I went to buy my ticket from the small agency yesterday. This should have been where I got a little wary about the events of the future. Lets just say I was second in line behind two police officers that were responding to a call that all of the bags had been stolen off the bus on the way down to DC that afternoon. This would have been an omen for most people, but not me, I’m the edgiest sheltered white suburbanite I know! I decided to only buy a one-way ticket.Lets get to the action:
Friday Afternoon (notes were taken on the bus, once it was too dark to see, I used my cameraphone light)
2:30 I thought the bus was supposed to leave at 2:30 but apparently my intermediate language lesson wasn’t enough to realized that departing in Chinese really means boarding in English.
2:32 Firstly, I’d like to dispel any rumors that the busses smell like chicken coops. They most definitely are filled with odors more likely found at a stale aquarium or a polluted pond. If this is a coach bus, it’s fashioned in the Isiah Thomas line of coaches. 
2:45 The bus still hasn’t left yet but on the bright side there are lots of empty seats still. I wasn’t expecting leg room but it would be a nice little plus.
2:52 First minor heart attack of the day: a seemingly scatter-brained yet official-looking Asian woman gets on the bus. I may get off the bus if they are telling me I must put my life in the hands of an Asian woman driver. How had I not considered this a possibility? Turns out she’s just doing a headcount, which she does very quickly, of course.
2:56 A woman who turns out to be the last to board sits down next to me, there goes the no-no. I really thought I was pitching the perfect game here; head down, earphones in, muttering, taking notes. In the future I think I would go with sneezing and maybe not showering.
2:58 Doors closed. Commencing countdown, engine’s on. Check ignition and may God’s love be with you.
2:59 Ironically we have driven one block and just drove by a synagogue. I should pray for my life.
3:40 I wake up from short nap with dry mouth, crick in my neck, a funny smell. Am I in a POW camp?
4:09 We’ve stopped in Baltimore to pick up more people. The LA riots had better organization than this ride so far. Its not so comforting when the people getting on the bus look surprised that they go picked up.
4:40 The two college girls behind me have finished their SECOND 20 minute conversation about texting. You know that debate about whether or not cell phones cause cancer? I may have to start rooting for cancer here. I am that frustrated already.
4:47 I’ve been working on a crossword puzzle that has turned into a little league game. It was going well and I was about three quarters of the way through before it was called due to darkness. I know I could turn on my overhead light, but on this bus I don’t wanna cause a stir. Its like jail and I want to blend in, not draw any unnecessary attention.
4:56 Just passed Ripken Field in Aberdeen Maryland. I wonder what kinda of Ironman record there is for these bus trips. I don’t want to meet the record holder.
5:20 Conversation topics between the two girls behind me thus far:
-Texting (see 4:40)
-Dave Matthews Band ("I hate when Dave plays music without singing in live shows, its like just play another song")
- Chapstick ("Look I don’t want to share… its just… gross)
- Boys (No quotes here, it wasn’t funny or interesting enough)
Way to shatter those stereotypes ladies.
5:39 Who had Delaware in the pool for state in which we would have our first screeching stop where we all go flying?
6:00 Apparently the next stop is Philadelphia. Thanks for enlightening us on all of the trip details. This bus should be called Washibaltidelphiyork.
6:03 We just passed a strip club called Show + Tel which sounds a lot like the place my mom used to work, Show & Tell. Surely, you cant make this stuff up, and don’t call me Oedipus. I am now nauseous for a whole new set of reasons.
6:54 Welcome to the New Jersey Turnpike, the national syringe cemetery.
7:13 We have stopped again, this time on the New Jersey Turnpike at a gas station. This is the tipping point. Anyone who read Malcom Gladwell’s book The Tipping Point knows what I mean, especially since all the book does is restate the same point over and over and over again. Ironically chapter three of that mindless crap was my tipping point.
Anyway, I have now been on the bus for almost four hours and I am not even close to New York City. Me knees feel like they belong to Barbaro, my nose has ingested more waste than either of the Olsen twins, and there is a strong chance I will end up as the suspect of a double homicide of two teenage girls. My choices are stranding myself on the turnpike (which surprisingly doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea right now), knock my head against the window until I shatter the window or knock myself out, OR turn up my iPod, pull my hat down over my eyes and hope I sleep.
8:48 I am awake and everyone is getting out in Chinatown, for better or worse, I made it.
