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| "The Possibilities Are Vast, Inc." |
Tonight's Tale of terror....
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| "Not the actual company name" |
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| Actual Chinatown bus photo |
I don’t know if any of you have had the pleasure of having
to travel long distance by bus, but let me tell you, it is an experience in
sub-culture that has to be seen to be believed.
One year, during the Christmas Holiday season, my son and I
had been given two buddy passes to fly to Atlanta.
After spending several nights sleeping in LaGuardia due to the
nor'easter that nearly shut down anything moving, we were informed that
all buddy passes had been embargoed due to the weather, until further
notice.
Determined to get my son to see Atlanta, and not spend a dismal Christmas at home due to the fact that I had no contingency plan, I checked Greyhound, Amtrak, even the Dominican Van service “Mangu Rapido” or whatever they’re called, everything was booked solid, or was so expensive you had to mortgage the tickets, not buy them.
My brother called and said there was a solution. A bus company in Chinatown that offered low rate bus transportation to Atlanta, and other points south. Let’s just call the company “The Shang Hai Express” or “Ho Chi Min Horse Trail”. We purchase two tickets online and are instructed to print the E-ticket to bring to their Chinatown office 20 minutes prior to the 10pm departure time. One carry-on and one large piece of luggage were allowed per passenger, and valid identification was required upon check in. Seats were pre-assigned at check in.
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| "We're gonna need a bigger boat!" |
We arrive at the address listed on the website, and the curb
in front of their ticket office looks as if refugees were escaping Bosnia!
Bundles, boxes, chicken wings with French fries, Duane Reade Shopping bags,
hand carts with laundry bags tied on with electrical extension cord…all that
was missing was live chickens and goats, and I’m almost sure two women went by
with stuff balanced on their heads. The ticket office was crowded,
filthy, and doubled as an Asian electronics store. The lines extended to
the street, and there was only one surly woman checking passengers in at the bullet-resistant
glass booth. I gave her the printouts, and our ID, she read them briefly,
scribbled something on them with black sharpie marker and replied “B-bus,
ow-sigh, teh o’cock.” I asked if seat 49 was a window, and she replied
“Maybe.”
There was snow on the ground, and the curb was lined with
two foot high snow banks from the sanitation plows pushing away the earlier
storm. As the buses arrived, people were running along-side along the
snow banks as if this were the last life boat off the Titanic! Kids in one
arm, those red-white, and blue burlap sacks I call “The Mexican Tourister” for
luggage in the other. It was the Housing Authority Fashion Show,
featuring all those famous, high quality brands: Cacawear, Baby Cat, Hot 29,
Pumpkin Bottoms, John John, all the favorites from your neighborhood Pay/Half
Store.
The buses stop, and the driver can’t even open the
door. One of the office staff met the bus at the curb, and helped direct
them, and passengers away from each other. I turned to my son, and
shrugged in apology.
The door opens and people begin to pour into the bus, as
water floods into a sinking ship. There is no regard for sex, age, and no
chivalry for women, children, or the elderly. Every savage for
himself. The epitome of the ghetto mentality and philosophy; “I’m gonna
git mines!” We get to our seats after placing our luggage
underside. The driver was a surly Asian with a Chin-fro, glasses, and a
painted on sneer his face. After the melee of boarding, the driver walked
through, counting in Chinese as he went, cigarette dangling in the corner of
his mouth as if glued there.
He yelled something to one of the staff on the curb, and he
slammed the door and we were off. We turned off of First
Avenue so hard you had to hold on to avoid being dumped
into the aisle. We were on Canal Street
when the driver’s phone rang, his ring-tone was the song “Sukiyaki”, made
famous by the group “A Taste of Honey”, only this was the original version, in
Chinese, and it sounded like wet kittens mewing from a wet sack, in a trash
can.
The driver made a series of hard turns as he appeared to
curse to himself, “magahay!” We came around a corner, and were back in front of
Chow Fun Bus’s base office. A woman emerged carrying an overnight bag and
a Pullman; “Is this the Atlanta
bus?!” The driver continued to roll, screaming at the woman as we went
“You kungh now, you mate bus lay!” She approached the bus and said “can I
get on?” “Kung NOW, Now, geh on, bus is lay, you mate bus lay!” She
had to board the bus while it was moving, throwing her luggage onto the bus
ahead of her, and the bus never stopped, even as she maneuvered through the bus
to find an open seat. The driver slammed the door closed with a
resounding FWOOP, and we were off again.
