bus2nyc

Traveling alone is an adventure in and of itself, but only if you allow it to become one. Being the poor post grad I am, I was thrifty in my transportation purchases on a recent trip to Boston. My first leg of the trip involved the bus2nyc [yes that's the companies legitimate name], which was a charter bus set up more like Ryan Air, cheaply getting you to your destination with the chance of death you're willing to risk for a lower price tag. Add in the smell of unwashed human beings and the discomfort of 9 hours on a bus and you've got bus2nyc [or Sky Horse Bus, another bus option from Columbus to Chinatown – pick your poison].

Only the experienced bus traveler can understand the feelings of odd contortions in which you will position yourself in order to get at least an hour of sleep that is unless you run with our narcotic brethren or can afford a neck pillow, then by all means you'll get a wonderful night sleep. However, the less fortunate (and non-drug addicted) normal folk, twist, turn, flip, bend, and crouch into any position possible.

The guy behind me in the saggy and at the same time skinny jeans [How these came into style somewhat baffles me. The waist can't seem to stay on, but don't worry because if it falls, the knee and calf are tight enough to hold the rest up] may have been a performer for Cirque du Soleil with his impressive show of two-seat contortions. Every time I awoke changing positions [mainly due to the sweat I had perspired from putting effort into my comfort], I would turn and see him, happily asleep behind me, one leg on the floor, one on the ceiling, knees to his chest and chin lightly resting on top.

Where his arms went I never got a decent enough glance for fear he might have seen me observing his posture [hoping to somewhat imitate it in a less contorted manner if at all possible]. I finally became so exhausted it didn't matter how I was positioned because my brain did turn off. No narcotics or neck pillow necessary. However, my back and neck would later complain about how abusive I was. Lately we seem to be having relationship issues anyway, so my chiropractor says. He serves as more of a counselor in our relationship and every once and a while the masseuse will take over to temporarily quell any tension.

As I walked the 40 plus blocks from Chinatown to the Hudson Yards on 30^th, I admired the beautiful weather, the massive construction projects underway and the lack of obese Americans. It's a nice change of pace here in New York. If you want to get any where on time you have to walk. Taking a taxi should only be done for those long ventures - something I could have done, but actively chose not to with a 30 lb bag strapped to my side, jacket in one hand and phone in the other. Once I started to sweat all I could think about was the poor soul who would have to sit next to me on the MegaBus to Boston.

I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before and arrived at Chinatown around 9 am with a little over an hour to get to the bus stop. Checking different walking routes on my phone it seemed the trip would only take an hour. Maybe I would have time to get to McDonalds and grab an iced coffee.

My hopes were destroyed when I reminded myself of my past escapades to a coffee shop in New York [rhymes with Darthbucks]. No matter how much I tried not to, I was dripping my face off by the time I got to the counter to order. The second I start to sweat I just don't stop. It's a nervous habit. “Do they see me sweating? Shit, they totally do. Crap. Now I'm sweating more. Lemme run into the bathroom and wash my face with as much cold water as possible then dry it off in hopes of reducing the evidence.” No use. There was no time. This sweaty Midwesterner needed to get to Boston whether his stomach liked it or not. I'd rather save the least bit of my dignity than order an iced coffee with room for sweat.

Instead of worrying about how much time I had left until the bus departed or if the bus was going to be there or if I had missed it or was going in the wrong direction, I played a game with myself. It started off to be, Can These People See Me Looking At Them? I'm a people-watcher at heart - lifeguarding for four years I've learned to be pretty good at it.

Can These People See Me Looking At Them? quickly turned into Guy or Girl.  Hopefully you can guess what the rules were for this game. Most of my subjects started out as obviously male or female, some less human looking than others. Every now and then certain individuals would catch my eye. I was lucky enough to have one walk right in front of me for a block, (s)he turned right in front of me and continued walking so I wasn't able to get an immediate glimpse of his/her face. Short, dark, Pharrell hat with a floppy feminine brim, scarf, purple shawl-like thing, glasses, a dangly skirt, and heeled boots that only came up to the ankle. The legs were cleanly shaven, with goose bumps covering most of the calves. These were the kicker for me. There was no butt and as far as I could tell not much of a chest, but what was it about these calves? They weren't feminine. I can't say feminine calves are skinny, because I've seen many that are beautiful and muscular and others that are solid cylinders – cankles from ankle to knee. (S)he turned away down a street that wasn't on my route to the bus stop, so I unfortunately lost that round. Androgynous Persons 1, Me 0.

One other specialty of traveling for long periods is hygiene. Yours and everyone else's. Not all humans have the same practices. I for one am probably on the far end of the cleaner [more anal] side of the spectrum. Teeth brushed? Mouthwash? Deodorant? Well, I'm not sure what I smell like right now, but I'm very confident it's not what I would want to be smelling like for long. Sweaty nether-region, unbrushed teeth and non-reapplied pits. Watch out Boston. This boys gonna be addin some smell to your city.

The real issue I have though, is the consideration of others. Maybe the woman behind me couldn't help it. Maybe she has chronically bad breath, maybe my nose is just hypersensitive [which is often the case]. The second she opened her mouth to start talking to someone on the other end of the phone, the smell of who knows what wafted from her mouth. Something died in there. That had to be it. It wasn't old coffee breath. No, this was straight up death. Rigor mortis was probably already setting in on the poor thing that died within the depths of this ironically pretty girl's mouth. But just as quick at the conversation started, it ended. I better keep my mouth shut too. A lot has probably died in there in the past few hours.

Half an hour before we arrived in Boston, she did the unthinkable. I should've given her more credit. She popped the most sweetly mint smelling piece of gum into her mouth and filled the air with a light fresh scent. My mouth could benefit from that.