We know, we know... "You get what you pay for..."
The Chinatown Express for DC was scheduled to leave 88 East Broadway at 7:30. We got there at 7, with just enough time to get ourselves some more of those tasty morsels of lamb on stick. But alas, with the kebab vendor within sight, we were herded onto the bus by the crabbiest of surlypants. No meatsticks for us this time :(
Everything happened so quickly, we stowed our bags underneath then packed ourselves onto the bus, our e-tickets in hand.
"No good. No signature!" she barked at me. M got on fine because hers had been initialled when we left DC. Mine wasn't -- but I never thought of asking for one because there was no indication that this was required on the website. I did find it od d that no confirmation number was provided either.
"But this says here I've paid in advance for a round-trip ticket. I need to get back to DC."
"No good. No signature. You pay me $20 or you can't ride."
"I am NOT paying you extra."
"But this no good. No signature. You must sign in."
"How was I supposed to know that this was supposed to be signed? Why would they sign my friend's copy but not mine?"
"I don't know. You give me money now."
"Unbefuckinglievable. I've paid you already." It's hard to stay calm when you're being barked at. I start barking back in my best Mandarin.
The operator and the driver insisted that I pay them $20 and that I would be reimbursed when I got back to DC. The elderly man in the first row assured me in Chinese that they would pay me back, that they were not here to screw me over.
What choice did I have? I handed her the money and got into the seat in front of M.
Dozed off as the bus sped through the Holland Tunnel. A woman two rows back was barking into her cellphone about real estate or something. I was so exhausted, all I could hear was noise, not words. Cellphone Lady finally hung up somewhere in Pennsylvania and stared horking and gagging, close to M's head. Rather than leaning back to do it, she leaned forward into a bag right by M's ear and proceeded to honk and hock away -- it was too dark on the bus to detect any chunkies landing in M's hair.
The bus stopped in Philadelphia and we were all told to get off -- that the bus to DC would be there in ten minutes. We waited for about 40 with a crowd of irritated travellers. "I guess that's what we get for opting for the cheaper way," mutters some dude in front of us.
We were relieved to get back on a bus and back to DC. This one was less full and we were able to stretch out/curl up in our seats, no phlegm-throwers on board. M and I quickly dozed off once again after inhaling our bus station chicken nuggets.
I came to as the lights on the bus come on. We were at a huge gas station just off the freeway, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, in the outerouteroutskirts of Baltimore (what I gathered from the sign on a building). The bus parked at the station brought me back to our Grade 6 trip to Val-Morin, Quebec. The driver had to fill the tank and made everyone get off. He'd said something about it unsafe for people to be on a bus while the tank was being filled -- this he explained to us at the pump, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Ah, those crazy French-Canadians smokers.
I waited for the bus driver on this bus to order us off the bus. Not a word. A cellphone rang. Aren't we not supposed to use cellphones at gas stations? Another cellphone went off. I'm totally paranoid, but in a way relieved because a bus explosion at the gas station could only mean a quick and instant death.
The bus driver bolted off to pay, the passengers were anxious to get moving -- I held my breath until we pulled away from the station. I blog today, from the house on U street, with all my digits and limbs still attached to my body.
When we got back to DC, I inhaled deeply, exhaled deeply, preparing myself for the face-off with the barking bus people. Twenty bucks. Was it worth the aggravation?
It had taken us four hours to get from DC to NYC -- six hours to return.
In the office, there was a couple ahead of us, clearly frustrated. They'd been on the bus with us. The woman behind the counter was barking at the couple. The woman in the couple was yelling back at her -- then threatened to call 911. I was relieved that I wasn't the only disatisfied customer on that bus. Barkie didn't give a shit -- just wanted to watch television.
I never got my money back -- just a face full of yelling and spit. She was yelling at me in Mandarin. I was yelling back in Mandarin. M was yelling at her in English.
Barkie tells me to tell M to back off -- "I know she's saying bad words to me! Tell your friend to shut up and mind her own business!"
"We are both frustrated because you're yelling at us when we're trying to explain the situation to you."
"When did I yell? I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU!" she hollered.
The bus driver came in and Barkie started to tear into him about the couple that had been in front of us. Apparently they were upset because the bus driver never told them to get off in Baltimore (he had simply filled the tank) and so they stayed on the bus. It is easy to assume that a drop-off point would be at a bus-depot like site. They waited and waited, but he never announced the stop. Now they were back in DC -- and were likely going to miss their flight flying out of Baltimore. While Barkie yelled at the bus driver, I translated the scene for M.
Barkie heard me telling M and re-directed her screaming at me. "What are you telling your friend? It's not our fault they didn't get off in Baltimore! I'm GIVING them a free bus ride back to Baltimore at 2am! Isn't that enough?"