Now the driver was trying to make up time, darting in and
out of traffic as if he were driving a Toyota Sienna minivan. After
crossing Canal Street,
another hard right, and we were in the tunnel to New
Jersey. After the toll plaza, the driver was
cutting lane to lane as if we were a fire truck chasing a call, occasionally,
we’d ride the shoulder on the sleeper ridges BRRRRRRP brrrrrrrp brrrrrp…
A passenger seated directly behind the driver apparently had
issue with his smoking, and made it clear: “Driver, DRIVER, I gots asthma, you
isn’t puposed ta be smoking” on da bus, I’m gonna call the company!” Without
even missing a beat or turning his head, the driver smiled: “I dun cayuh, you
cah company, is MY COMPANY, MY BUS, YOU CAUH COMPANY!” The passenger murmured
something to the guy next to him about this being fucked up, sucked on his inhaler but that was that.
We drove at speeds between 70 and 80 mph, zipping from lane to lane on the NJ Turnpike, it was like a 45 foot roller coaster. FORGET about falling asleep! The snow and sleet pelleting the windshield, the herky-jerky movements of the driver, the potpourri of feet, pink hair relaxer and port-o-john wafting from the back of the bus, ahhhh the bliss.
We drove at speeds between 70 and 80 mph, zipping from lane to lane on the NJ Turnpike, it was like a 45 foot roller coaster. FORGET about falling asleep! The snow and sleet pelleting the windshield, the herky-jerky movements of the driver, the potpourri of feet, pink hair relaxer and port-o-john wafting from the back of the bus, ahhhh the bliss.
The bus’ totally dark interior due to the lack of courtesy
lighting ensured that someone would use your head for a grab rail feeling their
way to the “boom boom room”. We stopped at a rest stop for fuel, and a
passenger asked if he could get off to smoke. “Ok you smoke, fi
mins, fi mins!” There was an exodus to Pilot Truck Stop! The driver
yelling “Hey, you come now, no bake, ony smoke, ony smoke fi min!” Two
thirds of the bus emptied out and pranced passed the fuel pumps to the eatery.
The driver yelled behind them and they ignored him and
continued. He was on his phone as he stood holding the door to the
restaurant open, pleading in Chininglish for them to return, “Herroo, Neu Yok
Alana, go to bus, we ah lay, Alana Neu Yok!” some did since they had their
munchies and drinks, but the rest continued to stand in huge lines to place
their orders. He returned to the bus, and began honking the horn
intermittently, then moved the bus in an effort to get the rest to return to
the bus, all the while heatedly complaining to someone on the phone in his
tongue. When he thought he had collected all of the absconded, we
proceeded out of the rest area onto the highway. A woman in the back of
the bus yelled “DRIVER! DRIVER! Someone make him stop, the lady next ta me
ain’t back yet, she still inna sto!” The driver ignored, and we pulled
back onto the road.
Now wer’e flying down the road, in and out of traffic,
trying to make up lost time when suddenly….PEEEOOO-PEEEOOOO-PEEEOOOOO-PEEEEOOOO
Chit-ZING-TISSSSSsssss….RRRRROOOOOWM BA BA ba ba ba!! The bus stalled out
and now the only sound was the tires, and the wind. The driver was on his phone
to his base or the other bus (A-bus) seemingly asking for instructions on how
to deal with the situation as we coasted to the shoulder, tires humming and
grinding on the sleeper ridges as we slowed, and pitched slightly to the right
on the embankment. The peeoo peeoo sound continued as the driver tried to
start the engine, but only clicks, then the chirp of the low air pressure alarm
could be heard. Silence, except for the intermittent whoosh of passing traffic,
and passengers sucking their teeth, and murmuring to each other. One guy
asked if everything was alright, but the driver ignored him and continued to
stare through the steering wheel at the instrument panel.
