Recently I took a journey home for the holidays. What a journey it was. My adventure took the storyline directly from the cliche holiday movie where the traveler overcomes innumerable adversities just to be home for the holidays. It started at 9am when my 9pm flight to Denver was canceled, something about a small blizzard. The earliest the airline could re-accommodate me was Christmas day. Determined to find a faster way, even if I had to drive myself, I booked another flight into Salt Lake. This would place me a mere six hours by car from home. But at the airport, my flight is delayed an hour. I book what I think is a reservation on Greyhound and fly to the capital of Mormon. Once there, I eavesdrop, trying to hitch a ride in a rental car. No luck, but at this point I am not expecting any. I finally make it to a hotel room by 11pm and inhale an epicurean delight at JB's (a lesser known equivalent to Denny's). To bed by midnight. I am up and off to the bus terminal by 5am for an early morning departure. I arrive to find 200 people camped out, apparently all bus traffic west is halted. The plundered vending machines hum and the smells of a refuge camp are intoxicating. The normal bus crowd ( ie the single parents and strung out crack whores) are intermingled with financially disadvantaged and a few stranded airline passengers like myself. Now apparently with Greyhound when you book a reservation it is not a guarantee that you will get on the bus that you bought the ticket for. Simply put you are buying yourself a spot in line. Now as I see how long the line is, I know I don't stand a chance of getting on my bus. So using line cutting skills that would make an Italian cheer I jump to the number three spot in line. One woman starts to complain to me, but I pretend not to understand English. In line I wait, fearful of losing my spot to the mortal need to eat or use the restroom. Finally, after six hours of standing in line they put us on a bus. On we go, finally. Wait, they want us on another bus. Off we go and on to another one. Finally the bus pulls out, our short blonde bus driver taking us closer to our final destinations. Establishing herself as Supreme Dictator, our bus driver Cindy goes over the rules. "My name is Cindy, not hey lady, you, or thing. There will be no consumption of alcohol or drugs aboard this bus. There will be no use of profanity or vulgar language. If you violate these rules you will be immediately removed from the bus. Thank you for choosing Greyhound, leave the driving to us." Surprisingly enough her crass attitude puts me at ease, at least I know we have a veteran behind the wheel. Next stop, Price, Utah in three hours. Three hours before I have an excuse to remove myself from the guy sitting next to me. Couldn't have guessed it, but a born-again Mormon about my age. I know things will go ok, if I can just avoid bringing up religion or politics. Then he throws me a curve, he starts talking about sex. He tells me about how his parent discussed the birds and bees as if this just happened yesterday. I am doing all I can to redirect the conversation, I then he just out a says he is a virgin. Good for him, all hope is lost find the iPod. Unfortunately religion comes next. Why is this damn iPod so buried. He asks me if I believe in God. Sirens going off in my head, avoid answering the question. Then he very calmly pulls a locking blade from his pocket and continues as if it were part of the same sentence, "this is my favorite knife." Finally, I find the iPod. Smile and nod, placing the ear buds so deeply in I am not sure they will ever come out. The Burger King at Price has never looked so enticing. Perhaps I am that hungry, it is my first meal of the day, or perhaps it is the possibility of fresh air and personal space. I suspect it is a little of both. A nice #5 meal deal and back on the bus, Cindy has threatened to leave us if we don't get it to go and eat it on the bus. I believe her. It is here we discover one of our tires is low. Off we go, hoping our tire holds. Cindy decided to check the tire one last time before we hit the next hundred miles of nothingness. Guess what campers we have a flat. So here we are in the middle of nowhere waiting for relay wagon to change our tire. It only takes them two hours to arrive and five minutes to swap the tires. At this point in time I am beginning to think I will never make it home. Off we go, and eerily enough the whole bus starts singing "On the road again", before Cindy stops that over the loud speaker. It is about this time I realize that my shoes and bag have been smearing around in some little shits bubblicious bubble yum. It is every where. Finally we pull into Grand Junction at 9pm. Now an employee of my father picks me up and drives me the remaining hour and a half home. But not before bus driver Cindy can give me a hug.
