Forrest Gump

So there I was sitting bravely on the bench at the bus stop. A cheery orange bromeliad perched on the seat next to me. My Camel Bak resting on my lap. Wait a minute, is that moisture I feel in my crotch area? Looking down, I notice a large, very large wet circle centered around the fly area of my cargo pants. I guess that mouthpiece valve on my Camel Bak wasn’t closed after all. Just as my brain is beginning to process the mental image of this rapidly developing scene, I hear the familiar screeching brakes of the number 38 FAX bus pulling up to Roosevelt High School. As panic sets in, I take a deep breath while fishing my bus pass out of my wet trouser pocket and climb awkwardly onto the bus. As I flash my soggy pass at the bus driver, I look left down the long crowded aisle. Of course the ONLY empty seats are in the very back two rows. So I begin the journey down the aisle, carefully positioning the flower pot directly in front of me, the bromeliad blossom bobbing along just in front of my belly button. As I make my way through the crowd, I silently debate whether the strategically placed flower pot is calling additional attention to my soiled pants, or eclipsing it from their view as I had intended. Eventually I found an unoccupied seat at the rear of the bus, and not surprisingly, no one sat down in the empty seat next to me. As the bus churned its way northward down Cedar Avenue the flushness slowly drained from my face. My heart rate gradually returned to normal, and suddenly as I began to realize how funny life is, an irrepressible smile enveloped my face and stayed there for the 20 minute commute to my office.