My Bais Gets On The Last Train

So, there I was, standing on the platform, the cold wind nipping at my heels. It was one of those nights, you know? The kind where you're not sure if you're coming or going. I'd missed the last train. Again.

Now, I know what you're thinking, "Bais, how do you always manage to pull this off?" Well, let me tell you, it's not a skill I'm particularly proud of. It's more like a... special talent. A talent for being just a teensy bit late. Every. Single. Time.

Why, oh why?

You'd think I'd learn, right? But no, here I am, staring at the empty tracks, the station clock mocking me with its steady tick-tock. Why do I do this to myself? It's a mystery even to me. Maybe it's the thrill of the chase? The adrenaline rush of almost missing it? Or maybe, just maybe, it's because I'm a sucker for punishment.

But hey, at least I'm consistent. Isn't that what they say about crazy people? They're always consistent. So, I guess that makes me... predictably crazy. Great.

The Waiting Game

So, there I was, waiting. Again. The station was deserted, the only sound the distant hum of the city that never sleeps. I pulled out my phone, scrolled through my socials, checked the time. Again. And again. And again.

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You'd think I'd use this time to reflect, to ponder the meaning of life, or at least, the meaning of my chronic tardiness. But no, I was too busy refreshing my Twitter feed, hoping for a sudden change in the train schedule. A miracle, if you will. Spoiler alert: it didn't happen.

I mean, come on, universe! A girl can dream, can't she?

Plan B

Alright, so Plan A was out the window. Time to move on to Plan B. Which, in my case, was calling a ride-share. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Bais, why not just do that in the first place?" Well, let me tell you, I have my reasons. Reasons that involve my bank account and its dwindling balance.

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But hey, beggars can't be choosers, right? So, I swallowed my pride, flagged down a car, and climbed in. The driver looked at me like I was crazy. I mean, I get it. It was late, I was flustered, and I probably looked like I'd just run a marathon. Which, in a way, I had. The marathon of missed trains.

The Silver Lining

So, there I was, finally on my way home. The city lights blurred past, the radio played softly in the background. And you know what? It wasn't so bad. Sure, I was tired, I was late, and I was out a few bucks. But I was safe, I was warm, and I was on my way home.

And hey, at least I had a good story to tell. A story about how I missed the last train. Again. Because, let's face it, life's too short not to laugh at yourself. And besides, it could always be worse. I could be the one driving the last train. Now that would be a nightmare.