I'm on the bus
First Stop: The Drunk Guy
Or at least I was on Friday, but not at first because there was no bus. I left work early to check a 3 p.m. bus to Washington, D.C. I got there about 2:30, and there were quite a few other people waiting already. A drunk man was weaving in and out among us. He stopped in front of me. "I'm a writer. I write books." He gestures with the pen he's holding. "Mm hmm." I look away hoping he'll move along. He doesn't. "I'm a writer. I write books," he say moving closer. "Mm hmm." "I also write movies. Because I'm a writer." I begin to realize he's not going to go away, just keep getting closer. I'm not sure what to do. I catch the eye of a twentysomething guy sitting nearby reading a book. I give him the "help me" look, and he comes to rescue me.
John (I found out his name later) pretended to know me, asked this guy why he was bothering his lady friend. The drunk guy (really you can smell the fumes) doesn't get the hint and starts telling both of us how he's a writer and a lot of other stuff that was impossible to follow. He keeps wandering away and coming back. When he starts touching my arm, John tells him to back off. When he grabs me around the waist, John pulls him away to have a chat. This is only semi-effective. The guy keeps coming back, but John stands between us to keep him away from me.
Finally the drunk guy goes off to bother someone else. Now that this is under control, John and I begin the awkward, well-thanks-for-helping-me-out-maybe-we-should-get-to-know-each-other. He lives in Brooklyn and works as a community gardener, which sounds like a pretty awesome job. He gets to live in New York City, drive a truck and work outside.
Second Stop: Mechanical Difficulties
So as John and I are talking, 3 o'clock comes and goes. The natives are getting restless. Where is our bus? Finally at 3:15, our bus pulls up. Hooray! Complete escape from the crazy, drunk dude. But the driver is on his cell phone and doesn't let us him. Um, that's not right. Turns out the bus won't stay in gear and keeps breaking down, so obviously it's not going to make it to D.C. They're trying to locate another bus for us. Twenty minutes later, another bus shows up. We get on it. I sit with John. And then we wait. And wait. A new driver has shown up. But then there seems to be so disagreement, and the original driver gets on the bus. Finally, we pull out. But it's 4:15, and traffic in New York has started to get nasty. It's going to be a long ride. And it is. Luckily, the show two movies, which John and I can make sarcastic comments about.
Third Stop: The Fender-Bender
With all the delays, we're supposed to get into D.C. about 9. I called my friend so he could drive in to meet me. We finally hit the city limits just before 9. Thanks to Hurricane Ivan, it's pouring. Suddenly, our driver is laying on his horn and breaking. Then there is a thud. We just hit a Geo Tracker. Now we're never going to get there.
No one is hurt in the bus or the car. Our license plate is bent, and the back window of the Tracker is knocked out. The guy driving the Tracker doesn't seem to care, just wants to get on his way after exchangin information. But our driver has to call his boss and call the cops to file a report. Of course, it's a Friday night in D.C. (and not a very nice part of it), so a minor traffic accident is not at the top of the priority list for the police. Luckily, we figure out what intersection we're at. We're only about five minutes away from the drop off site, so I call my friend and have him come pick me up. I finally get off the bus at about 9:30.
Really, in comparison, the rest of my weekend was uneventful.
First Stop: The Drunk Guy
Or at least I was on Friday, but not at first because there was no bus. I left work early to check a 3 p.m. bus to Washington, D.C. I got there about 2:30, and there were quite a few other people waiting already. A drunk man was weaving in and out among us. He stopped in front of me. "I'm a writer. I write books." He gestures with the pen he's holding. "Mm hmm." I look away hoping he'll move along. He doesn't. "I'm a writer. I write books," he say moving closer. "Mm hmm." "I also write movies. Because I'm a writer." I begin to realize he's not going to go away, just keep getting closer. I'm not sure what to do. I catch the eye of a twentysomething guy sitting nearby reading a book. I give him the "help me" look, and he comes to rescue me.
John (I found out his name later) pretended to know me, asked this guy why he was bothering his lady friend. The drunk guy (really you can smell the fumes) doesn't get the hint and starts telling both of us how he's a writer and a lot of other stuff that was impossible to follow. He keeps wandering away and coming back. When he starts touching my arm, John tells him to back off. When he grabs me around the waist, John pulls him away to have a chat. This is only semi-effective. The guy keeps coming back, but John stands between us to keep him away from me.
Finally the drunk guy goes off to bother someone else. Now that this is under control, John and I begin the awkward, well-thanks-for-helping-me-out-maybe-we-should-get-to-know-each-other. He lives in Brooklyn and works as a community gardener, which sounds like a pretty awesome job. He gets to live in New York City, drive a truck and work outside.
Second Stop: Mechanical Difficulties
So as John and I are talking, 3 o'clock comes and goes. The natives are getting restless. Where is our bus? Finally at 3:15, our bus pulls up. Hooray! Complete escape from the crazy, drunk dude. But the driver is on his cell phone and doesn't let us him. Um, that's not right. Turns out the bus won't stay in gear and keeps breaking down, so obviously it's not going to make it to D.C. They're trying to locate another bus for us. Twenty minutes later, another bus shows up. We get on it. I sit with John. And then we wait. And wait. A new driver has shown up. But then there seems to be so disagreement, and the original driver gets on the bus. Finally, we pull out. But it's 4:15, and traffic in New York has started to get nasty. It's going to be a long ride. And it is. Luckily, the show two movies, which John and I can make sarcastic comments about.
Third Stop: The Fender-Bender
With all the delays, we're supposed to get into D.C. about 9. I called my friend so he could drive in to meet me. We finally hit the city limits just before 9. Thanks to Hurricane Ivan, it's pouring. Suddenly, our driver is laying on his horn and breaking. Then there is a thud. We just hit a Geo Tracker. Now we're never going to get there.
No one is hurt in the bus or the car. Our license plate is bent, and the back window of the Tracker is knocked out. The guy driving the Tracker doesn't seem to care, just wants to get on his way after exchangin information. But our driver has to call his boss and call the cops to file a report. Of course, it's a Friday night in D.C. (and not a very nice part of it), so a minor traffic accident is not at the top of the priority list for the police. Luckily, we figure out what intersection we're at. We're only about five minutes away from the drop off site, so I call my friend and have him come pick me up. I finally get off the bus at about 9:30.
Really, in comparison, the rest of my weekend was uneventful.
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