In The Wayback Machine: Bus Ride From Hell

I had other plans for today's blog post. 

For one, I was going to do it yesterday, but as my friend Meem told Current Husband the first time she met him, "There is something you need to know about Julie - she will always, ALWAYS, be late, but she will show up with beer and a good story." Meem said this to CH because she got to his place on time when she traveled to Iowa State to meet him for the first time, and I was late. But I showed up with beer and a story.

So here is your virtual beer - "POP!" - it is open - and your story.  Let's go to a new ADITW feature called, "In The Wayback Machine".  I would like to preface this story by saying that unlike some of my stories, which can be prone to some exaggeration to protect the innocent and confuse the details, this story is certified Hand To God True.  Let us begin:

My mom was here for Labor Day weekend, and it made me harken back to another time when I wanted my mother for Labor Day.  It was my freshman year at Iowa State University, and my mom had just dropped me off a couple of weeks earlier to start my adventure three whole hours from home.  I'd spent the previous eight years dreaming of the moment I could get the heck out of my house, so I felt giddy with the possibilities of college.  Labor Day weekend arrived, and with it, offers of rides home with people who lived in my area.  Was I going home?  Hell, no!  I was a college girl now!

Saturday morning arrived, and I walked out on campus, and it was completely empty.  I assumed the other Freebirds would be out celebrating or something, and it turns out that nearly everyone actually went home.  No big deal, I'll read a book or something.  Crickets...crickets... By noon, I was actually getting homesick.  I called my parents and asked if they would get me.  "No way!" they said, with the party music blaring in the background.  The hot tub was being moved into my room as we spoke.  However, they did say they would pay for me to take the bus to Omaha if I wanted to come back.  And this is where my adventure began.

The Greyhound station in Ames was a nice little college town station.  It was 3 p.m., the sun was shining, the birds were singing.  Thank God for the bus, right?  I bought my ticket and walked down the aisle, wearing my preppy Polo rugby and torn jean shorts, my Walkman ready to go.  As I walked, I took stock of the bus occupants, and I quickly realized I was on the Petri Dish express - every bus cliche was present:  Freshly sprung convicts, runaway teens, nuns, tired-looking women with young snot-nosed children clinging to them.  I took the last empty row and counted my blessings that I got a solo seat.  Soon, an old gentleman came down the aisle and took the seat next to me.  At least he looked nice.  He turned to me, put his mechanical larynx against his throat, and buzzed at me, "HELLO. I AM. ROBERT."  

Oh holy shit, you have GOT to be kidding me.  It was no joke.  Robert just got out of the hospital from having his voicebox removed due to a lifetime of smoking, and let me tell you, Robert was a pretty chatty guy for having no voicebox.  He talked to me for about an hour, when suddenly the sky got noticeably dark.

"IT. LOOKS. LIKE. A. BAD. STORM."  Thanks, Robert.  The bus driver, a woman in her thirties, seemed to get ruffled, and started muttering to herself.  Pretty soon, I could hear tornado sirens going off.  Really?  REALLY!?!  Yes, really.  The bus driver actually got on the intercom and I swear to you she came unhinged.  

"Lawd almighty, I ain't never had nothin' like this happen on my bus.  Look y'all, there is a tornada, and don't axe me what to do 'cause I don't know.  Lawd help us all!  I'm gonna pull over here, and I think y'all needs to get out of the bus and into that ditch, because ain't nothin' good gonna happen if that tornada hits this damn bus."

So she screeches over to the side of the highway, bus rocking in the wind, and we all file off the bus - the nuns, the convicts, the teens, the mothers, Mr. Roboto, and me.  We get into the ditch and sort of sit there for a few minutes in the wind.  It wasn't raining, but it was really dark and windy.  Pretty soon, the convicts are all, "Screw this" and get back on the bus, and the rest of us looked at each other and sort of shrugged our shoulders and said "Ditto".  The bus driver had disappeared, so we sat for a little while and waited for her to show up.  She got back on the bus, and we got on our merry way.

What was normally a three hour trip between Ames and Omaha ended up being a six-hour trip with the various stops and the weather.  We arrived in Omaha after 9 p.m., and if you've never been to the Greyhound station in Omaha, let me tell you what a popular place it is.  It's in the middle of downtown, and it is full of drug dealers, prostitutes, pimps, and pedophiles.  I'm sitting in my little Ralph Lauren shirt, my "I Heart My Sorority" pin on my bag, and cute little Tretorns, my eyes as big as half dollars and my foot nervously tapping the chair leg. 

I needed to trade this......................... for this.

In walks my Dad, and he's looking around, and I swear to you, he couldn't see me.  HELLO!  The place is full of prostitutes and he can't pick out his daughter, who has only been out of the house for two weeks.

Dad found me, after I ran, waving at him, and hugging him for the first time in ten years.  "What's wrong with you?" Dad said, looking shocked and uncomfortable.  "I'm just so happy to see you," I said.  And this is when Dad knew something was very, very wrong.  He REALLY looked around, and said, "Let's get the hell out of here."  Agreed.

And that, my friends, is the last time I boarded a bus that isn't painted safety yellow.  Do any of you have any bus adventures?

Hope you had a terrific Labor Day weekend!