the smoking vegans

I don't normal travel via Greyhound. I've done it in the past, though, and it's not been half bad. So when I bought my bus ticket a couple of days ago to go visit jsteak & family, I figured all would be well. Granted, it was a 13 hour-ish bus ride, which would suck, but all in all, it would be better than driving, as we could just share one car on the trip back.

What I endured, however, was not a pleasant, half way pleasant, or average bus trip. It was a fucking nightmare. It was almost like Nightmare at 20,000 Feet, for old Twighlight Zone fans. Traveling from Montpelier to Ithaca would normally take about six or six-and-a-half hours. Greyhound typically takes double the time of a normal trip. In this case, I went from Vermont to Massachusetts, to Connecticut, to NYC, to New Jersey, to Ithaca.

As if this weren't bad enough, throughout the day people tried to hustle me, I somehow got stuck next to really oversized passengers, landed the one seat that had six inches less legroom than all the others, had no food, got nasuea trying to read, had one driver playing loud gospel music, was given totally different directions to my terminal at the NYC station which nearly resulted in a missed bus, and finally I suffered a nervous breakdown. Okay, well not quite. But the rest of it is true. The worst of it was definitely NYC.

I should say that I hate New York City. In this one rare instance, I don't actually mean to offend. But I do. I fucking hate it. While I would issue a warning for all people I like to evacuate first, I would almost certainly nuke it if given the opportunity. Witholding my whole NYC rant for later, suffice it to trying to navigate the bus terminal is a bit like trying to navigate a carnival House of Mirrors maze the size of Rush Limbaugh's ass, and equally traumatizing. There are few to no signs, just a long line of terminal numbers, on three floors, ranging into the hundreds. Normally, that would be okay, if there were terminal and departure monitors. There were maybe four for the whole place, and not very accessible. Those normally help, because they tell you what gate to go to (your ticket doesn't), but instead, they tell you what time the bus is leaving (which your ticket does tell you). After running between information terminals, where the folks were kind enough to give me totally opposite advice, I ran up to people in lines like a lunatic, frantically asking where they were going. I finally got the bus.

But let's elaborate on the information terminals. Here's one such conversation.

Me: Where does the bus to Binghamton/Ithaca leave from?
Lady: Terminal 61.
Me: Okay, thanks.

(I go check terminal 61, see no times listed, and then go back)

Me: So, when does that bus leave?
Lady: 6:30.
Me: My ticket says 4:30.
Lady: Oh, that bus is at a different terminal.
Me: Excuse me?
Lady: Third floor. (I'm on the ground floor where the FIRST information guy on the SECOND floor told me to go)

(At this point in the conversation, I realize why they are surrounded by protective glass, as I have an urgent desire to strangle her)

What the fuck is it with rude, asshole, fuckwit, retarded, aggressive, shit-throwing monkey bunch of New Yorkers to whom even DOING THEIR FUCKING JOB is an inconvenience? That whole city needs to take some Xanax and get slapped around a little with a big ol' cock. You know, and then nuked.

Seriously, what a bunch of assholes. Anyway, I'll try to save the NYC thing for another entry, I promise.

[For once I am to angry too finish an entry in a coherent way. My brain just exploded. It makes it very difficult to see the monitor. I'll try again later. Sorry.]