Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I'm Not Always There When You Call...
...but I'm always on time.
It's one of my favorite activities, being on time. In fact, I enjoy it so much, I even try to avoid being early, but my eagerness to be on time usually leads to that anyways. It helps that I'm a drummer, I'm naturally on point with everything happening around me. Therefore, it doesn't need to be said (but needs to be written) that I loathe being late.
So when the coach bus I was traveling on got delayed for an extended period of time at the border yesterday, meaning I would be late arriving to the bus terminal on the other side, you would probably wonder why I was doing a victory dance that I usually reserve for finishing the last exam of a school year, or when I listen to my theme song.
Before I get to my seemingly inexplicable joy from being late, let me tell you how two American chicas held up l'autobus for an hour. Apparently, they tried getting back into America from Toronto, but were caught with receipts from a vacation in Cuba. And if you didn't know, an American going to Cuba and spending mucho dinero is a big no-no. Anyone caught, even if you are only a resident and not a full fledged citizen, can be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
In case you were wondering (you weren't), the women were definitely of the Mexican decent, hence the Spanish. "l'autobus" was something I threw in for flavor.
So back to me now.
The next stop for the bus, and where I was supposed to have a one hour layover to go grab some food and use restroom facilities, was Detroit, home of your 2008 NHL Champions. Also home to the sketchiest population I have ever witnessed (I haven't been to Compton). The last time I was passing through Detroit, I was clutching onto my bags like a toddler holding onto their mommy in a scary situation, so tight that blood circulation almost didn't exist. The black folks were tall, intimidating and staring at me, the white folks looked like those from 8 Mile (missing teeth and didn't smile), and there were no other Asian folks because (I assume) they were probably chased from town. I have to think that anybody with any sense and money from Detroit would avoid taking coach buses in and out of the city.
Now you see how I was excited at potentially reducing the amount of layover time I would have to spend in Motown. The whole bus ride there, I was mentally preparing myself in the event that I was to be mugged. I was even hiding money in different compartments of my backpack so I would have a stash for a "rainy day". I didn't take out my iPod (a bus ride without music is torture), or anything that would suggest I would yield a good harvest if I were to be robbed.
Now the stories merge.
The bus was held up for an hour, and by that point, my celebrating had ceased. The reality was that the scheduled layover time in Detroit was one hour. I had missed my connection to Ohio. Meaning, I would probably have to wait for the next available bus in Detroit, you know, the city the scariest people on earth call home. I bet Osama is hiding out there. Did George Bush think to check there? No way George would be smart enough to think that Osama would pick the last place on earth to hide out, and by that logic, Osama should very well have picked Detroit as his hideout city. If I were Barack Obama president, Detroit is the first place I would've checked for B. Laden.
This is besides the point.
Turns out, the next bus was another hour wait. The lesson is, throw away your receipts if you don't want people to know you've traveled somewhere, premature celebration never works out for the celebrator. Alicia Keys said it best, I'm going to call this a lesson learned.
I'm still alive and blogging You haters need to read that explanation of my graph from a few days ago. Then maybe you can call it a lesson learned.
