The 5am alarm time is particularly galling this Monday morning, as this past weekend in the Bay Area was overpacked with work and socializing and driving. Indeed, I went straight from car to bed last night and I am mourning the down-time that was not built into the weekend framework. And why are the days getting shorter again? There is a big difference between getting up whilst the sun is casting a pink glow upon the singing birdies — and getting up in the pitch black dampy fogness that whispers Dickensonian work conditions…

I stumble into the car and drive downtown, park and wait for the bus. I can’t even work up enthusiasm for Cute Bicycle Guy as he passes me in the line. The bus arrives (on time at 6:20! Six! Twenty! AM!) and it’s a new one — still the cushy charter-type bus, but different to the usual. We tentatively board, feeling the oddness of the extra-tall first step, the narrower aisle. Yes, friend, that is my shoulder.

The biggest difference of this new bus: DVD screens suspended above our heads, all playing the same movie. And that movie is the Nicholas Cage vehicle, World Trade Center. Interesting choice for a 6:30am commute bus. Sirens, devastation, death, national nightmare, check check check check. The audio is kindly piped in over a general sound system, so we all get to hear the movie whether we want to or not. Oh, Nic. What is up with your quirky acting style.

I scramble for my earphones and listen to the current podcast of This American Life, and it’s a repeat — one about the pain of breakups. Awesome. As the collapse of the WTC flickers for the kasquillionith time across  TV screens (but this time for entertainment purposes!), I get to think about heartbreak. Just as I’m starting to conjure tears, reliving all the injustice everywhere in the universe, we make our first stop.

The driver (new and fairly untrained — the overtaxed bus system is frantically trying to meet the needs of these Southern Californians, who, for the first time ever, are getting and staying out of their cars) flips on the harsh fluorescent lights (not needed) and announces the stop through the squealing loudspeaker (not needed!! We all take this same bus every day, jackass!)

As we move again, bracing ourselves for the next stop, the man next to me starts snoring the extra-zesty snore of a Monday morning.

Right then, an amazing tour-de-force takes place on the video screens — an actor, playing someone trapped in the 9/11 rubble, screams and screams and screams — balls-out, scenery-chewing wailing that goes on. And on. His frenzied, melodramatic shrieking tunes in some internal frequency of mine. Fortunately, instead of screaming along (which, let’s face it, would be a much more interesting end to this rant), I smile — and finally, finally find the funny in all this.