Seatmate

I remember reading an interesting item on the amount of personal space expected by people from different countries. No matter what one's expectations are, however, there come situations in every culture where you have to override that. A good example of that is when you must sit directly next to someone for one reason or another. Oddly, people feel they must sit next to a platonic friend in a movie theater even when it's not full, but other scenarios make more sense. Most of them have something to do with transportation, I think. Two or three people who may or may not know each other are hastily thrown together and expected to co-exist with little more than the ordinary rules of civilized society to govern them. These people must peacefully sit side by side maybe for hours, with no sounds or lights coming between them. Additionally, the person on the outside becomes gatekeeper to the one on the inside where trips to the bathroom are applicable. It's a tough relationship.

Riding on buses as I often do, I have obviously given all this some thought. Unfortunately, no amount of thought really helps the situation. On my trip home from Thanksgiving with my family, I took Greyhound (the trip there being detailed in a recent post). Since I had not had a seatmate on the way there, I had high hopes of not having one on the way back either. This would be nice, as sleeping becomes a more realistic proposition, and sleep is the real reason I take buses overnight anyway: it would seem to neutralize the problem of a six hour trip by making the bus no more than a bed on wheels. Sadly, my dreams of sitting alone were not to be. I begrudgingly accepted this, but was not bargaining on who I got as a seatmate. Simply put, he was a crazy person. I'm not really complaining, as an uneventful ride would have left me with little to write about, but I will say that I thought twice about succumbing to sleep knowing he was there beside me.

Hey Hound

On a number of occasions I've made mention of my penchant for taking Greyhound as opposed to flying. I feel that current events show the wisdom of that. Again I opted for the bus to get home for Thanksgiving, and it leads me to contemplate the experience anew. Naturally a great draw is the general absence of security apparatus. As its most rigorous, Greyhound security rivals a movie theater ticket taker charged with keeping out contraband food. On this occasion, there was no security whatsoever save for a defensive and passive-aggressive driver who expressed over the PA of the bus his belief that some "lucky" riders had managed to smuggle in alcohol and/or drugs. He encouraged them to remain lucky by keeping the banned substances to themselves. This is a good indicator of how things go with Greyhound.

That driver really was rather odd. As part of his warning against removing items from the overhead compartment, he gave as an example of potential consequences the Mexican dish tamales. I think we were meant to understand that he had previously had incidents where luggage heavily packed with hot, gooey food ruptured after being jostled during transit and falling when retrieved. While I declare that to be far-fetched, I cannot entirely rule it out after considering things that do happen. It may take seven hours to go from LA to Phoenix as opposed to around 75 minutes by plane, but at least the stories are fun and not exasperating. I thrive on the former and age inordinately fast on the latter, so a savings of time at what cost?

You Can't Go Home Again (Or Can You?): Part Three

For the last two days, it's been my trip back home over the Independence Day weekend. Where I had left off yesterday, the trip was about over, and it was the morning of the day I was to leave. My father had to leave rather early, and so he woke me to say goodbye at an indecent hour. After that, I went back to bed, only to get up at a reasonable time hours later. A World Cup match was on, and I watched that as long as I could along with some breakfast. I had meant to toast a bagel, but the toaster was inexplicably missing. I set my 'everything' bagel aside, and waited to inquire about the appliance's whereabouts when I could. A couple of the men who had worked on the back yard (one of whom had been at the party the day before) came around for a visit, which was pleasant.

I got a bit fuzzy about exactly when I needed to be at the bus station, which is what happens when you forget and start guessing instead of making the minor effort to check the ticket. Thus I started saying the bus was scheduled for "2-something" instead of 2:50. A ride had been arranged on the above erroneous time, and so it was that I would be very startled. Having finally tracked down the toaster, I had employed it to heat my bagel, which I then heavily buttered. This delectable treat was still too hot when my ride came to the door. It's fortunate that she was inclined to come in and linger a bit to talk. For that reason, I had time to scramble around eating my bagel and assembling my possessions in a whirlwind. So it is with me leaving the house about all the time.

The Ride Home

The bus ride back to LA from Phoenix was probably one of the best I've ever had. First off, there was no line at the ticket counter, and there's always a long, long line. Second, I had expected to get on the last bus of the night, but wound up on the one before that, which hadn't left yet. Actually, it wound up leaving 45 minutes late, but I left earlier than I had anticipated.

Before the bus left, a security guard came on and announced that he was looking for pot that was on the bus. He started feeling luggage in the overhead bins. I don't think that's an effective method of finding it. There was also a discrepancy. I thought he said two pounds of pot, but other people heard 10 pounds- a more difficult amount to hide easily.

Also of note- a stand-up comedian was in a seat behind me. I would have ascribed more importance to that if I thought he was any good, but how good could he be if he likes Ralphie May so much?

After that, I actually managed to sleep quite a bit, and it was a fast trip with just one intermediate stop. Once in LA, it was an hour long trip back to my place by two buses and the subway. I got back to my place around 7, and relaxed until it was time for Toastmasters.