It wasn't always an easy trip, but I'm home at last!
Yesterday I got up and looked at the Plymouth-Brockton website for the bus schedule. My two choices were 11:40 or 12:40; the former would get me to Logan two and a half hours before my 4:00 flight, the latter only one and a half. The last time I did that flight (in July), I took the 11:40 flight, got to the airport with tons of time, and sat at the gate bored out of my mind. Still, I was torn about what bus I should take, because I did not relish the idea of getting lectured about how you're supposed to arrive at the airport two hours before your flight.
My Dad asked what time my bus was, and my Mom answered, "Noon." I don't know why, but I didn't contradict her, probably because I still wasn't sure what bus I was going to take. Dad left the house, then came back at 11:15 while Mom was in the shower. He asked again about the bus, and I told him about my two choices. He wanted me to get the earlier bus, but for that we'd have to leave right then, and Mom wouldn't be ready to go. I told him I'd take the 12:40 bus, so we could leave at 12:15.
We sat around the kitchen table watching the clock (no deep, meaningful conversation - so glad I chose to hang around for that!) then left a few minutes early. Arriving at the bus stop, I went to buy my ticket while my folks stood guard at my suitcases. (As a side note, I find it interesting that in other countries, people line up (or 'queue up' in the Commonwealth countries) at the bus stop, while we Americans just mill around. When the bus arrives, there's no order or fairness as to who gets on in what order. Strange.) The bus arrived late, and when the driver opened up the cargo doors, I realized just how full this bus was. The entire hold looked full of suitcases and, sure enough, almost every seat was full. This had never happened to me before on this bus, and I started to get anxious. What if not everyone were able to get on? If it were me, and I had arrived first at the bus stop but was unable to get on, I'd be pissed!
We left that stop with one seat empty, but at the next stop more people wanted to get on. I didn't know this bus line allowed it, but three people ended up standing in the aisle. We stopped once more, letting off a couple of people and leaving two standing. The driver called out to see if anyone were getting off at the last stop before South Station, and since no one answered, we continued on Rtes 3 and then 93, making up for lost time.
Two things to keep in mind at this point: the bus was running late, and ever since Barnstable people were grumbling about not making their flights. All this grumbling got to me, so I was also feeling nervous as we continued towards Boston.
Unexpectedly, the bus went over a few hard, jarring bumps (construction? pot holes?), and we could suddenly smell some kind of chemical. Since there was construction happening on the highway, I wasn't sure if the odor was coming from outside or the bus itself. My questions were soon answered when the bus, which had been cruising fast in the left lane, gradually began to slow down. I could hear horns coming from behind us, but cars continued to speed past on our right, so the bus wasn't able to pull over. Finally, the driver leaned on his own horn while easing his way to the right. As the bus came to a dead stop in the right-hand lane (there was no break-down lane here), those of us in the back could see brown smoke streaming up past the windows.
We all stood up, gathered our things, and waited to get out. As more smoke billowed up, and as the people in front didn't seem to be moving, a few passengers shouted out, an edge of panic in their voices. I don't mean to imply anything, but I found it interesting that it was all women who yelled; I found it equally interesting that it was another woman who told them not to panic. Turned out that the bus had pulled over right up against a wall, so it was actually difficult to get out of the bus and squeeze past the open door so that we could mill around in the lee of the bus.
I didn't see the driver, and because we weren't getting any information, I called my Sister to pick me up. I know it was a lot to ask, especially because she was at least 25 minutes away and had three children to deal with, but I was getting desperate to make my flight. She agreed to come get me after she arranged rides for her kids, then quickly called me back saying she was on her way. What a champ!
Meanwhile, a firetruck showed up as well as MA state troopers and an ambulance. I found it funny that the guy from the bus who ended up talking to the cops and firemen - almost as the bus spokesman - was actually retarded. Maybe not completely, but he was NOT all there, if you know what I mean. After the ambulance left, word spread that the bus driver was taken away. I don't know how he got sick, but I was hoping it was just the fumes and not a heart attack. Meanwhile, cars kept passing, some very slow so they could stare at us; now I know how traffic jams form. Assholes.
At this point, I was trying to figure out how I would get my suitcase out from the bus for when my Sis showed up. I called her to get an update, and she said she was on her way but in the traffic (created by the breakdown, of course); she also suggested I call the airline to tell them I was on my way. I tried calling Alaska Air at Logan, but screaming over the sound of traffic was not conducive to making a call. It didn't seem like I could reach the desk anyway.
Finally, after the firetruck put out the fire and left, and after one state trooper moved his car and opened up another lane of traffic, two buses showed up. I helped get everyone's baggage out of the bus and set my own aside. As all my fellow passengers got onto the other buses, I was still trying to call the airline as I planned on waiting for my Sister. A short state trooper (the worst combination!) came over and told me that the buses were leaving. I tried to tell him that I was waiting for my sister, but he barked that I could in no way stand on the highway, even though the broken-down bus was still going to be there. Figuring that I couldn't argue with a MA state trooper (the very definition of officious), I grabbed my suitcase and got on to the second bus.
My Sister took it well when I told her what happened - again, what a trooper! As our bus passed the first one on the highway (I chose the faster bus - yea!), I called the airline again, but this time I chose to get arrival/departure times. We made our stop at South Station just as I learned my mistake: the plane wasn't leaving at 4, it was scheduled to leave at 4:35. Not only did it look like I'd make my flight, but it also looked like I'd be half an hour early.
Sure enough, there was no one lining up at the ticket counter, so I handed the attendant my suitcase and gave him my name. Instead of lecturing me about how late I was, he asked if I knew someone with the same last name, to which I replied, "You asked me that already." Yes, this counter attendant was the same one who helped me in July when I flew out of Logan, and we'd had a conversation determining that I didn't know the person he was referring to. I told him I'd see him in a few months as I rushed off to my gate.
Ultimately, what I thought about the whole experience was how strange it is to go through something like that, then sit down with fellow passengers who had no idea what I just went through. I wanted to shout, "It was harder for me to get here than all of you. You've all been here bored while I was standing on the highway worrying that I wouldn't make it. But I did!" Or something like that. Not that anyone would care.
This morning I went to boston.com, but wouldn't you know, not a word. I guess 60 people standing on the highway next to a smoking bus and causing a huge traffic jam just isn't news anymore.
