It was a bright sunny day in San Diego, and I had graduated from my learner's permit to my own driver's license at last. From our picture window, I could see the corner of our block, and watched in surprise when a neatly dressed African American woman stepped down from a bus. After a moment of puzzlement, I concluded that someone in our white, privileged neighborhood had hired a cleaning lady. But she stood at the bus stop as if she were waiting for another bus. After twenty minutes, I walked across the street and introduced my self and asked her why she was waiting there. It was as I had feared - she thought there would be a another bus coming. She needed to get to a medical appointment a few miles away and the (white) bus driver had assured her there would be another bus. He could have known better, because his was the last bus of the day for our neighborhood.
The rest of the story is below the fold.
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