From Toronto to New York, with love

Bus trips.

Like everyone else, I'm a sista trying to save some money. I've got bills to pay, I've got a mortgage and I'm planning to buy a car sometime next year. So, whenever I can get a deal, I'm going to take it. All of this sets up why, a savvy traveler like yours truly would take a bus trip -- not a Greyhound bus, but a chartered bus -- to New York City.

Honestly, if I can't pay JetsGo or Air Canada to fly me to the Big Apple, I ain't going. Let me share "the bus trip e-mail" that I sent to a few people -- before my blogging days -- with you...

I just got back from New York and I'm so tired. I went on a bus trip and I will never, NEVER, do that again. It was ridiculous. First of all, the bus arrived at the pick up spot two hours late. When it got there, the other passengers ran to the bus doors like a herd of cattle. I never did a bus trip before, so I didn't know the protocol. So, the people (a group of Jamaicans, a few Bajans, a couple of Guyanese and a family of Filipinos) are saving seats on the bus. I got down to the back of the bus, put my bag on a seat to save it for my sister, Donna and our friend, Karen and I sat across from them. A woman, fighting and pushing made her way to the back of the bus. The only seats left were by the toilet. Sorry, as I learned, you snooze, you lose.

The woman, looking perturbed in her reddish wig, looked at my bag and bawled, "A who bag dat!"

"It's my bag," I said.

"Move de bag!" she hollered at me. "Nuh saving seat foolishness!" And with that, she grabbed my bag. But wait. Every last seat at the front of bus had bags on them, why is she up in my face trying to move my bag? Because she believed that I would be scared by her belligerence and ignorance assuming that I was some 19-year-old. But I was a big, hardback 28-year-old woman who paid good money for this trip. I dragged the bag out of her hand and began to holler back, "Don't touch my bag! You leave that right where it is!"

In these situations, you have to establish the roles. I would not be badgered for this ride because this woman thought that 'me an' she weren't size'. I was just as much woman as her, she had to recognize.

For the purposes of this, let's call her Rudy, 'cause she was rude and ill-mannered. Rudy looked shocked. She dropped the bag back on the seat and sat in the seat behind it, grumbling and cursing me. If I wasn't a Child of the King, I don't know what I would have told her. Put your hands on my stuff? You must be insane.

Alas, it only got worse from there.

The bathroom on the bus had no running water and the light wouldn't turn on. I'm not trying to pee in the dark, so I didn't use the bathroom during that 10-hour trip, unless we were stopped at a rest stop. Great, we stopped twice.

We finally made it to the U.S. border in Buffalo, NY. The customs agent came on the bus and asked every passenger, "What's the nature of your trip?" and "What's your nationality?" to the people who weren't Canadian citizens. Rudy and her friend, Ms. Piggy -- she also had no manners -- started getting vex with the customs agent, "why he have to know where mi come from?" Hello, it's his job and if you're not a Canadian citizen, he's going to ask you a question.

The officer kindly asked us to get off the bus and take all of our belongings with us because they were going to run the dogs. Dogs? What kind of think was that? I assumed it was because of 9-11, but the group behind Donna, Karen and I started to carry on.

Look, it's late, I'm tired, just get to France off the bus and let the man do the darned thing.

We all got off the bus and lined up our bags and waited for the dog to come. Why did the people start to carry on. "Bring de dog! Me cold out 'ere!" Lord have mercy -- just hush your mouth. Are you trying to annoy the customs officer? Just behave, let them run the dogs and be done with it so I can get my cold backside back on the bus and get to New York before I kill someone.

The dog came. The dog sniffed. The dog didn't smell a darned thing besides some ackee and saltfish and some harddough bread. We piled back on the bus, with Rudy, Ms. Piggy and friends still acting the ass.

The driver drove like a bat out of hell on the rickety piece of crap bus. The thing had no shocks and no suspension -- a horse and buggy would have been a better mode of transportation, it would have been more comfortable. Every time I fell asleep, he would drive over a twig and I'd be shaken awake. And the blasting music.

Good Lord.

I like my gospel, but a 12:30 am -- after a long day at work and a long drive ahead -- I want to sleep. I was miserable. I had to pee and I was disgruntled by Rudy and Ms. Piggy in the back. It wasn't a pleasant trip.

Saturday

Finally, we arrived in NYC on Saturday morning around 7 am. I was excited -- I was going to take a hot shower, brush my teeth, change into my cute shopping outfit and hit the road. We pulled into the hotel, only to find out, the organizer didn't get early check-ins for us and the room wouldn't be ready until 3 pm. Not a problem, she said. Let's go shopping!

Umm... wait.