"You should have just taken the Greyhound. They've got reduced fares now," we're told as we stumble through the door on U Street at 1 am.
Everything happened so quickly, we stowed our bags underneath then packed ourselves onto the bus, our e-tickets in hand.
"No good. No signature!" she barked at me. M got on fine because hers had been initialled when we left DC. Mine wasn't -- but I never thought of asking for one because there was no indication that this was required on the website. I did find it od d that no confirmation number was provided either.
"But this says here I've paid in advance for a round-trip ticket. I need to get back to DC."
"No good. No signature. You pay me $20 or you can't ride."
"I am NOT paying you extra."
"But this no good. No signature. You must sign in."
"How was I supposed to know that this was supposed to be signed? Why would they sign my friend's copy but not mine?"
"I don't know. You give me money now."
"Unbefuckinglievable. I've paid you already." It's hard to stay calm when you're being barked at. I start barking back in my best Mandarin.
The operator and the driver insisted that I pay them $20 and that I would be reimbursed when I got back to DC. The elderly man in the first row assured me in Chinese that they would pay me back, that they were not here to screw me over.
What choice did I have? I handed her the money and got into the seat in front of M.
Dozed off as the bus sped through the Holland Tunnel. A woman two rows back was barking into her cellphone about real estate or something. I was so exhausted, all I could hear was noise, not words. Cellphone Lady finally hung up somewhere in Pennsylvania and stared horking and gagging, close to M's head. Rather than leaning back to do it, she leaned forward into a bag right by M's ear and proceeded to honk and hock away -- it was too dark on the bus to detect any chunkies landing in M's hair.
The bus stopped in Philadelphia and we were all told to get off -- that the bus to DC would be there in ten minutes. We waited for about 40 with a crowd of irritated travellers. "I guess that's what we get for opting for the cheaper way," mutters some dude in front of us.
We were relieved to get back on a bus and back to DC. This one was less full and we were able to stretch out/curl up in our seats, no phlegm-throwers on board. M and I quickly dozed off once again after inhaling our bus station chicken nuggets.
I came to as the lights on the bus come on. We were at a huge gas station just off the freeway, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, in the outerouteroutskirts of Baltimore (what I gathered from the sign on a building). The bus parked at the station brought me back to our Grade 6 trip to Val-Morin, Quebec. The driver had to fill the tank and made everyone get off. He'd said something about it unsafe for people to be on a bus while the tank was being filled -- this he explained to us at the pump, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Ah, those crazy French-Canadians smokers.
I waited for the bus driver on this bus to order us off the bus. Not a word. A cellphone rang. Aren't we not supposed to use cellphones at gas stations? Another cellphone went off. I'm totally paranoid, but in a way relieved because a bus explosion at the gas station could only mean a quick and instant death.
The bus driver bolted off to pay, the passengers were anxious to get moving -- I held my breath until we pulled away from the station. I blog today, from the house on U street, with all my digits and limbs still attached to my body.
When we got back to DC, I inhaled deeply, exhaled deeply, preparing myself for the face-off with the barking bus people. Twenty bucks. Was it worth the aggravation?
It had taken us four hours to get from DC to NYC -- six hours to return.
In the office, there was a couple ahead of us, clearly frustrated. They'd been on the bus with us. The woman behind the counter was barking at the couple. The woman in the couple was yelling back at her -- then threatened to call 911. I was relieved that I wasn't the only disatisfied customer on that bus. Barkie didn't give a shit -- just wanted to watch television.
I never got my money back -- just a face full of yelling and spit. She was yelling at me in Mandarin. I was yelling back in Mandarin. M was yelling at her in English.
Barkie tells me to tell M to back off -- "I know she's saying bad words to me! Tell your friend to shut up and mind her own business!"
"We are both frustrated because you're yelling at us when we're trying to explain the situation to you."
"When did I yell? I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU!" she hollered.
The bus driver came in and Barkie started to tear into him about the couple that had been in front of us. Apparently they were upset because the bus driver never told them to get off in Baltimore (he had simply filled the tank) and so they stayed on the bus. It is easy to assume that a drop-off point would be at a bus-depot like site. They waited and waited, but he never announced the stop. Now they were back in DC -- and were likely going to miss their flight flying out of Baltimore. While Barkie yelled at the bus driver, I translated the scene for M.
Barkie heard me telling M and re-directed her screaming at me. "What are you telling your friend? It's not our fault they didn't get off in Baltimore! I'm GIVING them a free bus ride back to Baltimore at 2am! Isn't that enough?"
"You should have just taken the Greyhound. They've got reduced fares now," we're told as we stumble through the door on U Street at 1 am.
posted by Lottie at 1:19 AM
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