Don't feel bad, SPB.

I still have the blisters from an incident in Los Angeles decades ago.

I was sent to a series of meetings held in a hotel near the Airport. On the last afternoon, the 3:00 PM session was canceled and it was the last session of the day.

With nothing much to do, I decided to do a little sight-seeing. Since there was a bus stop right in front of the hotel I went out and looked for a bus.

After about 20 minutes or so, since I could see the sign for the next stop a block or so down the street, I walked down to the next stop.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

etc.

After about two miles, I observed that there was a phone booth with a phone book in it. (Phone booths were still common, but one with a book in it was very rare.) I looked up what might be the local bus company and called them to ask if I really was on a bus route, and if so when I might expect the next bus on that route.

The answer to both questions was "How the hell would I know" at which time the "custormer service representative" hung up on me.

Twenty three miles later (I checked the map), by the time I got to the place where I thought I might see some interesting sights, the only thing still open was the "Pink Pussycat School of Burlesque."

Since my feet hurt a bit by then I decided to go in and rest for a while.

I did see some sights. (One of them was named Babette.)

It was a similarly long walk back to the hotel.

(Don't go to L.A. without a car of your own - still true.)

John