Diary of a Desperate Traveler

June 12, 08
12:44 PM
Greyhound Terminal, Binghamton

Waiting. I hate waiting. Waiting for a bus that I shouldn't have to catch. This trip, or "vacation" as someone foolishly called it, is thus far nothing more than a foray into Hell's inner circle.

I woke up at six thirty this morning, blinked at the surprisingly strong morning light, and smiled. Today was the day we catch the bus to D.C. to spend some time with Dad. While Liz and I both had some misgivings about this, we were willing to overlook them. We packed our bags with the essentials (laptops, swim suits, and hair spray) and headed to town to catch our bus.

We showed up at the seedy little terminal and hauled our luggage into the waiting room.

"Wish I had some paint," I said. The walls had been white at one point, but had turned gray with cigarette ash and the general dirt of a city.

Liz smiled. "Hey, at least there's shelves," she said. Good point. So I could, what, stack the paint that I didn't have on them?

We sat for a few minutes, joking about alligators and other adventures that were waiting for us in Florida, our ultimate destination. A woman, a large lady with a brightly colored shirt and cheap khaki shorts walked by the waiting room, whistling blithely. She paused when she caught sight of us.

"Are you waiting for the Greyhound?" She asked. We nodded. "You do know it doesn't come here, right?"

WHAT!? "Nope, didn't know that," I said as Liz flipped open her phone to call Mom to pick us up.

"Yeah, it stops on Central Ave," she said, then trundled on her merry way.

Great. Thanks lady.

"Mom? Funny story. Can you pick us up?" Liz said into the phone as we hauled our suitcases back outside. "Apparently this isn't where we're supposed to be."

Mom rode to our rescue, driving us to the "real" bus stop. The real bus stop was three benches in front of the county office building. And a sign that said "Bus Stop." Well, at least it wasn't too sketchy in the sunlight at any rate.

"If this isn't where the bus stops, I'll be pissed," I muttered, hauling my shit over to a bench and propping my feet up on it.

Liz shrugged, sitting down beside me. "It says bus stop," she said. She tugged her iPod out of her purse, offering me an ear bud. "You'll love this," she said. TLC's "Creep" started to play. I couldn't understand a word except for the chorus. "So I creep! Oooh Ah!"

I cracked up, and Liz and I sat on a bench on Central Ave jamming to "Creep."

As if on cue, a man wandered over to us.

"Excuse me," he said. "Did you two see me get out of that cab?"

We stared at him blankly. He was tall, nearly six feet, with untamed brown hair and a scraggly beard. He was missing several teeth, and I didn't realize until later that he was missing an arm as well.

"No," I said slowly, shaking my head to drive the point home. "We didn't see that."

"Oh," he said, and wandered off.

"Speaking of creepers," Liz whispered. I giggled, then dug a book out of my bag.

It was only a matter of minutes before he was back. "I'm looking for my family," he said. "Have you seen anyone leanin' out of cars, wavin' and hollerin'?"

We shook our heads no. He wandered off again.

We waited for an hour, until ten fifteen. No bus.

"Should I be worried?" I asked. It didn't matter. I already was.

"No," she said. "Buses are always late."

Ten minutes passed.

"Are they this late?" I asked.

"I...don't know," she said.

The Creeper came ambling back over. "Are you taking the Greyhound?" he asked. We nodded. He smiled and sat down on the bench next to us. "I think I'll go to Binghamton," he said. Great, I thought. Just great.

Liz looked down the street. "Is that it?" she asked. Sure enough, there was a Greyhound, sitting smugly at the stoplight.

"Oh, excellent," I said, eager to get away from The Creeper.

The bus rolled to a stop in front of us. We started to get up, moving our luggage out of the way. We needn't have bothered. The driver merely paused for a moment, then pulled away from the curb.

"Wait, what?" I said, staring dumbly at the retreating bus.

"Go after it!" Liz said, grabbing her purse and shoving her iPod and cell into it.

"Wait, me?" I asked.

"Yes, you!" she said, struggling to pull up the handle on her suitcase.

"Oh," I said, turning to follow the runaway bus. Too late, as it had already turned to corner. "Did we just miss the bus?" I asked Liz, in shock that such a thing could happen.

