Why I Hate Buses.

My hatred for buses did not begin in Chinatown or even in Brooklyn.

My hatred for buses began in Happy Valley, Pennsylvania... with the horrible Blue Loop.

Bloop: Vehicle of nightmares.

I developed my first aversion towards buses on the second day of Kindergarten. I'll never forget watching my mother's confused expression, the smile still wide on her face while her waving hand dropped as the yellow public school bus sped past my driveway. I had pulled my new floral baseball cap over my eyes and began to cry. Convinced that I would never see my mother again because the bus driver was taking me to a place filled with nightmares and cigarette smoke and keeping me in a room with all of her pet ferrets, five year old Lauren couldn't be consoled at the next bus stop down the street. The bus driver forgot I was still on the bus. I should have known then.

For real. Ew.

During my first three years at Penn State, I refused to ride the bus alone. Sure, I would take the bus at night with my friends while drunk students swayed and sang our favorite football cheers. Sometimes I could even be convinced to take it downtown if a few of my girlfriends convinced me the trek was too far for heels. But I never rode that terrible thing alone. I would hike in the snow for miles, inflicting a lot of unnecessary pain upon myself just to avoid that bus. "Freeze warning?! Only stay outside for 10 minutes at a time, you say? Whatever Weatherman! I will take breaks! I will thaw in coffee shops and regain feeling in my legs in lecture halls." DON'T tell me to ride that bus.

On a gloomy, overcast day in November, I walked toward my apartment as a drizzly, icy rain began to fall. I was at a building on campus that was almost a mile walk away from home. Up ahead, I could see the Blue Loop approaching the bus stop. Today would be the day! I would finally muster up the courage and get on that bus! Ride it all the way home! Ride in the warmth home to happiness!

I got on the bus and proudly sat in my seat. Girl conquers bus. Take that, bus.

I rode the bus that day for a few stops when I began to notice something was wrong. The driver was driving away from where I wanted to be going, and people were getting off at the stops, but no one was getting on. Strange, I thought. These people don't have the fiery courage that I have to conquer this unruly bus!

But suddenly, everyone was gone and the only person left on the bus with me was the driver. He drove away, away from the campus, away from downtown, away from anywhere I wanted to be and pulled into a parking lot. He turned off the bus.

What was this? Was he going to murder me? Was this finally the day I would be kidnapped and forced to live with a smoker and a house full of ferrets? I only had a minute to think about my inevitable ferret filled future because after a moment the bus driver turned around in his seat and gave me a brief look of jaded indifference.

And with that the man shrugged his shoulders, stood up, and got off the bus.

Oh what the heck.

WHAT? Seriously? I sat there for a few minutes, confused, wondering how my courageous bus trip and turned so terrible so quickly. Defeated, I got off the bus and walked an hour home in the cold Pennsylvania wind. When I got home that afternoon, my friends couldn't stop laughing as I told them my story while trying to thaw my red cheeks and ears. That day ruined it for me. The Bloop ruined it all.

__________________________

Three years later, I found myself in the Bronx riding the bus home one night with two of my coworkers. One of my coworkers had just started the job earlier that week, and we were giving her a tour of our site in the Bronx.

The bus was filled with loud people who were yelling in Spanish and an icy rain poured down the windows, blocking our view of the dark sidewalks of Tremont. We were pretty sure that we were going in the wrong direction, and I was pretty sure that I was going to die. I was going to die on this B40 bus somewhere in the Bronx next to this man clutching a chicken. That was the end for me. Y pollo.



We tried to ask for directions, and everyone started trying to answer our quiery all at once in Spanish and broken English. We rode along into the night deeper into the wrong direction. "It's not ALWAYS like this," my one coworker told the newer one as she looked around feverishly at the men wearing matching colored bandanas and the women bickering loudly about dinner. The old man clutched his chicken closer to his lap. The bus screeched to a halt and we lurched forward.

But she was lying. The bus is always like that.

The Day I Became the Cupcake Criminal

One of the strangest New York experiences I've had so far actually happened on my trip AWAY from New York.

I've heard sketchy things about the Chinabus, but I have always thought to myself "Hey, these people are spoiled and used to luxury. I can tough out a cramped bus ride for a few hours."

I have never been more wrong.

My adventure started out on a Friday morning as I got ready for work and packed my bags for my sister's birthday weekend - which I considered to be fairly light. I had a duffle bag, a pair of boots and a tray of 24 cupcakes. Alas - those cupcakes would be the first mistake of the day. I realized after stumbling through my apartment building that those little pink frosted delights were not going to survive the Friday morning commute through Grand Central - or I wasn't going to survive it - so I had to splurge and pay for a taxi to get to work.

