Taking the bus is dangerous. I mean, I have to walk to the bus stop, a whole half mile or something. And then I roll my ankle, fall, skin my knee, and catch the attention of everyone within a full block radius. That never happened when I was driving.

"Are you okay?" yells some guy from down the hill over on the other side of the street.

"Yeah," I call back, standing to dust myself off and survey the damage. The fall wore a weak spot in the knee of my pants that will probably turn into a full-blown hole within one or two washings -- and these were nice pants, too. Bummer. My knee is a little bloodied up. My ankle hurts from rolling it. And more than anything, my pride is bruised.

Then, to make matters worse, the fall slowed me down just enough so that I missed my bus by 30 seconds. It drove past me as I was briskly walking the last block to the stop, so I had to sit and wait another 15 minutes for the next one.