We got to the train station well in time, around a little past midnight. Apparently, others had the idea to catch the overnight bus back to New York. I think there were about five or six people (at the most) in front of us. I’m blaming that rally for the full bus, but the rest is just a function of being anywhere out at that hour in a city that seems to shut down around 11 PM on a Sunday.
As soon as we queued up behind those other five, we were treated to a loud, drunk, sobbing Mexican guy carrying on to his girlfriend on his mobile phone. Along the side where the pre-boarding people are to stand is a long power strip (about 20 outlets or so) where people can charge their devices. This guy thought he was plugged in, but the actual plug itself was on the floor, as he loudly and openly wept on the phone.
I, being the ever so considerate person, quietly plugged it back in for him, because I didn’t want the soap opera to cut off early. I also quietly texted Steve a translation of the Spanish, so that he didn’t feel left out. If you thought you’ve seen bad overacting in Bollywood, you haven’t seen anything yet. It started with “I’m dying, because of all the pain you’re putting me through …” and wound up around “You’re so cold and heartless my love, my life, my heart is tearing into pieces”, etc etc, interspersed with plenty of “Why do I even live anymore? I work at a bar! AT A BAR!” All the while most of the people are completely oblivious, and only see this guy sobbing a lot.
Clearly, he missed the part where working at a bar meant that he’s getting all the drinks he can get through, because he was well and truly flying in the clouds.
Apparently, he was also on a really bad phone card, because the call would drop frequently. So he’d stop crying for a few minutes, while he’d sort out how to dial the innumerable. It was like watching a young child throw a really bad tantrum. He looked around and asked if he could borrow a pen. I politely offered mine, and the use of paper, should he need. Always helpful, right?
That went into another 15 minute crying bawling fit to try to get her new phone number, so he doesn’t have to go through this rigmarole every time he’s trying to call her. She wouldn’t acquiesce, and he’d continue the waterworks. One of the greyhound employees tried to break in, and he stopped crying long enough to explain in broken English that it’s a long distance call, while pointing to the phone card. She seemed to get the picture.
So, it gets to boarding time. Suddenly, the pre-board side fills up, as if by magic. The entire lot of them had paid the $5 extra to board early. There were all of five or six of us who didn’t. While those people were all getting on, as we silently wondered if Greyhound is in the habit of overbooking, I asked Steve to snag some water. Of course, we had completely forgotten to fill our bottles at the house before leaving. That would be too easy, right?
He searched up and down the station, to see that every machine was flat out empty of water. All except the machine directly in front of us. I guess rather than spending $4 on two bottles of water, the rest of the folk heading to New York decided to spend $5 on guaranteeing a seat. I’m not sure how much I care for that, but that’s neither here nor there.
Finally, all the pre-boarding people were on. We got on to a completely full bus. Again, I’m blaming the rally, but whatever. It seems stupid that we got there that early, and were basically the last ones to get on. It seems even more stupid that a trip out of DC in the middle of the night, when the Metro isn’t running, and half the state is asleep would be quite so full. Take my word for it when I cast my doubts about the ability for the folk sharing our bus home to be able to get a rental car or taxi happening. I’ve seen what those things charge.
As seems to be tradition by now, Steve was seated at one end of the bus, and I’m on the other. Fortunately, because the hour was so late, both of us promptly conked out, and slept until (more or less) arriving in New York. Had it not been for the half hour of nervously watching the bus fill up, and hoping that we actually /get/ a seat, we’d have not really minded the wait at all. The screaming drunk guy was actually entertaining, because he was fairly skilled at changing up his diatribe enough. I also got plenty of time to charge my computer and iPod (neither of which I used, because the bus on the way home didn’t have wifi, and because I was sleeping).
I woke to see New York out the window, which meant that we’d be home shortly. There was absolutely no traffic on the tunnel in, and there was no traffic to get into Port Authority Bus Terminal. This meant that we got into the bus terminal and out of there in minutes, and were on the way to the subway station.
At 5:30 in the morning.
And the entrance to the subway via the bus terminal doesn’t open until 6 am.
We walked out around 42nd and 8th (basically, the west end of Times Square, which is still very well lit up at that hour) to realise how hard the cold has set in. Neither of us was prepared for that bone-chilling blast of cold air, having just come from DC, where it was pretty pleasant and mild. We managed to make it to the subway platform in a minute or two, but only well after having been chilled to the bone. This is after both being seated next to snorers.
At some point that night, Steve said, “Next time, spend the $10.” Fair enough. Either that, or book that Megabus or that Bolt Bus and the heck with the weird pick up locations. At least the drop off location isn’t that bad (in DC side).
We made it home fairly quickly from there, even though the train took like three or four minutes to get there, and was running local. I conked out for a second nap (I don’t leave for work until 9:45, and it was around 6:30 by the time we walked into the apartment). Steve did his coffee thing, and something else, but I was well into sleepy time by then. Three snooze buttons later, I threw on a pot of rice, and went out the door to work. I got in about 5 minutes late, but that was fine, because I was still on time to get to the stack of stuff that piled up from the weekend. It didn’t occur to me until about 11:15 that my boss wasn’t coming in on time today for some reason. Oh right. He had a meeting with investors who wanted to get some capital to expand the business.
A meeting that’d last well into the day.
As the waitress is telling me that the state Kosher inspector is there, and needs to be dealt with. Thankfully, I remembered where everything was, and he was suitably satisfied about our Rabbi’s inspection records from the previous months. Just as he’s walking out the door, and I just managed to get the soup on the stove (there were about three servings of the previous one, and blistering cold days like this on whet t the appetite for soup), I get a call from the accounting firm to sit down with me to show me how to handle deductions and work the new QuickBooks something or other. An hour after chatting to “Vincent” and “George” (I surmised by the accents that were coming through that it was likely Vijaykumar and Gopalakrishnan, but try saying that to one of the Caucasian persuasion, and watch the wholesale butchering of the names), I managed to finish off the list of the cooking that needed to get done that day, and got out the door only one hour later than usual.
Next time, we’ll spend the $10 and sleep properly in the bus.
