Delay on the Way to Burbank

"How long have you been waiting?" This is a question I ask to get a sense of when the next bus will arrive. Timetables are pointless on streets like Ventura where traffic makes keeping a schedule sisyphusian. Anyway, during the day the bus usually comes at least every ten minutes.

"About ten minutes," he says, obviously frustrated. "I have to be in Burbank by 3." Right now it's about 2, and we're at Ventura and De Soto. There's no way he's going to make it, I think.

"Why don't you take the Orange Line? You could get to North Hollywood pretty fast and then take a bus from there."

"No, No. That won't work." He lights a cigarette and leans on his cane. "See, I've got it figured out."

"Oh," I nod. He looks to be in his sixties. Perhaps he plans to transfer to the 96 at Van Nuys, which would be one less transfer, but I still think he would have a better chance taking the orange line.

"I have to meet my niece and her daughter at the train there."

"Oh."

We are waiting at the stop for the 750 Rapid, but I see that the local is coming, so I start walking toward the stop for the 150, about 20 yards to the East. (If the local ever comes before the express, its best to hop on the local--better to be riding than waiting.)

The man with the cane appears to follow me, so when the bus doors open, I delay getting on. The driver looks at me angrily. "What are you doing? Are you coming or not?!"

I step on and gesture at the man walking with his cane, "I think there is a man who..."

The door shuts behind me, and the bus shoots off. "He wasn't at the stop. We can't wait."

I look back at the man waving his arm hopelessly. I sit down with guilt on my shoulders. What could I have done?

What could I have done?