Saga Dialect
Tea Set

November 16, 2004

Goddamnit. I hate getting blown off.

* * *

Well. Now that I've got that out of my system, allow me to continue regaling you with tales of the colourful characters I encountered on my recent excursion to the Buckeye State. We now move into the part of the journey where I begin the long trek homeward. It must be said, getting to Ohio was one thing, getting home an entirely different creature. Everything was going smoothly until we arrived in St. Louis. Turns out a bus had broken down on its way from Chicago, resulting in three busloads of people trying to get on to only two busses. The crowd didn't thin out until Boise, Idaho. That was two days later.

• Battlin' Pregnant Women - or, Prenatal Rumble Syndrome - It's funny how life works. These characters could quite easily have been described in a much more flattering light, save for the unfortunate fact that they felt the need to engage in fisticuffs at four o'clock in the morning. We'll get to that.
  
  One of the two women had been riding with me at least since Indianapolis and had engaged in casual conversation with anyone willing to bend an ear. On her way home to Seattle after three failed marriages, four kids up for adoption and a bun in the oven, courtesy her last boyfriend who had tossed her out on the street a month and a half earlier. She only divulged these facts about an hour outside of Seattle; I guess she was somewhat apprehensive about going home and wanted to get it all off her chest before starting over.
  
  The second woman, I didn't speak to. She boarded the bus in Kansas City with a pack of kids and two other women - her sister and sister-in-law, I guess - the whole group of them very talkative and very excited to be on the bus. They burst into song before we even left the depot, much to the enjoyment of everyone on the bus. They weren't half-bad, although they could've used a larger repertoire in my opinion.
  
  General merrymaking ensued until about 1 AM (note that we rolled out of KC just after midnight), when the bus driver pointed out that there were a few people at the front of the bus looking to get some shuteye. They simmered down and folks began to drift off, myself included.
  
  Fast forward two hours and fourty-five minutes. Woman #2 suddenly erupted in a torrent of expletives that would've made a biker cover his ears. As far as I can tell, the tirade stemmed from the fact that Woman #1 was not only talking too loud, but she was doing so on purpose to keep #2 awake. Other passengers ignored them for a couple minutes, at least until #2 started accusing #1 of having no respect or consideration for other people on the bus. A few jibes surfaced from the front of the bus, prompting #1 to launch a verbal counterattack. Well, a couple of "I'll smack you up, bitch"es and several "yo' mama"s later and the back of the bus turned into a Russ Meyer movie. I didn't even want to look, but how many chances does one get to witness a full-on brawl between two pregnant women?
  
  As #2's family and #1's neighbour tried to pull the pair apart, the driver pulled into a rest stop, slammed on the brakes and came barreling down the aisle, grabbed both women and dragged them off the bus. He closed the door behind him, so we could only hear his muffled bellowing. I figured the two of them were looking at an uncomfortable night in the rest stop, but I guess the driver took pity on them and eventually let them back on, under the strict regulation that neither of them so much as... well, I reckon a quote is the way to go here:
  
  "I hear either one of you so much as fart, and both your asses are off the bus and I don't give a damn how pregnant you are!"
  
  Suffice to say it was a silent sunrise.
• Battery Girl, her Petite Amie and Cap'n Kool-Aid - as mentioned above, there were two busses running the same route, one about a half-hour behind the first. I started out on the first bus, but my bag somehow ended up on the second, so come Denver I had to switch busses. After the Rumble, I didn't mind at all. Battery Girl and her Petite Amie had been on the bus that had broken down; Cap'n Kool Aid was on his way from Gainesville, Florida to Reno, Nevada. I guess the three of them had been chatting for a while by the time I joined the group.
  
  Cap'n Kool-Aid earned his name somewhere out in the Wyoming wilderness. As an aside, you should avoid Wyoming at all costs - it is mind-numbingly dull. He was seated across from me and we had been chatting about this, that and the other when Battery Girl decided to usurp the conversation. She plonked herself down in the vacant seat next to him and started grilling him about his current relationship. I figure she was sussing out her chances with him, but he was having none of it. It seems he was on the run from a relationship - he had been dating some woman for the better part of five years, she had gotten pregnant (with twins, no less) and the relationship had exploded. His solution: ditch the whole thing and move to Nevada. Quite understandably, Battery Girl was less than impressed and proceeded to berate him for being so 'foul' (her word). Cap'n Kool-Aid tried unsuccessfully to defend himself for a while before embarking on a counteroffensive. He tried the "it's none of your business" tact, the "what the hell do you care" avenue, and finally the "get the hell out of my Kool-Aid" approach. Yup. That's what he said.
  
