The Wrong Bus

It was Daniel's second week in Vancouver, and he was proud that he could already get to his English class by bus. Every morning he took the number 9 at the corner of his street, and every morning it took exactly twenty-five minutes. On Thursday, he was reading a message on his phone when the bus arrived. He got on without looking and sat down near the back. After ten minutes, he looked out of the window and didn't recognize anything. There were no shops he knew, and the street names were completely new. His heart started beating faster. He had a test in forty minutes. He walked to the front and asked the driver, "Excuse me, does this bus go to Broadway and Main?" "Sorry, this is the number 99," the driver said kindly. "You need to get off at the next stop and take the number 9 going east. It stops right across the street." Daniel thanked her and got off. While he was waiting, an older woman noticed he looked worried. "Are you lost?" she asked. He explained what had happened, and she laughed. "Don't worry. I took the wrong bus for a whole month when I moved here from Italy." The number 9 came five minutes later. Daniel arrived at class just as the teacher was handing out the test. That evening, he wrote a new rule in his notebook: "Check the number before you get on."