The office park shuttle that takes me home* every day varies in size. Sometimes the driver uses this piddly little shuttle that caries only about 5/8 of the number of people who want to use it. There never used to be a shortage of shuttle seats, but then, gas wasn't on its way to being $4 a gallon, either.
Lately, thankfully, the shuttle driver has taken to driving larger-sized vehicles that tend to accommodate everyone.
Last week, as I was getting on the shuttle getting ready to head home for the weekend, I was doing my best to be a Good Commuter. I got on the shuttle quickly, I scootched into the back as nimbly as possible, given my size and ass and approximate three cubic feet of baggage. (By which I mean actual, tangible baggage and not emotional crap. Because three cubic feet? That would barely be big enough to function as my emotional baggage's ID tag.)
Anyway, so I'm working on my scootch and thinking I'm being a good commuter when WHAM! I bang my forehead into the mini-tv bolted to the roof of the shuttle. Hard, too. My head literally ricocheted off the damn thing. No one laughed or anything, but I had clearly come close to knocking myself unconscious and I did NOT feel ashamed in putting my hand on my forming bruise and saying, "OW!" aloud.
Then last night on the shuttle I noticed a VERY HELPFUL CLUE. One that perhaps should have been slapped on the monitors on the shuttle we used LAST WEEK so as to help poor people such as myself -- the ones who have some issues with breezy elegance -- AVOID FOREHEAD RICOCHETING.
Where were you LAST WEEK, oh helpful sticker?
*Though not directly. It actually just takes me to BART. Which takes me to the bus. Which THEN takes me home.