By the end of the work day I had already decided that I would take a taxi down to Chinatown to catch my bus. Perfect plan! I had a whole hour to go a few minutes! This would be a breeze! Right!? Wrong. I could not catch a taxi at 5:00 on a Friday in Times Square if I had been Prince Harry. Why would Prince Harry ride in a yellow taxi? Oh I don't know - but if he wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to on this afternoon.

He wants a taxi.

After a few minutes of stomping around with a tired arm I finally flagged down what I thought was a shady black cab. I started to panic and jumped in the cab with my lovely cupcakes without fully assessing the situation (bad choice - young aspiring soon-to-be New Yorkers).

"Do you accept credit cards? Great! Broadway and Canal please. Chinatown"

"Okay," The taxidriver said. "That will be $40. Plus tip, but the tip is up to you, of course."

"What? Okay." I paused for a second. I set the darling little cupcakes down and realized what had just happened. I had gotten into a car with a random man and as he started to drive away, I suddenly came to the abrupt conclusion that something was very, very wrong.

"Sooo... why is it $40? It shouldn't be that much. Isn't that a little ridiculous?"

"It's all the way downtown, miss."

"Yes - but there is no meter running. All other cabs charge 40 cents per quarter mile."

"There is no such thing as a quarter mile in New York City, miss."

"Oh really! That's strange. That cab has those exact rates printed on the side. And that one! And that one over there! And every single other cab I've ever seen in Manhattan. Let me out of the cab. I'll get into one of those instead."

"Those are taxi cabs, miss." The taxi driver rolled his eyes at me in the rear view mirror. "You're in a Lincoln Limousine."

"WHAT!?" I yelled, starting to panic. "Why didn't you tell me that? I didn't want a limousine! Let me out right here! I'll just pay you for this block."

"You said 'okay', so I started driving. It's $20, please."

At this point, I really started to panic. We had traveled one block and I had $4 in my wallet. Angrily, I handed over my credit card. "I don't accept credit cards for less that $40, miss."

Really? I saw an out. "Oh! Well I guess you aren't getting paid then. Unless I run over to that ATM right there?"

The only time I can say an ATM machine saved me.

And for some for some strange reason that I will never understand, the angry little swindler of a driver let me out of that cab without a fight. He watched me drag my luggage and my cupcakes over the the ATM... and run into the pub next door.

"Can I help you?" asked the young hostess, as I ran burst through the door, panting and looking around feverishly for a back door.

"No! I mean - Yes! Do you know where an ... um... ATM is?" The restaurant had no back exit in sight - but the hotel next door did! I ran back out the door as the taxi driver started to honk and scream out his window. I looked back one last time, ran through the revolving doors of the hotel, pushed through the patrons and flew out the side entrance. Find me in New York City, jerk!

And off I was - sprinting down 42nd street like a deranged criminal in a white sweater and carrying 24 pink cupcakes.

Fifteen minutes later, after I had walked almost a mile and still couldn't flag down a taxi - it had become clear that the taxi driver had sent out a red alert to every cab in Manhattan. "WARNING! Do not pick up crazy blonde girl in a white sweater. She has a tray of cupcakes and is possibly dangerous." Finally, an off duty cab driver stopped for me, and then refused to take me downtown. "DUDE! Just let the lady in the cab!" some man yelled from another car as we stood arguing in the middle of the rush hour intersection.

This is the only guy that offered me a ride.

I finally pathetically waved down a cab and made it to the bus stop - with one minute to spare. At 5:59 I shuffled - cupcakes in tact - to the end of the bus line. The very... long... bus line. After setting down my things and catching my breath, I took a look at the line of people waiting for the bus. There were a lot of people. Too many people. All of us were not going to fit on this bus... and I was all the way at the end. Sadly, at this point there was nothing left to do but wait. So I waited.

And I waited.

And ... I waited.

And .... I waited. For 2 hours.

At 7:45 our 6:00 bus pulled in and... for some strange reason... came from the wrong direction. Somehow my place in the back of the line became the front. And I was not going to lose that spot. Panicking once again, I threw my bag in the luggage section and, clutching my cupcakes for dear life, shoved my way onto the bus and crumpled into a sad heap in a seat.

I had made it onto the bus. There weren't enough seats. The last people to load onto the bus realized this and shuffled around the aisle like dogs with peanut butter on their tails. Admitting defeat, the angry bus driver herded them off the bus. We drove away, watching their sad eyes sniffle as we turned the corner as we headed towards Pennsylvania.

The sun was over the horizon and night had fallen completely. We went through the Lincoln Tunnel and I started to relax as the city skyline receded into the hills. I had made this trip before. I could finally relax and think about my sister's birthday. It would be a 4 hour drive and I would be late now - but I would still get there in time to meet her at the bar.

