He finally found out that unknown to him, the Handicapped Association had planted a tracking microchip inside him several years ago. Every time he caught a bus, he was immediately detected by the supercomputer at their GHQ, and all the affiliated members of the organization were notified. Hordes of differently advantaged people then lined up at all the following bus stops until his destination, waiting to board.
For some reason, the precious moments of his life never ticked away faster than when he waited for the motorized platform to be painfully lowered for a smirking paraplegic to mount, and then raised again, the buzzing of the motor getting louder and more grating with every passing instant.
Suspicions of a universal conspiracy, particularly against him, were rarely false.