The Creeper jogged up to us. "Was that the bus?" he asked. "He didn't even stop did he?" I shook my head slowly, trying to make my brain remember how to work. I looked over at Liz to see how she was taking it. Her lip was trembling, and I could hear her breath coming in short, sharp sobs. Uh oh.

She flipped open her phone to call Mom. "The bus left without us," she wailed into it the minute Mom answered. "It didn't even stop. It just drove right by."

An old man and his buddy trundled over to us. Both were small, bald, had glasses, and were the approximate shape of beach balls. The only discernible difference between them was their shirt colors. One blue, one red.

"Were you s'posed to get on that bus, missy?" Red Shirt asked me. I tuned out Liz, who was growing increasingly hysterical behind me.

"He didn't even stop," Blue Shirt observed. I nodded. I had noticed.

"Is there a number you can call?" Red Shirt asked. I dug out my ticket and started looking.

"Dad?" I heard Liz say. That conversation wouldn't end well. Her voice was loud, as it often gets when she's upset. Tears were slowly leaking out from under her sunglasses. "The bus left without us." She paused. "We were in the right place, Dad!" she yelled, and Red and Blue Shirts took a step back. The Creeper just stood there creepily.

I tuned her out again as a policeman started across the lawn toward us. "Uh oh," I said.

Red Shirt shook his head. "Don' worry. He's talking to him." He pointed a gnarled hand at Creeper.

"Hey," the cop said. He was talking to Creeper. Go figure. "Are you bothering these people?" he asked. "Because I had enough complaints about you yesterday."

Creeper muttered some excuse, and the cop was distracted by Blue Shirt waving him over. The little man explained what had happened, leaving me to just nod along.

"Is there a number you can call?" the cop asked. I handed him my ticket. Liz was flat out yelling now, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. She snapped her phone shut.

"Give me your pen," she said. I handed it over. "Mom found a number," she said as she picked up her ringing phone. Mom, presumably. She was still hiccuping and sobbing as she spoke to her.

The policeman grabbed his radio, handing me my ticket back. He called all the troopers in the area, telling them to be on the lookout for a Greyhound that had left without his passengers.

"Be advised, we have witnesses," he said, winking at me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I excused myself to answer it. Dad.

"Hi, Sarah?" he said, his voice worried. Of course, Sarah. Who else would answer her phone?

"Yeah," I answered.

"What's happening? I was talking to Liz, but I think she lost signal. Or she hung up on me."

I glanced at Liz's face, an interesting shade of red, tears glistening on her cheeks, all the way to her chin. her eyes were furious behind her glasses, and she was saying "fuck" every three words.

"Yeah. She lost signal," I soothed him. I told him what was happening, then hung up, assuring him that we would call when we knew more.

The cop went inside, telling us to stay put until he could figure something out. Like we had a choice? The two old men trundled off, wishing us luck. I had no idea where Creeper had gotten to. Probably had crawled back under his rock.

Liz and I sat on our luggage, and I worked at getting her calmed down. One man asked if she was alright. I shrugged and said, "It's Thursday."

Ten minutes passed, and the cop came back out, waving me over and beaming proudly. "I got it figured out," he said. "They'll hold your bus in Binghamton, and you can take the next bus that goes there, so you can catch your bus to D.C."

Brilliance. I thanked him profusely. And all went as planned. We caught the next bus, having to sit apart because of the modern American's fear of sitting with a stranger.

Liz showed me a text she had sent to her boyfriend. It read: "I have decided that this is not a trip to Florida. It is a trip to the inner circle of Hell. I've already missed a bus, yelled fuck at my father in front of a cop, and had a tantrum. And it's not even noon. xxxxx."

I laughed. So true.

We reached Binghamton with no more excitement, though Liz did have someone tell her that we were beautiful. Unfortunately when we got there, there was no other bus waiting for us. We grabbed our luggage out of the bus's belly and went inside the terminal.

"That bus left," the man at the ticket desk said. "He said that he picked up passengers in town, at the bus stop."

"No he didn't," Liz said.

"He said he stopped and boarded passengers," he said. "You can take the 2:20 bus to D.C. though." The lying bastard bus driver...

And so I'm waiting. Only two more hours to go until the NEW bus arrives.