It Was Not the Knitting
I routinely knit on the bus. I enjoy being able to have something to do that still allows me to glance out the window or watch interactions. I find knitting to be the perfect use of my commute. Often, I'm also listening to an audio book. But, I wasn't today. I was making a compromise with myself. I promised to give in to the book that was calling to me from my bag after a few more rounds of knitting. I'd just dipped my toe into the first couple of pages and it was begging me to jump in head first.
So, you see, I wasn't unduly distracted. Knitting and bus riding are my standard fare. Certainly, the knitting wasn't to blame. If I had to point to the culpable party it would probably be the ice cream cone.
Perhaps I should explain. I was headed to a shop I don't often frequent, on a route I'm not familiar with. To be specific, I've only been to this shop, and on this route, one other time. And, then, I was coming from a different direction. So, really, I had only traveled this route on my return home. Not to bog you down in the details, here, just a bit of context. On that one expedition, I'd over shot lunch and was miserably hungry by the time I'd finished my shopping. I did what any sensible Warszawian would do. I stopped for an ice cream cone and began to meander my way down the street as I enjoyed it. It worked wonders for my growling tummy, but it did little to help orient me to my new locale. In particular, it cause rather a lot of distraction when I suddenly saw my bus approaching. I had a fair bit of cone left to consume as well as a sizable section of sidewalk to traverse before the next bus stop.
There was a cramming of ice cream cones into mouths (ok, just mine) and a rushed entry. It was not the sort of scenario that encourages careful attention to bus stop names and pertinent landmarks. That (and decidely, not the knitting) is why I found myself suddenly looking around and wondering at which stop I should disembark. We'd just turned a corner and a stop was announced. I worried that the next stop may overshoot the mark by quite a bit.
So I made the very reasoned, if precipitate decision to jump off at this stop. A stop that was on demand only. A stop that was rapidly approaching. In a flurry of button pushing and supply gathering I exited the bus in a cloud of haste, literally trailing a tangle of yarn.
Once all yarn was tucked safely back in my bag, I started down the street toward my destination. I found, immediately that it was far warmer than I had realized. Hot, I would say. A few more yards down the sidewalk and I began to get the decidedly uncomfortable feeling that nothing was looking familiar. A few yards more and I was only more convinced that something was amiss.
This story transpires exactly as you, observant reader, would anticipate, and as I, it’s hapless protagonist did not. I pulled out my phone and discovered that I had disembarked approximately 10 stops too soon. On an entirely different street. In an entirely different part of the city than I had intended.
I shuffled on to the next bus stop and endeavored to cram myself into the infinitesimal sliver of shade it provided. Thus situated, I knit round after round, wondering how long the 20 minutes between buses could possibly take. Sitting with a pile of yarn puddled in my lap was not the ideal way to cool off. But, now my obstinance kicked in. The only redemption for my unplanned diversion was to add an inch or two to this sweater of mine.
Because it was decidedly, definitively, assuredly not the knitting.