Rest-stop times three

The ticket kiosks are out of order – and I am in New York. This doesn’t happen in New York. I have yet to see a working ticket kiosk in DC, but I am taken aback in New York. I was nervous - I have never waited on line to speak to an actual person to get my ticket.

And I didn’t have to this time either. A Greyhound employee somehow had the kiosk print my ticket. I was leery of handing a stranger my credit card at the Port Authority, but that Greyhound uniform instills a trust in a rider, so hand it over I did. Not only did he print my tickets out, but he also placed them in one of those envelopes that I see others holding on line. Not only did he place them in one of those envelopes that I see others holding on line, but he told me my Gate number, and he wrote it in the appropriate space on the envelope. Gate 71, I know it is Gate 71. I know it so well that I don’t even look for a Gate number, I just know when I get there. Still, … I appreciate that writing of the number down.

I make my way down the stairs, and see that there is no line. No line, bad sign. I walk to the front, and find out that there is a bus, but there may not be seats. Lucky for me there were not two seats together – a very pushy woman with her child cut me line...in a line where I was the only person.

I get a seat. Second to the front, left side aisle.

Seatmate was quiet, had the same cell phone, didn't eat stinky food, and is dating someone who goes to school in DC. Greyhound twinsie, you may be thinking. That is exactly what P said when I texted her about it.

Seatmate said he would guest blog.
He has not, as of yet.

We made three rest-stops.
The first one was an actual stop. I think I bought coffee.

A sociable and quite elderly fellow-rider approached me. He was drawn to my portable DVD player. He asked questions…what is that…how is working…it just plays that?…oh you have to buy the movies?...He also said “cute” in my direction, which may have also been in the direction of small child in the next seat. I like to think it was directed my way.

He comes back later. He comes back and watches a few seconds of a House episode over my shoulder. He questions me. He comments about not knowing technology, but he assures me that he does have a phone. To my, “and is it a cell phone!?”….he claims that the battery is dead. He walks away.
Well, sir, I did not want to use your phone if that was your excuse for me not to use it. I was merely continuing the conversation you started about not knowing technology.

We did not speak again. If my seatmate had guestblogged, he would have told you that it was awkward.


2nd rest stop – to pick up a stranded Greyhound driver.

3rd rest stop – to get stranded Greyhound driver dinner.

There was a riot. People yelled. I think someone said, “And you call this an EXPRESS BUS TO DC!” I understand the riders…no one wants to stop. We all want to get to our boyfriend’s apartment and order textured vegetable protein made to look like general tso’s chicken, but circumstances made us wait. I may have been more sympathetic to the excessive stops because my second row seating allowed me to hear the whole story…I paused House and removed my earphones...I listened. I understood. The stranded driver was stranded since 4:00 PM. No other buses stopped, and she was waving her arms. I did not find out what happened to the riders of her broken down bus. Seatmate said that his bus broke down once – but that’s his story to blog, if he ever comes forward to do so.

The rest of the ride is a blur. I am sure I watched some Picket Fences.

I quickly get off the bus, and head towards the taxi drivers. The first guy says he’ll take me, and another taxi driver tells him that this is okay – not sure why he needed permission, but he tells me that he is parked a little ways off. We walk. And walk. And walk around the block. I realize that we are not walking towards a licensed taxi. I quickly decide that I will get in this stranger’s personal vehicle and hope that he will drive me to M’s apartment. I sit in the passenger seat. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to sit in the back, but I figured I’d go for it. He drives, we talk.

I love him.

He married at 22, to his pregnant 19 year old girlfriend. Both were Howard University students. 5 kids later, and they are still together. I tell him my story. He gives me some advice, we talk, we laugh. I get dropped off.

The ride back to New York was uneventful.
-l