it's all gonna break

The Friday afternoon crowd at the DC Bolt stop has provided this blog with a nice amount of fodder but last week’s events take the cake. A mass of confusion swirls upon boarding and although I am scheduled for a 3:00pm departure, I am shuffled onto a bus around 2:40. A privileged problem, I'll admit. Three blocks into our journey disaster strikes! The driver announces that the bus has broken down. This feels like an odd declaration considering its still moving and has not seeming lost any of its bus going capacities. How often does a broken down bus drive back to its journey’s starting point? Through the seats, I notice that one gentleman has already incorporated this minor tragedy into a twitter update. Thank goodness!
We arrive back at 11th to find three buses and a complete lack of functional direction. I board a bus only to find there are no seats left. People are yelling, demanding answers. Tickets are shoved in drivers’ faces while the staff argues amongst itself. Around 3:20 I have finally left DC seated next to a chatty cathy who bellows her plans and opinions in a matter usually reserved for those in promotional agreements with P.T Barnum. I am also 33% sure that at points she pretends to read her book.
The trip home came in the midst of an oppressive heat wave, part of which had temporarily transformed my knees to resemble Bunsen burners after a nail biter at Yankee stadium the afternoon prior. I cozy up to my copy of Don Delillo's White Noise in-between afternoon siestas. My seatmate is an interesting, somewhat intense older woman who wields a laptop and a box full of smelly veggies from Sbarro's. She almost exclusively reads MLB.com for the duration of the trip, a site not within my first 500 guesses of her assumed internet browsing material. She makes frequent phone calls regarding the traffic behind us, even referencing a chat she had with the driver. Apparently the bus that preceded us took an hour getting out of the Lincoln tunnel. Hearing this, I am left with an undeniable sense of Schadenfreude, patting myself on the back for prudently picking the right departure time. During one call, she states that she'll get to DC in about an hour or so but that this is just "guesswork." You have to respect this kind of professionalism within colloquial exchanges.
At some point during the trip my body realizes that it hasn’t ingested anything for about 8 hours and that it is desperately in need of nourishment. My only preparation for my journey is two ziploc bags of oatmeal cookies my mom made. The rest stop left me with dismal choices (a fast food seafood restaurant's crab pretzel left me with a mild case of existential dread) I inhale the cookies with a fervor that would embarrass those who raised me. I am pawing out crumbs, spooning them into my mouth. Some trickle down my mouth...others onto my lap. I am shoeless, eating strange looking prepared food out of plastic baggies. I come to the silent realization that no one in their right mind would choose me as a seat partner.
-m