United Airlines to Nora: Go Jam Yourself (Part II)
No rental car company in Denver will let me drive a car to Palm Desert and leave it there. Not one.
How do I get out of here?
Greyhound.
Arrive at 9am for the 11am bus. Sold out. Buy $102 ticket for the 6pm bus. Return at 4. Now have a much clearer idea of what it means to be a refugee or a convict. Greyhound is in the business of selling more tickets than there are seats on the bus. A distinct possibility exists that I may not get on this bus. That can't happen.
Search the crowd (because it's a crowd and not a line). Find the safest looking guy I can. Turtleneck+sweater=unlikely to stab me during the 15 hour ride to Vegas. Successfully budge 100 people, get on the bus feeling kind of dirty but kind of good about myself.
Boy who is unlikely to stab me is also cute. A PhD candidate in Chemistry at Northwestern. 2004 TA of the year, in fact.
We're seated by the bathroom. Somebody must have lost their handle priveleges because there is a gaping hole in the door. That's nice. So are the moms who are smoking drugs outside the bus as we stop in Grand Junction (misnomer alert) for a whole hour while the bus is "cleaned."
The drive is pretty, if a little creepy. The mountains look close enough to touch, like a giant topographical map. A can see stars. Lots of stars. Orion. And his belt.
It could almost be romantic. Is it romantic? Why can't it be romantic? Is it wrong to make out with a stranger in the back of a Greyhound when you're in the seat next to the bathroom? Is that bad? I've known him 8 hours, that's like a 2nd date. Or a 3rd date if all the other dates were really short, like coffee dates or something.
No sleep till Vegas. Off the bus (man do I smell bad). Into a cab. Into the airport. Flight delayed. Connection in Phoenix? Fat chance. Sit in Phoenix airport. Go to the bar. Look distressed enough to be given two free drinks. Onto the plane. 30 minutes seated in front of a little girl singing "Feliz Navidad" and kicking my seat. Wish iPod wasn't so dead.
Finally in Palm Springs. There's our car. Hug my mom. Cry. Repeat.
Merry Christmas you bastards.
I once took a bus from Salt Lake City back to Minneapolis. It was awful, and gross, and really smelly. My only entertainment was the young man and young woman seated next to me. They got on the bus at the same time I did. Having been trained by my mother, I am an expert eavesdropper. I heard them exchanging greetings. About two hours later I could see them holding hands. Two hours after that a blanket appeared. Five minutes after that we could all hear them having sex. It was romantic. For everyone on the bus.
you know i approve of that greyhound makeout session! once i made out with a groomsman from cousin joe's wedding and i only knew him for like 5 hours. if you include the ceremony.
if that is wrong...i don't want to be right...
that is not bad. that is awesome.
i love that.
i LOVE that.
you're awesome, too, nora.
happy new year, you crappy e-pen-pal, you. xo.
Am I the only one here who thinks this is the greatest, most romantic story of all time?
Nice way to begin the year of the HEARTS.
Just remember that the cornerstone to all good relationships are kissing, talking, holding hands and laughing. All of which you successfully did on the bus.
Bravo, Nora...FOR LIVING YOUR LIFE! (And don't feel badly that you only knew him for 8 hours before the making out begain ... that's longer than half of the incest-free marriages in West Virginia.)
Besides, JetBlue flies to Chicago for $69 each way!
LOVE YA ... ENJOY EVERY MINUTE!!!