  Battery Girl, so dubbed for her incessant requests to borrow batteries from everyone on the bus (I gave her four, and I saw at least two other people give her a pair each) so that she could listen to her Petite Amie's CD player... so that she didn't have to listen to her Petite Amie. Interesting situation.
  
  It was just outside of Rock Springs, Wyoming that she came to sit with me. After the Kool-Aid incident, she must've thought to try her luck with Captain Canuck. She was on her way to Salem, Oregon to meet the friends and family of her Petite Amie - she explained that she had always felt it important never to pass up an opportunity to experience something new, so when her Petite Amie came to town and put the moves on her, she went for it. I don't know how long they had been together, but the relationship seemed pretty rocky, to say the least. In all fairness, I think any relationship would be hard-pressed to survive three days on the bus - come to think of it, they were the only couple I met the whole time. Hmm.
  
  As for her Petite Amie, she didn't talk very much, except for with Battery Girl - and those instances weren't really talking - and with one other woman who I didn't even notice until we parted ways. It was plain to see that she was the weaker half of the pair, given that Battery Girl walked all over her and generally walked away when she tried to stand up for herself.
  
  There is a happy ending, however. Following a prolonged and vicious spat during one of our longer layovers (in Tremonton, Utah if you really must know), they managed to reconcile their differences and were cute and cuddly for the remainder of the journey. How long that lasted afterwards is anyone's guess.
• "I Can Get You Anything" Man - a.k.a. The Scrounger - hands down, the most affable and interesting fellow I met on the bus. Possessed of a degree in Aerospace Engineering, working on a second in Childhood Education and on his way to Korea to serve his duty in the Air Force. He had opted to join the military as a means to an end - that end being his collecting the GI Bill - and the Air Force was the safest route to take. I asked him his take on the election and he replied, "I am not permitted to make disparaging remarks about my Commander-In-Chief... but I am allowed to say that I voted for Nader."
  
  His bag was making the most money possible with the least amount of effort. He had already served a year in Germany, and had learned that he could ship copious amounts of goods back to the US for peanuts. He'd made enough to buy a house and seven acres of land in Kentucky by shipping slightly defective luxury cars bought for cost to a friend who made the necessary repairs (and also magically produced all the necessary documentation, but I don't know anything about that) before selling them for a tidy profit. Next on his agenda was the advanced electronics from Japan and Korea that won't be available in the US for a few years yet - you know, MD players, DVD phones and the like. Definitely a man with a plan.
  
  It was interesting to watch him work the other passengers; the man oozed chutzpah and had a fistful of addresses by the time we reached Seattle. Equally interesting was that once he learned that I had a few lights on upstairs, he would periodically look at me as he was reeling in another rider and flash me a conspiratorial grin. I'm curious to know how he is being received in Korea; I have a feeling he's in for a rude surprise, being US military and all.
• The Sad Woman and Her Litany of Sorrow - I don't have all that much to say about this woman. I was watching The Scrounger work his magic on a sleepy-looking fellow across the aisle when The Sad Woman turned to face me and asked if I liked eating game. Little did I know that this was a prelude to an hour-long saga of all the hardships she had endured. I didn't have the heart to stop her once she got going. I'm not going to get into all the gory details, but I include her here for her uncanny knack for picking out flashes of beauty from even the most dire circumstances. I don't even think she was aware she was doing so, she was so focused on her suffering. Oddly enough, I think she might have been the most uplifting person I met the whole time I was in the US.
• The Florida Giants Fan - a.k.a. Mr. No-Teeth, The Rowdy Guy - this guy was a trip. He'd been on the bus all the way from Miami and was on his way to Prince George to marry a First Nations woman he'd met online. Despite being clean and sober for the past six months, it was easy to see that this guy had burned out a few too many neurons, although it was also fairly obvious that he didn't really have all that many to begin with.
  
  He spent most of the bus ride yelling out interjections to other people's conversations and making fun of his 'friend', an honourably discharged Latin American marine he had lovingly dubbed "Carlos, the Cuban Redneck". Let it be said that 'Carlos' never actually sat near this guy, although they did share a few smokes along the way. I am inclined to believe that it was only Carlos' military discipline that saved The Rowdy Guy from a beating.
  
  I'd been stuck with this guy the whole trip. I didn't actually speak to him until we arrived in Boise, at which time Battery Girl told him that I, too was going to Canada. He asked the usual questions and went back to making loud exclamations and quiet dirty jokes. I went to sleep.
  
