In this story you can find me on my way home from work, maxing it as usual, engrossed in my smart phone. So engrossed, in fact, that when I did happen to look up and notice where I was, I had only one more stop to go, my own.
The small screen read "Lloyd Center" and I settled back comfortably into a haze of technology.
When I glanced up again, the screen had changed. It now read, "Hollywood Transit Center" and I could hear the compelling electronic voice of a woman commenting, "the doors are closing." I bolted up and squeezed past the woman beside me, running pell-mell to the doors and zipping out, just in time to look up at the stops' sign: Lloyd Center. I had raced out to found myself at the wrong stop.
Did I, like a normal person, turn around to force my way back on the Max, as I clearly had one more stop to go? No. No, I acted as though that were my stop all along, walking along the tracks until the sounds of the light-rail faded away, and I could safely turn around and wait for the next train, almost ten minutes away, not having to worry about the judgmental glances and laughs of the STRANGERS surrounding me.