Getting philosophical at the bus stop (write of passage number fifty-two)

Younger daughter and I are late. Again.

I decide to save time by trying for the bus. We approach the stop nearest our home, where three elderly people wait. I ask the closest lady if a bus is coming soon.

There is a long pause, long enough that I'm beginning to wonder if I have been understood.

"Soon?" she says finally, in an accent that sounds faintly east European. "Is five minutes soon?"

Ah. A philosopher. Just what I need.

She turns to the other two, a couple standing far enough away that she has to raise her voice a little.
"You'll see," she tells them, as if continuing a previous conversation. They look mildly startled. (Younger daughter begins to reply, then realizes the lady isn't speaking to us.)
"If he's a male driver, he'll roll right up to the sign, which is tough for us, because of the grass, but easier on anyone getting out the back, because they'll step on the pavement. If it's a woman, she'll stop at the pavement back there." She points.

Almost immediately, a bus appears. The driver is female. She pulls up to the sign. The Bus Philosopher shrugs, and clambers on.

Later in the afternoon, younger daughter and I walk in from downtown, because it's downhill, only takes about fifteen to twenty minutes, and we're no longer in a hurry.

As we reach our home block, the bus draws up alongside us and the Bus Philosopher staggers out, clutching large shopping bags and boxes.

"You made it!" she informs us, and plods away.