  We parted ways in Stanfield, Oregon; his ticket taking him on the 'express' bus through Portland and up to Vancouver, my ticket taking the local route with a four-hour layover in Seattle. He wanted me to ride the 'express' with him, as it was scheduled to arrive in Vancouver some ten hours before the local. I weighed the two options carefully, let me assure you. I think the most telling indicator of Rowdy Guy's personality is the fact that I chose to ride the bus for an additional ten hours rather than spend the rest of the day with him.
  
  Or so I thought. Upon arriving in Seattle, I quickly located the nearest pub and settled in for a few pints. Four hours to kill, what else are you going to do? I made my way back to the depot a half hour before my scheduled departure to find - you guessed it - Rowdy Guy right in front of me in line. I thought he was going to hug me. Apparently he had failed to specify that he was going to Vancouver, Canada instead of Vancouver, Washington, hence the much earlier arrival time. An honest mistake, easily made by anyone never having visited Washington, but it meant that I had five more hours to spend with the fellow.
  
  Or so I thought. I got on the bus, pleaded inebriation and dozed off, waking up just as we reached the border. Rowdy Guy got me to help him fill out his customs form and asked me that in order to get across the border what was the best thing to say? I simply said, "The truth," and got off the bus. I guess he didn't take my advice, as he was turned away at the border - the last I saw of him, he was being firmly escorted back to the US by a burly pair of border guards, kicking and screaming the whole while. Telling customs officers you were born and raised in Florida and producing a Nevada birth certificate is a bad idea, it seems.

Whew. My fingers are getting stiff. I wonder if anyone actually reads all of this? Regardless, I'm sure there is more to come, but for the moment, it's time for a glass of whiskey and some Utah Phillips.

* * *

It would seem I'm having a productive evening. At long last, for your reading pleasure, Tea Set. I'd be delighted to hear what you think.

November 12, 2004

Slightly overdue, but find hereafter some rough sketches of some of the more interesting characters I met and of my experiences with them during my 132-hour transportation ordeal. Those few names I actually know will be replaced by colorful (and purely descriptive) monikers based upon my perception of the individual. Should you have stumbled across this page and believe you recognize yourself, trust me - it ain't you. Should any of the following strike you as offensive, stop reading and don't tell me about it - I don't care. Now, without further ado, in approximate chronological order of encounter, my erstwhile companions.

• Team Quebec - a.k.a. Question Girl and Dreadlock Loosepants - I met these two standing in line waiting to board the bus in Vancouver. A pair of young'uns heading down to San Francisco as the final leg of a North American tour. Imagine a 21st century female version of Abbott and Costello - one tall, slender and silent, the other squat, stocky and sociable. Question Girl was preoccupied with making out with some fella when I first encountered them, so Ms. Loosepants asked me if this was the line for the bus to Seattle. Those were about the only words she said to me over the course of the whole trip south.
  
  After extricating herself from her fella's farewell fervor and boarding the bus, Question Girl sat down across the aisle turned to me and began the interrogation: what time was the bus departing, how long was it going to take, was I from Vancouver, where was I going, did I know any good places in San Francisco, could I speak French, what other languages could I speak, what time is it, when was our scheduled arrival, had I been to Whistler, was I planning on going to Quebec, did I know anybody in the US, where exactly is Columbus anyway, and when did you say this bus was departing? I kid you not; all of this in the first ten minutes.
  
  Over the course of the bus ride, QG focused more attention on Dreadlock, who in turn was focused on a San Francisco guidebook. Dreadlock earned the second part of her nickname at our first rest stop, standing up to grab her smokes from the over head compartment and providing me with a front-row view of her posterior as her pants made their own trek southwards. She soon caught the attention of all the other male riders, as well one would expect when a 32-inch waist wears 40-inch pants. It was actually quite entertaining watching all the guys jockey for position behind her on smoke breaks.
  
  Team Quebec and I parted ways in Portland, Oregon. Question Girl came up to ask which gate they were meant to board at and Dreadlock Loosepants just stopped by for a hug.
• The Smoke-bummin' Lady - I got stuck with this character all the way from Vancouver to St. Louis; that's about two days, in case you were wondering. Middle-aged, of East Indian descent and wearing all-black running shoes. If you're familiar with the All-Black Running Shoe Phenomenon, you'll know what I'm talking about. If you're not, well... keep your eyes open and you'll understand soon enough.
  