Wooo woo woo woo wooo CRRRrrrAaaaaaank…..wooo woo woo woo
woo woooo CRRRrrAaaaaaank. No dice. Now mind you, through all of
this, there has been no announcement from the driver, no “Ladies and Gentlemen,
we apologize for the inconvenience, no free spring rolls, no happy ending..NOTHING!
After a pause that lasted for an hour, (5 minutes) and a couple more woo-woo
cranks, the engine roared to life. The driver revved the motor for awhile
to get the low air pressure to release the ICC brake, and after awhile, we were
rolling again. Back into traffic, zipping and zooming. Sighs of relief
could be heard from the other passengers (one ghetto broad said “shit, he
drivin’ crazay, but it’s better than being stuck on the road!”) We
were really moving and despite the herky-jerky dodges in and out of the lanes
we were moving, we were actually going to get home!
PEEEOOO-PEEEOOOO-PEEEOOOOO-PEEEEOOOO
Chit-ZING-TISSSSSsssss….RRRRROOOOOWM BA BA ba ba ba,
TRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooowwwwwwl!! Guess what?
We lost 45 minutes between the three stalls, and when we
passed a trucker rest area, we stopped. The driver turned the wheel hard
as we rounded the pumps and pulled up to the entrance of Big Bob’s, or Jimmy
Ray’s or whatever else they’re called. You know, where they sell coffee,
slim jims, tractor trailer TV sets, scrapple wraps, skoal, plaid flannel shirts
with the built in hoodie, Nascar license plates, Dixie flag baseball caps,
cowboy hats with the big feather badge in front, toy trailer trucks, corncob
pipes, cb antennas…..Hickmart! You get the idea right? Ok, let’s go
on.
The driver stops the bus by pulling up the emergency air
brake and the bus snaps on a dime, and rocks to a halt; “Teh min bake!”
If you stuck your hand into the aisle, you’d be snatched into the tide of
cattle stampeding off the bus! But I can assure you, “dem niggas was back
onna bus in 9.37 minutes! Jackie Chu, or whatever his name was, wasn’t taking
any crap from stragglers!
The total ride was 15 hours, it was like an Indiana Jones
movie, the one with Short Round driving the car with the blocks on his feet,
but without the opening floor show. My son slept through the entire trip,
and I wish I could have. Through the smell of feet, porta-john, pot, cat
urine, chicken wangs, motions hair conk, getting his head grabbed by someone who
lost his balance looking for the can, through the harrowing and dangerous
drive, and the ghetto fashion show that took place each time the savages got on
and off the lifeboat. My wife and the other kids were there to get us at the
shopping center in Atlanta, and we
were glad to be greeted by familiar, friendly faces.
I looked at my son, and shook my head and said “well, I said I’d get you here for Christmas, by hook or crook!” “It’s alright Dad, now I can cross sleeping in an airport, and kamikaze bus trips off of my bucket list, and besides, now you have some new stories to tell!” My son is a trooper!
I looked at my son, and shook my head and said “well, I said I’d get you here for Christmas, by hook or crook!” “It’s alright Dad, now I can cross sleeping in an airport, and kamikaze bus trips off of my bucket list, and besides, now you have some new stories to tell!” My son is a trooper!
There is no regulation, package inspection, ID check,
customs, red caps, air fresheners, life preservers, flare guns, and I wonder if
the drivers even have a CDL. How can you pass the licensing process if
you can't speak English??!
It's the underground railroad all over again. I can
only IMAGINE how many kilos, AK47's, surface to air missiles, kidnap victims,
fugitives, vampires, Bigfoot, illegal aliens, extra terrestrials, hookers,
endangered species, and whatever else you can think of are on those buses cause
NOBODY'S checking!
The bus stalled due to an air leak, that brought the primary
pressure to less than 65 pounds, activating the ICC emergency brake and killing
the engine. When was this bus inspected, or cleaned? You want an
adventure filled with thrills, chills, danger, drama, bedbugs and action?
Can you piss in total darkness in a smelly box that keeps throwing you from
left to right, while trying to aim at a hole you can't see? Try a ride on one
of Kamikaze Koach Lines to anywhere!
May the force be with you!
