I believe I touched on what Friday's trip was like.
Today was a million times worse.
T couldn't commit to telling me what time the family would get home today, so we agreed to talk this morning. She texted me around 9 to tell me they would be home around 2. This didn't leave me much time to work with. I had asked her to let me know REALLY early. I'm not positive about this, but I don't think 9 is all that early.
I got out of bed and went to book my bus ticket. I got the earliest bus I could make it to, whispered like a creep in Ashley's doorway until she woke up and we hit the road pretty quickly.
We stopped for breakfast and gas and met up with her mom, who would accompany us on our trip.
Ashley was driving me into Hartford, CT, since the distance to there was about the same as to Boston and my ticket cost half as much.
We arrived right on time and chatted before saying goodbyes.
I went over to the only waiting Peter Pan bus, which is who I had booked with. I've learned this weekend that Trailways, Greyhound and Peter Pan are all essentially the same line. I also learned to book reserved seating.
I reached the platform and on a bench sat a young black gentlemen and his father, who stared me down, leapt to his feet and went,
"Girl, are those your real eyes?"
Confusion was my first reaction, with hysterical laughter close behind. I bit back the laughter and simply said yes. The elder man told me that was amazing and introduced me to his son, who he promised would make an excellent husband. He left us to converse.
I decided to go inside the station and hunt for an ATM, which I needed to do anyway.
When I ran out of ways to kill time and finally went back outside, Joseph, as I learned my betrothed was named, waited on the bench.
He was not particularly bad looking, but he was not particularly nice looking either. He was hard to understand, mostly because he spoke quickly and I was trying to pretend I was deaf.
My biggest problem with Joseph was that his father had taken the initiative to force me into an unwanted engagement with a complete stranger at a bus station in Hartford.
Normally in that situation I would say something rude and walk away but today I was feeling exceptionally indifferent due to serious lack of sleep, so I let Joseph talk. He asked me the obligatory lame flirtation questions.
"Where are you from?"
"What's your sign?"
"Do you have any children?"
For the duration of our conversation I tried to call everyone in my contact list and left several voicemails. While I couldn't say, "Help! Call me back! I'm having an awkward conversation with a very forward man at a bus station!" I did leave a few messages I had been planning on leaving anyway, one of them included a quick hello to my mother. In my message I mentioned how I knew she was probably at church and then I signed off.
When I turned back to Joseph he said,
"I go to church. And I don't have no kids. No baby mama drama. You don't see that a lot anymore."
No. You don't. I nodded and smiled and answered him but only in my head. You know what else you don't see a lot of? Men assuming that we are in a relationship because I am standing a few feet away from them waiting for a bus to open its doors.
FINALLY a boarding call came for the express to New York. Still, the Peter Pan's doors did not open. I missed some of Joseph's qualifications because I was genuinely distracted. It was after my departure time, the bus was still quiet and down the platform an arriving Greyhound was idling after a pile of New Yorkers had spilled out of it.
Another wave of New Yorkers materialized on the platform and rushed the bus.
I heard the PA system again.
"If you do not make it onto this New York bound bus there will be another one in one hour."
Oh no. I had reserved seating. It had been accidental on the way here, but I suspected that the New Yorkers would be fifty times as eager to get home as they had been to leave their city. I was booked on this bus and this bus alone.
I broke it off with Joseph quick like a Band-Aid and pushed my way as politely as possible through the crowd. I got to the front of the line as the driver was proclaiming he had no more empty seats. Another girl made it right behind me and we both waved our special reserved seating tickets.
The driver looked like he was going to cry.
He was a white-haired man who looked very nervous. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that today was his first day.
He had to go onto the bus and remove some patrons to make room for the two snobby reserved-seaters who had paid seven extra dollars to guarantee we didn't have to wait for the next bus.
I got into my seat near the front of the bus and realized I shouldn't have had that last coffee with breakfast.
My bladder was full and we were nearly an hour late leaving the station. I was trapped in a window seat so close the front of the bus that I could watch as the driver nearly rear-ended five cars in the course of the trip.
I had no desire to walk to the back of the bus to use the tiny little bathroom while en route. I don't know if you've ever tried to use one of those things, but it's a lot like trying to balance on one foot in a moonbounce. Only messier.
I decided to hold it.
I talked on the phone as quietly as possible. Then I slept. And slept. And slept.
Between naps I checked the time.
As the time of our planned arrival came and went I wondered what T was up to. I texted her and got no reply. If they had left and headed home on time, I had no idea. All I knew was that I was not going to be there.
Another hour passed. We still weren't there.
I reconsidered my stubborn refusal to use bus bathrooms.
My bladder physially ached. The heavy bags I held on my lap made everything that much worse. They were adding extra pressure, but in order to reach the restroom I would have to wake the lady beside me, rearrange my packages and go ALL THE WAY to the back of the bus.
We couldn't be that far from New York, I reasoned.
I stayed seated.
Our two hour trip ended three and half hours after it began. It had taken me just as long to travel the other direction on Friday, with dozens of stops and a transfer.
I'm almost positive those seated in the very front seats had whiplash, or at the very least, anxiety attacks from the number of times we had nearly been in accidents.
I gathered my bags and sprinted carefully off the bus, trying hard not to soil my skirt. I walked through Port Authority searching desperately for a bathroom. I wasn't at all sure I was going to make it.
When I saw that familiar little stick figure on a sign I almost peed with joy.
I reached the door way and stood in line, trying hard not to think about tapping the fifteen ladies ahead of me on the shoulder and explaining to them why they should let me cut them. I bounced and danced and swayed while I waited. It was my only hope.
Once I was able to breathe again I made the trip from Port Authority to Penn Station to catch my train. I had missed the first and second trains that I should have been able to make with the bus schedule I had purchased in the morning.
But there was nothing to be done about it now.
I bought a ticket and a slice of pizza and burnt every corner of my mouth.
I boarded my train, got off at my station, got a cab and went home.
I started the seven loads of laundry that we all brought home with us and said hi to everyone. I cleaned up the kitchen that they had already messed up and then snuck down to my room.
There's a poem that sums up my weekend. Some of you might know it, some not. For those who do, you might notice that I have tweaked it a bit. Just a bit.
Trot, trot to the Boston area
to see Ashley and buy two new tops, two pairs of shoes, sunglasses and a wrap.
Home, home, home again
and thankfully single
after six hours of unnecessary travel
the old horse will never use Trailways or any of its affiliates again.
It doesn't rhyme like the original, but I think it's pretty good.
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