  Anyway, her name pretty much tells you all you need to know - she would wander up to someone (thankfully not always me), stand there for a couple of minutes with a plastic smile on her face and then attempt to bum a cigarette. No introductions, no conversation, just "Do you have a cigarette?" I think even our driver was sick of her by the time we reached Denver.
• Swamp Thing - Mercifully, I only had to sit with this fellow from Salt Lake City to Denver. I had to transfer to a packed bus in Salt Lake and ended up next to a thirty-something Mexican who couldn't speak a lick of English. Well, whatever, I thought, this is an overnight leg of the journey and I'll be asleep the whole time anyway. Not so. I don't know if this guy suffered from sleep apnea or what, but he crashed out before I could say 'buenos noches' and I soon realized I was looking at a sleepless night.
  
  Snoring, I can handle. This guy had taken it to a whole new level - a more disgusting, phlegmmy slurping sound I cannot imagine. It wasn't even regular, making it all the more diffcult to tune it out, as there would be thirty seconds to two minutes of silence interrupted by the sound of someone attempting to suck up a ball of mucous through a straw. I tried nudging him, I woke him up a couple of times and imitated the sounds he was making, but he would just roll over a go right back to it. I've never been so happy to see the sunrise.
• The Young Recruit, the Stripper and the Obese Illiterate One - this group all boarded together in Denver and rode with me across Kansas (the never-ending state) through to Missouri.
  
  The Young Recruit (hereafter TYR) was a mere nineteen years of age, married with a kid on the way and off to Iraq for an eighteen-month tour of duty. Nice kid, talkative and easy-going; he was seated behind me with the Stripper, an eighteen-year old girl on her way to her wedding the following Tuesday. The Obese Illiterate One (hereafter OIO) boarded before the Stripper and I heard TYR behind me: "Oh, please God, no." I guess God was listening, because she sat next to me. OIO was huge - some 350 pounds - when she sat down, I was shunted half across my seat and pressed up against the window, TYR trying (unsuccessfully) to suppress his laughter. Despite the cramped quarters, I managed to turn far enough around to engage in conversation with the two behind me, both of whom kept pointing and making blowfish faces at me.
  
  Come the first rest stop, I got off the bus and tried to get the blood flowing back to my legs. TYR and the Stripper continued with the jokes, laughing so hard tears ran down their faces. Reboarding the bus, I played the 'would you like the window seat' card and found myself again with half a seat, the plastic frame wedged uncomfortably in my backside but with the aisle to stretch out in. I'm still undecided as to whether or not my situation had improved, but as there was nary a free seat on the bus, I didn't have much choice in the matter. TYR and the Stripper were playing cards and giggling like schoolchildren, so I busted out a book and tried to get comfortable.
  
  Three hours later, we stopped at a gas station and I disembarked, hoping fervently that I might someday be able to feel my nether regions again. "At least it can't get any worse," TYR said to me as we smoked. He couldn't have been more wrong - OIO had picked up a few snacks (about a day's worth of food for me) and lumbered back on to the bus. I went inside for a few things, myself and went back to the bus. The first thing I saw was TYR leaning out into the aisle, delerious with laughter. As I approached, OIO looked guiltily up at me and then forlornly at my seat, both of which were covered in pink cream soda. Unbelievable.
  
  The Stripper, in her infinite mercy, dug into her pack and pulled out a couple of tea towels serving as packing for some glassware and offered them to me. I sat down, and OIO, seeing that I wasn't going to abuse her, obviously felt this was her cue to make friends. I didn't feel much like talking, so I just listened as she spoke. Turns out she was 57 years old and already a great-grandmother, on her way to Kansas City to help her daughter take care of her 4 children, recently returned to her after 10 years in foster homes. Think about that for a second: that's four generations in less than 60 years.
  
  We arrived in Kansas City, Missouri (I don't get it, either) at about 7:30 PM, and I found myself with two seats to myself, the cream soda seat preventing anyone else from sitting next to me. Every cloud, you know? I stretched out and anticipated a good night's rest, as the Swamp Thing had also disappeared. Again, this was not to be.
  
  By this time, TYR and the Stripper were getting along famously. A couple of teenagers stuck right next to each other for nineteen hours, what do you expect? Sparing you all the gory details (and sparing me from earning an X-rating for my site), I witnessed first-hand the sanctity of marriage in the US today. At least I could almost cover up the sound of their merrymaking by listening to my MD player at full volume. Almost. I couldn't, however, escape the blow-by-blow account of the affair during a smoke break in Boonville, MO.
• The Man Who Believes Crystal Meth is the Cure For Cancer, AIDS and All Societal Ills - a.k.a. The Conspiracy Theorist, The Crazy Freemason, and Uncle Pervy - I don't even know where to begin with this guy. Mid-sixties, on his way to Kentucky to take a computer science degree in order to start up his own Internet service provider "OLA" (yes, it's an anagram, but I think you can figure it out), recently out on bail after his 'Cancer Research Lab' was discovered by Washington State police, convinced that all televisions and computer monitors are actually two-way recording devices, crusader for complete legal reform and self-professed Grand Vizier of the Order of Methuselah and John the Baptist. Easy to talk to and kept me entertained all the way from just before the Cream Soda Incident up to Indianapolis.
  
