September 7, 2004
White River Disfunction
Here I am on a Friday night stuck in the White River Junction bus terminal. I should be just about arriving in Burlington, meeting up with Tara and spending a few hours playing Nintendo with Trevor before I pass out on the couch.
So much for that, the bus stopped here in WRJ as it was scheduled to but then the driver announced that we had to stay here to make some repairs. No details other than that were given, and even fewer details were given on our departure time.
The murmurs amongst those waiting to head to Burlington and some ultimately to Montreal are reminiscent of a High School homeroom. As we all wait in different parts of the station, we hear different things in bits and pieces and feel compelled to share them with those around us.
“I heard that the bus just left Burlington headed this way”
“Another hour at least”
“There is supposed to be a bus being sent from East #@$ to take us there, and it will be here in 5 minutes” – Fat chance of that happening.
“My girlfriend is in Burlington and said that there is some kind of problem with the buses that is causing them to be delayed” – Thanks braniac. Feel free to collect more details next time you talk to her. Was it a flat tire, or a nuclear sub causing the delay?
“Who can you trust? My money is on the counter clerk, she seems to be on the same team as us” Seriously, someone said that. It was weird. I think the person who said it has never been on a bus, let alone left their home before. Welcome to the world.
Even the distribution of the room shows a structure similar to that of grade school. There is a group of single women (who obviously didn’t know each other to start) all chatting near the counter. I am wearing headphones, but I can bet it has something to do with how cute the football team looks this year.
There is a group of young adults outside who somehow found a liquor store and are drinking out of crumpled paper bags. Each of them has their own bottle covered in craft paper that is becoming softer and softer each time they squeeze it with their hands. Paper like that almost takes on the qualities of a fabric once it has been used for an extended period of time.
The skaters all found a quiet corner and are slouching appropriately in their chairs. None of them seems to really care that the bus is late or that they are sitting in hard molded chairs from 1964. For all outward appearances they could be sitting in bean bag chairs wearing terrycloth bathrobes and playing Tony Hawk Underground at 3 AM while eating Cheetos. It’s all good.
I am (as always) sitting alone. For as outgoing a person as I can be, I don’t really have an interest in putting myself out there and meeting some new people. If I happened to start talking to one of them, that would be ok but there really isn’t a reason to do that. I find that this is often the case with me. I can go from the organizer of a group, to the wall flower waiting to see what everyone else is doing.
There are two other loners in the room with me. One shaved headed young man, wearing all black. He looks tough, but I think that he is shy instead. Not that there is any real reason to speak to anyone here. I have a feeling that if we got in a pinch, he would be my go-to-guy. You know, like if the bus is taken over by pirates or reupholstered by the guys from queer eye.
The other loner is an emo/punk chick eating slices if cheese and reading a zine. Does it get cooler than that? I think not.
The rest of the room is made up of small families and couples all chatting with each other in English, French and Mandarin. One woman (who speaks all three and is the only reason why I know it was Mandarin and not Cantonese) for some reason has the personality of a cheerleader.
She has talked to every person in the room at least once and was the glue that held two or three larger conversations together. Her name is Angela, like Angel with an “a”. She also has a similar quip for her last name, but I won’t post that here to protect her from everyone being sickened by her cheerfulness.
Her advances are welcomed by everyone in the room for some reason that I don’t understand. No one seems to mind her chatting and embraces the conversation. As I am coming back to edit this, she has moved four times in the room and doesn’t show signs of stopping. If somehow the buses were to start acting like the trucks from Stephen King’s Maximum Overdrive, we would elect her group leader and make her go out to try and “communicate” with them.
Then there are the flighty people. Every time someone gets up or comes in the doorway, they jump up and rush outside. Almost as if they are afraid that the bus will leave without them, and that somehow the rest of us aren’t waiting for the same ride. They have (there are two of them) done it three times already and don’t seem to be learning. They need to ease up on the coffee.
By the time I get a chance to post this it will probably be Saturday or later.
Comments
Is WRJ anything but a waystation to someplace else? Is that Rod Serling standing there in the corner?
But y'know, the Chinese buffet attached to the bus station isn't as bad as you might think :-).
I agree, there really isn't anything there except an exit for 89, 91 and buses.
The Chinese Buffet was awesome. I stepped in there right before I started writing this post!