I managed to escape the area yesterday, not that the papal visit had the effect that New Jersey anticipated; the trains that geared up for massive crowds were empty, and the volume of pilgrims over the Ben Franklin Bridge were mostly moderate and well-behaved. My destiny was to board a bus from Philadelphia going to New York City, and I met some people while waiting in line.
Four ladies were going on a cruise to Puerto Rico, each with her own security compliant piece of uniquely identifiable luggage, well-wrapped snacks and itineraries dutifully printed off on the home inkjet and folded into an orderly stack. This was not their first cruise, so they were experienced packers and snackers. I, too, travel light, with some crackers to take the edge off in case my schedule doesn’t allow for a lunch stop.
Two ladies were going to a Broadway show, and they were just as excited to know I was going to Lincoln Center as I was to know there was an interesting show to see.
Other people queued up for various connections elsewhere, and the line quickly grew from seven to 37. Still, the volume of people already on the bus from Philadelphia was light for a change, and we all were seated comfortably. Once I got the last seat available, in the rear, next to the restroom door. Really, with all the amenities Greyhound has put on their modern motor coaches, I wish they would soundproof the loo a bit better. I chose not to blog about what I heard from the restroom on that trip. That’s TMI.
For the return trip, the walk to the bus station for the Broadway ladies was likely a couple of blocks (plus some tactical dodging of the costumed characters and pasties-wearing models in Times Square), but for me to get to the bus terminal on time from Lincoln Center I had to run like the dickens or hail a taxi. Fortunately I got a cab that was just discharging two passengers; a typical suit and dress couple, likely headed to the apartments nearby for freshening up before heading to an evening event.
When lining up for a bus, it’s important to first make sure you’re in the right line (others in the queue will tell you), and be there ahead of departure, because the line can form to ridiculous lengths and people may almost certainly be bumped to a later bus for arriving too late. That means a 90-minute wait in a city anxious for your tired feet to wear out in front of a restaurant chair, or if you have stamina, to walk you into any store in sight.
Seeing the two ladies from the Broadway show got us talking about the difference in experiences; they felt inclined to try visiting the opera, and I may look into tickets for the show they attended. That’s how a friendly queue can be good for the soul.
I had a truly purpose-driven trip this time, with no stops and, fortunately, no unpleasant waits in queue, having made some casual acquaintances. The bus line did warn to arrive one hour before departure, but that prolonged bout of standing in line did introduce me to six fine people. How often does that happen in life these days?
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