Bus ride from hell

I got up bright and early, despite having worked the night before, to catch the 8 am bus (if only it had been a flight) to Sykkylven. With a paper deadline looming, I wanted to get home as early as possible to start writing because my cousing was going to stay with me and I wanted to hang out and have fun  instead of worrying about my regression analysis. The ride started off a bit rocky. A huge gentleman with garlic breath squeezed himself into the seat behind me that I had lowered because I wanted to take a nap. Aside from the occasional bad breath whiffs I caught, I fell asleep a little. When I woke up, were standing still. STILL! Some tunnel had been closed off, and they didn’t know when it would be reopened. The bus driver tried to cheer us up with tea and coffee, but seriously — who the hells cares about caffeine when you’re trying to get from A to Z and you’ve barely begun your journey?! We missed the ferry, of course, and got further delayed by sheep and goats. Oh, and did I mention the narrow roads? Two buses can barely pass, and other vehicles must yield. In one of the richest countries in the world, this is a shame. Because of the delay, I missed my second bus, and had to spend three hours in a hole called Førde. The waiting room was filled with drunks, bums and drug addicts, so instead of hearing a story about how some guy faked his piss test I asked for directions to the library.

So I trudged off to the library and started working on my paper. Then, for some Murphy’s law reason, the library lady decided it was time to have a little fun in there. She was giving two gentlemen a TOUR around the little library with comments such as; “this is our crime section” (and this is where I sent an “excuse me”-glare in their direction – to the rows of the aforementioned fiction, which were, in my opinion, quite sparse with books that didn’t fit my taste – Mary Higgings Clark and company do not a bibliophile make), “this is the study room…. oh, you said your name was Fred? Do you know the son of the guy that works next door, you know the one who has two kids with Bella?” Seriously? This time I gave them a pure EVIL glare that pretty much said “I thought this was the STUDY room..so SHUT THE HELL UP!” They finally left. Peace and quiet once again.

Until…. a heavily perfumed guy comes over, walks a little in circles, looks at me, walks back over to the crime section, then back to me, staring. “Hi”. “Hi yourself.” Guy ,”What’s your name?” “Umm. Dude I am trying to study here, do you mind?” “Can I get your number?”

OK, that was it. The library wasn’t the place to hang either, obviously, and since my time was up  I went back to the bus station and boarded.

Oh, joy. The bus was FULL! We had to change buses again in Stryn (a place I associate with hell on earth) and it was packed with drunk acne-covered prepubescent teens with their mouths full of snus. It was so crowded I had to STAND in the aisle listening to their drunk bullshit. I swear, my blood was boiling. The bus went up hills, down hills, around corners and bends, across little bridges and sped its way along snowy and winding roads with me hanging on for bare life, while those punks screamed out profanities to everyone and everything and was passing their damn snus boxes back and forth under my arm. I was so mad I almost took someone’s baseball bat in case I found it necessary to smash one of their pizza-faces, but I didn’t. I sensed hope when I overheard them saying they were going to some party in the valley. They got their drunken and pissed-out asses out of there and I let out a sarcastic “Hallelujah.”

I was finally home at 9:15 PM. I could have gone all the way to Oregon for the same about of time.

image via fjordnorway.com


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