  Use your imagination, it'll be close enough to the truth.
• Muscle Relaxant Man - a.k.a. The Guy Who Lost A Filling In Indianapolis - En route to Cincinnati, I could hardly make out a word this guy said. All kinds of messy, but friendly, I guess. He had befriended the crazy guy somewhere in Kansas and generally provided the laughtrack for any conversation occurring on the bus.

Whew. That ended up being a whole lot more verbose than I had anticipated - and these were only those on the way to Columbus. A few additional minor characters I encountered (and am not providing accounts of at the moment) include:

• The Drug Dealer
• Poncho-Wearing Banjo Guy
• Banjo Guy's Groupie
• The Portly Ornery Hunter
• The Girl With The Bottomless Eyes

Reading back over this, I could probably write a whole novel based on this trip. It's hard to say whether or not it would be interesting to anyone but myself, but isn't that the case with any writing? Expect more to come at irregular intervals, as I am sure to be distracted by other random thoughts and projects.

November 8, 2004

9:20 AM - Rudely awakened and ejected from the building, as work crews are taking X-rays of the water mains and in the process are irradiating the entire area. Lovely way to start the day.

10:27 AM - A short walk, coffee and a cigarette to pass the time. Radiation exposure procedures completed and I anticipate significant mutation in future generations of Drosophila rex (a.k.a. fruit flies) that populate my apartment.

11:14 AM - Showered, shaved and making breakfast. Thoughts of upgrading my organizational software: I need to be more effective than this. Resume and cover letter updated, shopping list written, time for a smoke.

11:27 AM - Time to get out of the house. Cyberspace beckons. Expecting my mailbox to be inundated with spam and otherwise useless and outdated information.

4:42 PM - Got online, checked my email, applied to a couple of jobs, went shopping. Found a very old roll of film and had it developed - had pictures from my trip to NYC last year on it. Whoops. Thoughts of dinner and the remainder of the evening. Feeling kinda bummed.

6:36 PM - Hoping this current case of the ho-hum I'm afflicted with is primarily due to fatigue. Went to my sister's house with some brown sugar, left with some corn bread. Thoughts of renting a movie and of meeting cute girls. Beer #1.

9:45 PM - Beer #4. Watched The Day After Tomorrow. More entertaining than I had expected. Having more fun than I was 12 hours ago. No thoughts of any significance to report.

12:44 AM - Just finished looking at the box of photos I brought back from Japan. Feeling a little sad, but enjoyed myself tremendously. Saw a lot of faces and a lot of places that brought back a lot of memories. I'd forgotten how attached I had become to that little corner of the world. I should go back. Beer #7. Thoughts of ex-girlfriends.

November 7, 2004

Home, nine days older and 5625 (or so) miles tacked on to my personal odometer. A week ago Thursday, I got a call from a friend in need who was going to be in Columbus, Ohio for the Presidential Election. The ins and outs of the situation are currently classified, but suffice to say I was needed in the Buckeye State ASAP - and with flights costing roughly a thousand dollars, I opted for the more economical Greyhound experience.

What prompted this decision to subject myself to cramped quarters, sore muscles and naught but gas station and truck stop food for 66 hours, one-way? Finances, as mentioned, were perhaps the most influential factor (although it must be said that the cost of transportation and accomodation were graciously taken care of by my friend), followed by considerations of safety. What with the balding tires on the van and winter fast approaching, I was loath to find myself caught in a snowy mountain pass for... oh, likely the better part of the season. Add to this the facts that I, being unemployed, could afford the time to travel in such a leisurely manner and for some reason had subconsciously developed a very Romantic image of what traveling by bus across the United Stated would entail. Maybe I've read On The Road one too many times, I don't know.

For the record, traveling for almost three days by bus is decidedly unromantic. In fact, were I pressed to provide a one-sentence description of the experience, I would have to say "It sucks".

Nevertheless, it was an experience; as such, and in keeping with my philosophies, absolutely not a waste of time. I met a cast of interesting characters (descriptions to follow), saw a variety of scenic sights (no pictures, though) and had the opportunity for serious contemplation and meditation (well, during those moments in which my mind hadn't flipped over to a dead channel). Honestly, how could it not be?

* * *

And the rest of the day spins away, slingshot out of orbit by the gravitational fields of my distraction. Tomorrow.