Thank You, Random Marta Bus Driver

Dear Marta Bus Driver,

Today I got on your bus, and it was already full, so I stood by the second door. You know the one I'm talking about. It's midway on the bus, before the steps to the upper level. Even the tiny Tbilisi gypsy busses have this second door. It's not some new fangled idea. I stood next to this door because there were not seats for me and I needed a place to stand. I did not do this because I had some agenda of being the first one off the bus. I didn't hate you then. I started hating you when we pulled into the bus round-about. The Cholitos/as began to swarm the second door, effectively squashing me against it. You stopped the bus and I heard the front door open, but the green light above the second door never turned on and the door did not open, even though the pressure behind me was mounting, as each cholito began to push harder in an attempt to leave the bus to ride the train. I yelled out to the crowd, "The door is closed." And then in broken Spanish, "La puerta no abra." You, Mr. Bus Driver, yelled "Use the front door, I don't want to open the back one. I heard the southbound train pull into the station as the pressure increased even more. I know my broken Spanish is not the best, but I thought my sentence was clear. Still the Cholita flood was not subsiding. Finally, the collective conscience of the crowd had an epiphany, and the front door was quickly used. As I walked by you, Mr. Bus Driver, I took mental notes on your appearance. Your image has been burned into my memory as the man who wouldn't ope the second door. I lept out of the bus, only to find that the train had already left the station. Five minutes ticked by and a southbound train did arrive, but never stopped. It was bound for "Out of Service", a popular station for Marta trains to head (an equally popular station for Marta busses is "Out of Service/Bus Barn".) After ten minutes of waiting, a fully operational southbound train rolled into the Lindbergh Center and I was on my way. You made me miss the train...for no good reason. I had no time to ask you why, as I still had a tiny glimpse of hope that I could make it through the "Breeze Gates", slide down the stairs, and be whisked away by the train in time. I should have, though. I should have asked. It's too late and now you are forever burned into my memory as "Mr. Bus Driver who hates Alan". I hope you can live with this.
Cordially,
Alan