06 January 2007
Apocalyptic Christmas
Recently I took a journey home for the holidays. What a journey it was. My adventure took the storyline directly from the cliche holiday movie where the traveler overcomes innumerable adversities just to be home for the holidays. It started at 9am when my 9pm flight to Denver was canceled, something about a small blizzard. The earliest the airline could re-accommodate me was Christmas day. Determined to find a faster way, even if I had to drive myself, I booked another flight into Salt Lake. This would place me a mere six hours by car from home. But at the airport, my flight is delayed an hour. I book what I think is a reservation on Greyhound and fly to the capital of Mormon. Once there, I eavesdrop, trying to hitch a ride in a rental car. No luck, but at this point I am not expecting any. I finally make it to a hotel room by 11pm and inhale an epicurean delight at JB's (a lesser known equivalent to Denny's). To bed by midnight. I am up and off to the bus terminal by 5am for an early morning departure. I arrive to find 200 people camped out, apparently all bus traffic west is halted. The plundered vending machines hum and the smells of a refuge camp are intoxicating. The normal bus crowd ( ie the single parents and strung out crack whores) are intermingled with financially disadvantaged and a few stranded airline passengers like myself. Now apparently with Greyhound when you book a reservation it is not a guarantee that you will get on the bus that you bought the ticket for. Simply put you are buying yourself a spot in line. Now as I see how long the line is, I know I don't stand a chance of getting on my bus. So using line cutting skills that would make an Italian cheer I jump to the number three spot in line. One woman starts to complain to me, but I pretend not to understand English. In line I wait, fearful of losing my spot to the mortal need to eat or use the restroom. Finally, after six hours of standing in line they put us on a bus. On we go, finally. Wait, they want us on another bus. Off we go and on to another one. Finally the bus pulls out, our short blonde bus driver taking us closer to our final destinations. Establishing herself as Supreme Dictator, our bus driver Cindy goes over the rules. "My name is Cindy, not hey lady, you, or thing. There will be no consumption of alcohol or drugs aboard this bus. There will be no use of profanity or vulgar language. If you violate these rules you will be immediately removed from the bus. Thank you for choosing Greyhound, leave the driving to us." Surprisingly enough her crass attitude puts me at ease, at least I know we have a veteran behind the wheel. Next stop, Price, Utah in three hours. Three hours before I have an excuse to remove myself from the guy sitting next to me. Couldn't have guessed it, but a born-again Mormon about my age. I know things will go ok, if I can just avoid bringing up religion or politics. Then he throws me a curve, he starts talking about sex. He tells me about how his parent discussed the birds and bees as if this just happened yesterday. I am doing all I can to redirect the conversation, I then he just out a says he is a virgin. Good for him, all hope is lost find the iPod. Unfortunately religion comes next. Why is this damn iPod so buried. He asks me if I believe in God. Sirens going off in my head, avoid answering the question. Then he very calmly pulls a locking blade from his pocket and continues as if it were part of the same sentence, "this is my favorite knife." Finally, I find the iPod. Smile and nod, placing the ear buds so deeply in I am not sure they will ever come out. The Burger King at Price has never looked so enticing. Perhaps I am that hungry, it is my first meal of the day, or perhaps it is the possibility of fresh air and personal space. I suspect it is a little of both. A nice #5 meal deal and back on the bus, Cindy has threatened to leave us if we don't get it to go and eat it on the bus. I believe her. It is here we discover one of our tires is low. Off we go, hoping our tire holds. Cindy decided to check the tire one last time before we hit the next hundred miles of nothingness. Guess what campers we have a flat. So here we are in the middle of nowhere waiting for relay wagon to change our tire. It only takes them two hours to arrive and five minutes to swap the tires. At this point in time I am beginning to think I will never make it home. Off we go, and eerily enough the whole bus starts singing "On the road again", before Cindy stops that over the loud speaker. It is about this time I realize that my shoes and bag have been smearing around in some little shits bubblicious bubble yum. It is every where. Finally we pull into Grand Junction at 9pm. Now an employee of my father picks me up and drives me the remaining hour and a half home. But not before bus driver Cindy can give me a hug.
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