Tales from a Chinatown bus rider, Part II

Since I wrote such a novel for the last post, I'll make this shorter and hopefully less serious.

Each bus trip to NYC has become increasingly worse. The last trip was the ride from the depths of hell. Looking back, I smile about it and chalk it up to a character-building experience.

Here's a run-down of the trip. Enjoy. I didn't.

5:55 p.m. --I leave work in a rush, hoping the 6 p.m. bus will show up at its usually late time, and I can catch it.
6:15 p.m. -- Stop at CVS for snacks (i.e. supper).
6:30 p.m. -- People are still waiting for the 6 p.m. bus. Yes!
6:45 p.m. -- Find a nice spot under a tree near the alley to wait.
7:15 p.m. -- Still waiting for the bus, and word arrives that the bus is stuck and won't be coming for another 2 hours.
8:15 p.m. -- Find an alternative spot to sit. It smells, and I worry that if I get up, my butt will be dirty.
8:40 p.m. -- The bus arrives! Horray.
9 p.m. -- I'm on the bus, and it smells like a port-a-potty.
9:15 p.m. -- Someone sprays perfume to mask the port-a-potty odor and procedes to do this every 15 minutes.
2:15 a.m. -- The bus arrives in NYC. Somehow the bus that left D.C. after us, with the passengers who couldn't get on our bus, is already in NYC. How ironic.

I didn't mind the stinky port-a-potty smells. OK, that's a lie. It felt like I was sitting inside a humid port-a-potty for five hours. And I hated the intermittent sprays of perfume. It was a different fragrance every time. For the first 45 minutes, it was miserable.

But you find humor in situations like these. It means your sanity.