Driving Miss Lazy

I don't drive.  It isn't because I can't afford a car, like to live an ecologically friendly lifestyle, or have a moral objection to lining the wallets of oil magnates.  By choosing to use public transportation, I am doing my part to ensure that there is one less dangerous driver on the road in a city full of motor heads, lane lingerers and brake huggers.  I didn't get my license until I was twenty-three, and that was at the insistence of my then boyfriend, who was afraid he might end up becoming my personal taxi driver.  It took four, (count 'em, four), attempts but I did pass, mainly because I happened to pull off a textbook parallel park; a trick I was never able to repeat.  I was on the road for three whole weeks before a catalog of driving disasters saw me throw my boyfriend the keys to his early eighties tank/sedan and vow that I would rather spend the rest of my summer afternoons glued to a vinyl bus seat with my own bum sweat, squashed up against the window by old men who wreaked of cigarettes and vino than endanger the lives of innocent people a moment longer.  Sixteen gridlock free years later, I got to thinking: what if we could take the concept of public transportation and apply it to our love lives?  Sounds weird, I know, but imagine the possibilities if you could dispense with Internet dating and club hopping, and just hop on a bus and end up exactly where you wanted to be!  Of course, there would need to be a ticketing system. 
The Quick Trip, a one way fare, would be for passengers who weren't planning on returning that day, but also had no intention of extending their outing beyond twenty-four hours.  This, as you would expect, is a relatively cheap ticket.  The Long Haul would be for those travelling for business and pleasure.  Whether the journey lasted a week, a month, a year, or a lifetime, this ticket would be well worth the cost.  The Final Destination, as the name implies, would be more for the, shall we say, 'seasoned' traveler.  The equivalent of a seniors pass, this ticket would suit those who had thousands of kilometres under their belt with nothing to show for it, trying to outrun fate by taking the express route to the last stop on the map; Nothing Specialville.  
How's that for a business venture?  Kiss my grits, EHarmony!