cannot endanger people who take their puppy to the curb for a momentary bathroom break.

Next time the bus is late I’m just going to catch a cab. It’s really better for all of us.