Monday, February 11, 2013

bus bloopers: track work

So buses are so bad they're not only bad when they're actual buses, they're also bad when they're supposed to be trains but are functioning as buses.  Kind of like gerunds being verbs functioning as nouns, only worse.

Yesterday I had the sad task of seeing my boyfriend off at the airport (7 weeks till I see him again, but who's counting?).  We left with plenty of time to get him there via the train (seeing as that's how you get to the airport), but slightly less than plenty of time to get him there via the replacement bus services brought about by track work.

Now "slightly less" time is fine for those sorts of things they say "close" counts in -- horse shoes and hand grenades -- but not fine for those sorts of things "close" doesn't count in -- like Qantas departure times.

After the third bus finally pulled into the airport after I don't know how many very tense minutes, we both bolted through the airport to the check-in counter.  Miraculously, the plane was also delayed -- through no effort of City Rail, I can assure you -- and we were actually able to have a few extra minutes to say goodbye.

Which left me teary, alone, tired, hungry, cold and waiting in the dark in the rain for my bus.

The first four of which turned up weren't mine.  The next one of which was, but by this time all the other cold, tired, soaking people pushed madly ahead of me and stole all the seats, leaving me once again fighting for a space under the too-small cover huddling the mass of humanity.  Finally the replacement "train" arrived and took me to Central, where another "train" took me to Wynyard, where I waited in the Menzies for fifteen minutes for my real bus to take me as close as it could to home, whereafter (I know google doesn't think that's a word, but I think it should be) I gave up and called a cab instead of run for it through what was bordering on a downpour.

And that is the end of my sad, rainy story.  Buses, I'm afraid, never have happy endings.  But Australians hate sappy sugary sweet American endings, so there you go.  A nice, rainy Australian ending.  So long.

1 comment:

Laetitia :-) said...

Ah, know the feeling of seeing a boyfriend off at the airport. When hubby and I were courting he visited me in Walgett (north, central NSW) - at least the airport was only down the end of a nearby street (in fact it was also down the end of my street but the terminal wasn't). At the time he was working in the USA.