It has been so hot in NYC the past 2 days that I do not want to go outside. I thought the Open was devastating, but if I had to be outside Wednesday and Thursday, I would have surely melted.

It was so uncomfortable that I took my very first bus ride EVER in NYC. I was visiting with my dear friend who moved out of state…she moved from the Upper West Side to the Upper East Side…I was torn about my return flight home. I walk everywhere, but I had turned a white outfit dank and dark on the walk across Central Park earlier in the day and my feet had inflated to look like Kim Kardashian’s pregnant blocks of flesh so mobility was an issue.

I tried to hail a cab, but they were all filled with overheated people. Paula set me up with the pick up point for the M66 crosstown bus. What a beautiful experience. I parked myself at the bus stop on East 67th Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenue. Fortunately for me, it was 96 degrees, 100% humidity and the super from an enormous apartment building was stashing dozens of bags of garbage while we boiled on the sidewalk, standing as close as possible to the rank odors.

The bus was delayed (I learned this fact from the regular riders). Two arrived simultaneously, both packed. I dodged the first and ran to the second bus. The driver only let 3 people on and the woman behind me went ballistic because his refusal to let her board was going to cause her to be late for her manicure. She was beating a rapid lament on the side of the bus as it lethargically pulled away from the garbage dump…I mean bus stop.

It was stop and go which gave the racist woman standing on the bus steps next to me plenty of time to insult her Dominican co-worker. Yes, we were dramatically told of her origin of birth. The aggravated woman even mimicked an accent. I have no idea if it was dialectically correct, but she was pissed and threatened to beat “her ass until she fell over.”

They both worked for a 74 year-old dentist who did not have a computer in the office and his eyesight was failing…great asset for a dentist. Between the age, eyesight and lack of living in the 21st century, I listened intently, as did the entire bus, for his name to make sure that our mouths never met. Sounds like a fun office environment.

At 5th Avenue, the bus emptied a bit and I was able to extricate myself from the dueling duo. I sat next to an obese young woman who snored worse than my father. We had a uneventful, albeit noisy, trip across the Park.

I finally made it to my stop and the doors didn’t open. Flashing back to my elementary school days, I shouted across the length of the bus, “Please, let me out!” To my great embarrassment, technology had improved the middle doors and as the sign in large letters in front of me stated, “Push Here To Open.”

I jumped off the bus and decided, no matter the circumstances, this bus rookie was going back to walking…oh, have I mentioned that Courtny was hit by a bus crossing 65th Street and Central Park West…the wheels on the bus do not go round and round contentedly for my family.