As we drove along the highway in New Jersey, I started to realize that I didn't recognize the signs. I didn't think anything of it until the bus driver pulled off the highway and did a u-turn onto the other side of the highway. No one seemed concerned, so I kept watching the signs. We were heading towards New York? That couldn't be right. We were just taking a different way.

Twenty minutes later, we made another u-turn. People started to notice. Where were we going? And another twenty minutes later, we were making another u-turn.

At this point, the people behind me started to panic. What was going on? Why were we going in circles? Why did that road sign just say "New York City - 10 miles"? As it turned out, we were traveling on the wrong highway for over an hour. There were a lot of disgruntled whispers. The bus driver finally pulled onto the right highway and everyone started to relax again.

Suddenly, the driver pulled off the highway.

And into a closed gas station.

And waited there.

Everyone gaped around the bus, searching for some sort of answer. "Is this some sort of rest stop?" "Are we supposed to get off the bus?" "Are we there?" "Let's just GO!" some guy yelled from the back seat. "Even if we wanted to get off the bus - we couldn't! This place is closed down and dark!"

After another minute, the bus driver started out on route 80 into the darkness - and in the wrong direction. We turned around again and headed off - again - towards Pennsylvania.

After what seemed like forever, the "Welcome to Pennsylvania" sign appeared on the side of the highway. If we had been on schedule, we would have seen that sign at 6:20. It was now past 10:30. More panic welled up in the bus. "We are SERIOUSLY only just now crossing into Pennsylvania? What is going on!" Phones were being dialed and friends and family were being notified.

We drove along in the night and things seemed to be alright. We were late but we would get there eventually. Just as everyone began to relax again, the driver slammed on his breaks.

As far as the eye could see into the distance were bright red tail lights. Stopped traffic. At midnight. I'm pretty sure at this point the person behind me was crying softly. Another person was curled up into the fetal position. I wanted to die.

I'm not sure how long we sat in traffic that night, but it was long enough for me to decide that I may not live to see my sisters birthday and that the girl in front of me definitely had the most annoying voice in the entire country. It was also long enough for the man behind me to admit loudly into his cell phone that it was taking every fiber of his being not to kill everyone on the bus. This made everyone very uncomfortable.

We finally got out of traffic and drove at a normal speed for about 10 minutes. In the middle of the dark Pennsylvania hills, the driver pulled the bus off the highway and into the parking lot of an old Red Roof Inn. The hotel light flickered sadly as the driver turned off the engine.

"Is this it?" a man asked in the silence. "Is this where they kill us now?"

No one laughed.

The bus was silent.

Two older Asian women stepped off the bus and into the parking lot of the Red Roof Inn. Without a word, the bus driver started the engine and started down the highway. I watched as the Asian women faded in the dark, carless parking lot. The sign flickered in the distance.

No one spoke as we headed towards (what we hoped) was our original destination. I got a strange whiff of fish sticks but assumed that I was just starting to starve to death and ignored it. But the fish stick smell started to get stronger. People started to look around and cover their mouths as the smell wafted towards the front of the bus. Passengers started to wake up from the smell and look confused. As the smell grew stronger, people started to cover their faces with clothing. Fish sticks? It wasn't fish sticks.

It was sewage.

The bathroom on the bus was backing up and there was nothing we could do about it. I put my knees up and covered my mouth and nose with my sweater. Men pushed on all of the windows but there was no way to open any of them. Someone walked to the front of the bus and pleaded with the driver to do something... so he opened the front door.

Here were were, barreling down the highway in a bus full of sewage, our mouths covered and our faces plastered to the windows.

I had completely come to terms with the fact that I may never make it to see morning, let alone my sister's birthday. It was now past one in the morning and we were unable to breathe, starving and not even sure if we were heading in the right direction. We traveled along like that for a while when an Asian woman in the front of the bus started to yell at the driver. They argued back and forth for a while, and the driver grew more and more irritated. As he angry yelled at this woman at a language I did not understand, he swerved the entire bus back and forth on the windy mountain road. I held onto the seat with the hand that wasn't covering my mouth as I watched our bus jerk closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. I was totally going to die.

She wanted to be let off at the Red Roof Inn.

The bus driver may have just thrown the Asian lady off the cliff, because I can't remember how the argument ended. But he did calm down and we did make it to our destination - nine hours later. After missing our stop and pulling into a tiny alley, we pleaded for the bus driver to just break long enough for us to exit.

I ran down the street to my sister's apartment through the hoards of drunk college students. A few boys approached me and peered into my cupcake tin. "What do you have there sweetie? Dessert?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I made it to my sister's apartment in time for the morning of her birthday. She loved her cupcakes.

To this day, my heart drops every time I see a Lincoln Town Car.