Ironman Cometh

It's pretty standard to complain about public transit when you live in a city.  For many, it's the only way to get around.  Even when they're on top of their game, something always goes wrong or there's a delay or it's raining out or there is someone on the bus who's definition of hygiene doesn't quite match my own. There are lots of things to complain about. 

Buses are particularly horrible.  They jerk about much more than trains.  The heating system seems perpetually stuck at nausea inducing104,000 F in the winter, which also contributes to the stank.  People always have more stuff than fits in the 12 inch seats. To top it off, you have to wait outside on a busy dirty Philly street corner.  Not typically a place I find a lot of fun.   But every once in a while if you keep your eyes open, something awesome happens.

I woke up in a pretty great mood.  I slept relatively well.  Everyone is relatively healthy and happy. My cat was even being charming in the morning. Life was good.  It was a Thursday before a long weekend and all was right with the world. 

I got dressed in a new orange sweater dress, which was a gift from my sister.  A gift that I didn't think was going to fit when I first looked at it.  But, fit it did.  My hair looked extra cute and there was enough coffee left in pot to take a traveler to work.  Score one for the home team!

I walk the 2 blocks to the bus stop, all the while listening to a "This American Life" podcast.  It's about Doppelgangers and calamari and pig intestines, which is simultaneously disgusting and funny.  Perfect for this sunny beautiful day.  I arrive at the bus stop, where a few people are loosely gathered already waiting.  An older woman reading a paper. A young guy in paint-stained baggy pants and a sweatshirt smoking a cigarette.  And, a familiar father and son pair.

It's the father and son that catch my eye.  The little boy looks about 3 and he's is behaving like he's about 3, which leads me to believe that he's about 3.  He's wearing a brown barn coat with imitation sheer ling around the hood and chestnut brown corduroys. He's also wearing a knit had that looks like an owl.  Dad is standing quietly by why the little boy runs up and down a accessibility ramp in front of a nail salon.

Occasionally dad says, "Cut that out."  "Stop running." "Boy, get over here." They are all half-hearted attempts at child wrangling by someone who is clearly too tired to really care whether or not the little boy stands still.

As the bus approaches down the block, the little boy starts running. Takes off like a dart.  He's headed right for the street.  As he reaches the curb, I gasp and then  dad's voice rings out clear and loud, "STOP."

And the little boy does just that.  He stops.  He assumes the position of Ironman.  And he pretends to stop the bus right in front of him.  As his dad takes his hand to help him onto the bus, he is smirking.  He is clearly quite proud of his superhero bus stopping skills. 

Thank you public transit for this up close experience with a real live superhero.  Rock on Ironman.