I've been on a bus for 10 hours. I haven't bathed, washed my face or brushed my teeth -- I refused to walk the streets of New York stink and musty with dragon breath and a crusty face. So, guess what? We got one room to change in. Thirty-six women and two men had one room to change in. Guess you know how that went down. Donna, Karen and I ended up sitting in the hotel lobby vex and spitting fire because we were foul and in a foul mood. So, the trip organizer asked us what was wrong. Well, we let her know -- we're musty and we can't five minutes in the room to freshen up. I was annoyed as heck not to be able to take a shower, but I was at least going to freshen myself up. People don't have to know that I'm a stinkroot, they don't have to smell me on approach.

Within 10 minutes, we were alone in the room -- with only about 20 minutes to get ready before the bus left. Now, if I had thought about my plans, I would have said, "Girls, let's catch a cab and go to Manhattan to do some shopping." But being the naive fool that I was, I assumed that I would be going to a mall with a Victoria Secret and I would be happy. Guess again.

We changed, left the room looking 90% better and the bus drivers were all up in our grills. Negro, please. I ain't going for no dude who drives a rickety bus. At least if the bus was up to par, you could say he'd have a career as a bus driver, but it was a piece a crap and I was praising God that I got to Queens, NY in one piece.

Off we went to the flea market. I love flea markets and a couple of hours there would have been cool. But really, I didn't travel 10 hours to spend all day at one. These people wanted to spend three and four hours at the flea market. I'm saying, that's kinda ridiculous. So, we all compromised: we were going to spend two hours at the flea market, then we were going to Jamaica Ave., then we (the young people) wanted to go to a mall. We were asked to return to the bus for 12 pm. Donna, Karen and I looked around, got some deals and returned to the bus promptly at 12 noon.

Why were there only six people one the bus? The rest didn't waltz back until 1:30 pm. I was blazing mad ('cause the bright bus drivers opened the sun roof and the noon-day sun was baking me like chicken wing).

Finally, everyone was on the bus with all of their parcels and we went down to Jamaica Ave. But the bus drivers didn't know which part of Jamaica Ave. to drop us off at. Oh, the smarts those two had -- instead of flirting with us at the hotel, maybe they could have looked on a map or asked the hotel concierge a question. So, we spent a good half an hour driving aimlessly up and down the road. Finally, at 2 pm, we parked and they let us out. At first, I was pleased. There was an Old Navy and a Gap -- we thought, "mall!". But, alas, I was disappointed again. I spent three hours walking up and down Jamaica Ave. I got a pair of $5 shoes, some hair products for my friend and some Aleve.

Remember, I haven't mentioned stopping for something to eat. But that comes later...

It's now 5 pm on a hot, late May afternoon in NYC. I should be cursing myself for spending all of my USD, but that wasn't the case. The bunch of unruly, disgusted, own-way brats we were rolling with waited to go to Pitkin Ave. What happened to the mall? It's after 5 pm, the stores on the street are going to be closed. But a mall will be open until at least 9 pm. No, no one listened to my voice of reason -- that would make must too much sense. Off to Pitkin Ave. we went and, as we predicted, every darned thing was closed. So, now I'm tired, unwashed, vex and sour because I couldn't get to a Victoria Secret -- the one store I was dreaming of doing some damage in.

The organizer said, "let's get some food." Our faces lit up because all I had consumed for the day was a hotdog, a Special K bar and some lemonade. The bus pulled up to a gas station and a Popeye's and we're told: "go get some chicken and come back to the bus."

I almost died.

Rudy and Co. had already called us 'stush' and I really don't think I am stush, but Popeye's at a gas station? That's just not right. After the trip down, we couldn't go to proper place and have a bite? I had to get greasy chicken after I spent the entire day hungry and tired? You don't do people like that. Especially people who paid good money to be taken around NYC. The Popeye's was in the projects -- at least as project-like as I've ever seen -- and three people demanded their bags and to be left behind to wait for their family. I understand that gas is expensive, but would you make your poor old Canadian auntie wait in the midst of the projects with her bags and parcels?

Thankfully, Donna called her New York boyfriend to pick us up and take us to a proper place for dinner. He dropped by around 7:30 pm (by this time, I have a hunger headache) to take us to the Olive Garden. I feasted on Chicken Parmigiana -- not Popeye's.

Sunday

We decided to leave the ragtag bunch and go off on our own. Donna's friend took us to downtown Brooklyn where I fell in love with a store called Conway. The stuff was wonderful and cheap -- just the way I like my trendy stuff to be. It was a discount department store of sorts. I was all grins. Then we went to Macy's where I bought a wonderful bright red Fossil wallet. We were told to meet the bus at the corner of Church and Flatbush at 1 pm. Saddened that, after the terror of Saturday, the wonder of Sunday was over too quickly, we drove down there to meet the rest of the crew.

There was no bus. And barely anyone there.

