Greyhound

"No seats."

"Excuse me?"

"No seats. Bus full." The driver waved away my protests and printed-out e-ticket.

"Well... when's the next bus to New York?"

"Two hours. You take that one."

"Listen buddy, I bought this ticket a week ago. I have a reservation for THIS bus. I need to be back in New York. I'm not going to wait in a truck stop in Northern Baltimore for two hours. I'm getting on this bus." (I knew my newly developed East Coast aggressiveness would come in handy.)

He looked thoughtful for a moment - either debating how he could help me or how he could get rid of me. Then he climbed inside the bus and motioned for me to follow. "Here."

I accepted the first aid kit he handed me. It was a hard plastic box - about eight inches wide and two inches tall. It was my seat.

I carried my "seat" down the narrow aisle, past a bus-full of stares from passengers who had witnessed my victory outside, to the back of the bus and plunked the box down in the only space available - the floor in front of the bathroom. Here I set up a cramped but tolerable camp next to the hairy legs of some German tourist. There was room for my butt, room for my bag, and room for me to lean my back against the bathroom door.

"That's all I need," I told myself as the bus sputtered, shook and began its northern journey. "So glad I saved $80 by not taking the train home. $80 is eight shirts at H&M. $80 is a night out in Manhattan. $80 is six cocktail AND the cab fare to drive my drunk ass home. $80 is...."

"Excuse me." A man stood over me, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Um, I need to use the bathroom."

"Oh. Right, sorry." Thus began my duty of bathroom guard - the tedious and awkward process of pushing my bag to the side, standing up, placing my book in the bin overhead, kicking the first aid kit under a chair and leaning into the German tourist's lap every time a passenger wanted to get in or out of the bathroom door.

"It's not so bad." I told the German as I inadvertently pushed my breasts into her face for the third time. "I mean, I'll get a seat as soon as we make our first stop. Where is that, somewhere in Delaware."
"Nein. Zis iz a non-stop treep."

"Oh." I eyed the overhead bin. Perhaps I could fit in there horizontally? Maybe that nice young man in the yarmulke will let me sit in his lap? "Well, I can handle this for three hours."

"Four." She replied and turned the volume up on her iPod so German house music came blaring out of her headphones loud enough for me to hear.

The first hour wasn't so bad, only two or three people had to pee and I was able to spend good chunks of time curled up on the floor reading my book. But by the second hour, people were using the bathroom pretty regularly and I spent more time in German girl's face than on the floor.

Eventually I came up with the idea of taking people's seats while they were in the bathroom. I'd watch for someone to stand up, then lurk in the aisle while he headed towards the bathroom, then sit in his seat until he came back. At which point I'd stand up and lurk in the aisle until the next person got up to pee.

I continued with this game of musical chairs for half an hour, until finally, a man got up and offered me his seat for the last hour of the trip. I'm not sure if he was being chivalrous or if he was just sick of me lurking over his head. But regardless, I was grateful and politely accepted.

Next time, I think I’ll spend the $80.