The opposite of happiness

"There is a certain happiness sighted when your bus comes along," Richard Brautigan wrote in his short story, The Old Bus. "It is of course a small specialized form of happiness and will never be a great thing."

But what is it when your bus is missing? What is the opposite of that "certain happiness," that "specialized" happiness. Worse, how do you describe seeing the back of the bus, knowing you won't make your appointment because you missed a connection?

Today, I needed to be at my dentist's office at 8:30 a.m. for a cleaning. My dentist thinks my teeth are in such dire need of attention that I'm required to get them cleaned four times a year. Of course my insurance company disagrees, but that's another story.

I made the cleaning appointment for 8:30 a.m. six months ago because I had found a combination of my No. 82 bus and the No. 30 bus, along with a half-mile walk, got me to the dentist's office at exactly 8:30. Transitarian denistry at its finest.

By 7:24, I was waiting at my bus stop. The stop is less than 2.5 miles from the start of the route. In the year that I've been riding the No. 82 bus route, I've found that the buses are more often early than late. But twice in that year I have waited for a No. 82 bus that never arrived. Sure, that is just two buses out of hundreds, but that doesn't seem quiet as reassuring as it should when you have to be someplace at a specific time.

The No. 82 is scheduled to be at its first timing point, the next stop from where I was waiting, at 7:27. Today, the bus wouldn't reach that point until 7:34.

Having fretted about the possibility of the bus not arriving at all, I was cheerfully willing to forgive and forget when the bus was just seven minutes late. But that was a mistake.

In order to get to the dentist on time, I have to catch a No. 30 bus at Sacramento State scheduled to depart at 8:07 a.m. The No. 82 is scheduled to arrive at 8 a.m. I knew from past experience that the schedule was tight -- just seven minutes leeway -- but on my previous trips to the dentist I had made the connection without problems.

When the bus was already seven minutes late less than three miles into its route, I should have started thinking about possible alternatives to the No. 30 connection.

Instead, I read my book.

When the bus was eight minutes behind schedule at its next timing point, I should have put the book away and looked to see if I could catch light rail at 65th Street and get off at 29th Street in time to make my appointment.

Instead, I read my book.

When the bus finally arrived at Sacramento State at 8:11 a.m., I got off, not realizing that the No. 30 had already departed. Had I stayed on the No. 82 until the 65th Street light rail station, I could have boarded the 8:18 inbound train and arrived at 29th Street station at 8:25, with plenty of time to walk to 30th and P streets.

Instead, I watched the back of the No. 30 in the distance, waiting at Carlsbad and J streets for the left turn light to turn green.

How do you describe seeing the back of the bus, knowing you won't make your appointment because you missed a connection?