We hung out there for a bit and started to get hungry. Seeing that the majority of people were in a restaurant chowing down, Donna's friend decided to take us to a soul food restaurant in Queens. One of the guys we drove down with exchanged numbers with me because he was going to be staying with his cousin and he wanted be able to reach someone on the trip. I asked him to give me a ring when the bus arrived. We drove off, leaving the rude bunch on the corner.

It was like 2:30 pm and I hadn't heard from anyone. Karen started to panic, thinking that we had been left behind. We rushed back to Brooklyn. By 3 pm we were waiting on the corner and still there was no bus. People were getting rank (it was 90 degrees outside) and vex because they were just standing on a street corner with luggage waiting. But I didn't feel for most of them because they were wretches. This was poetic justice as far as I was concerned.

So, we decided to go to the mall in Queens. What's the point of waiting in the elements, when I can be in an air-conditioned mall with a Victoria Secret? Robin (my friend from the bus) promised to call as soon as he heard something. As we're driving, I get a call. Surprise, surprise, the bus broke down. That's why we're now two hours late. According to Robin, we were going to have to wait another three and a half hours.

I knew there was something wrong with that bus! There was no suspension. There were no shocks. We were going over pebbles like we were drivivng through hard, mountainous terrain. I was not impressed. On to the mall!

We hit Bath and BodyWorks. Karen and Donna were in heaven. I was restrained. I knew I wasn't going to have the time I needed to do any real shopping. And I had already spent enough money in Macy's and Conway. I didn't need anymore debt. As Karen was checking out, I got a call -- the bus was fixed and will be coming in 15 minutes. Now, we had to make a mad dash back to Brooklyn.

It's now 4:45 pm. We got to Flatbush and Church and guess what? Still no bus. I'm like, what the heck? It was a very good thing that the next day was a holiday, 'cause anyhow I had to go to work, I would have been a different person. Believe me. Then the heavens opened, as if they were crying because of this comedy of errors, and it started to rain. And I started to weep. And there was no bus. And I was sad. And I wanted to go home and bathe (which I did get to do earlier in the day, hallelujah) and relax.

The bus never arrived until 5:30 pm. If I had known that, I would have had a very different Sunday. But, what was done was done. By the time everyone schlepped their tail on the bus, it was 6 pm. By the time we left NYC, it was 7 pm because we hit traffic on the bridge.

And traffic in Chinatown.

And traffic in the tunnel.

OK, I was vex, but I decided to make the most of the trip home. That's when they decided to blast the gospel video. Like, enough with the loudness. What happened to a peaceful ride? That's why people have walkmans and CD players. If I want to listen to music, I'll play some music, dammit.

Robin and I were chatting. Donna and Karen were chatting. The four of us were chatting and all having a decent time. The bus still had no shocks, but I was on my way home. I was going to get home at some ungodly hour of the morning, but at least I'd be home.

Night fell and we were driving. They're blasting the AC to the point I can see my breaths. I got mad. I went to the front of the bus to demand that the AC be turned off. Then the rain started. I prayed that we would drive through the rain safely and, all of a sudden, I feel wetness on my leg. No, it can't be. No... I didn't spend my hard earned money to drive on a leaky bus. The bus roof was leaking and my leg was soaked. What the heck kind of foolishness is this? So, I start to complain. The solution? Give me a garbage bag to wrap my leg in.

Yep. A garbage bag.

We got to the border at 4 am and I'm dog tired. The customs officer came on board (now, you remember what happened going down, right?) and I prayed. Lord, don't let these people play the ass. But the people had to play the ass, jeering and lying blatantly to the customs officer. OK, we all fib and underestimate how much we spent, but when you have five bags, plus liquor and a chandelier, even if it did come from Bobby's, you didn't spend $30. Man, just say you spent $100 and be done. Ms. Piggy, she pretended she couldn't speak English (her English was quite good when she was calling me stush). Another smart one snuck off the bus claiming her ID was in her luggage. Jackass, don't you know that you're supposed to keep those things on you? She came back on the bus soaked, looking guilty and the customs officer had to tear into her.

Lawd 'a' mercy.

The customs officer got vex and cussed us out, saying, "I will tear this bus apart if you don't tell me the truth." While she's speaking, Ms. Piggy and Rudy start chiming in. Donna got mad and cursed them out. The officer stormed off the bus and left us there to stew. The trip organizer then began to cuss the people asking them, "what's wrong with you? Is this your first time over the border? Tell the truth!"

Ten minutes later. The customs officer is back, asking the same questions. People are still trying to be shady and she had to call them out. It was only by the grace of God that we didn't get pulled off the bus and searched. We were off by 5 am. I never had that kind of experience at the border and I pray that I never have another one.

By 6:30 am, in the pouring rain, we were back in Toronto.

I will never do a bus trip again.