“I write this post crammed in a bus with an alarming number of
people” was how this post was supposed to start off. I was going to paint you
the most splendid of portraits of the hot, crowded, slightly smelly night
megabus from London to Edinburgh. And then my seat mate started talking. At
first I didn't mind, nothing wrong with a bit of conversation since we were
going to spend 9ish hours next to each other. But you know the sensation of
when a conversation is careening toward a steep, steep cliff? And you reach out
to try and pull it back and just watch it slip past your outstretched finger
tips, down into the dark, murky, and uncomfortable abyss? That pretty much sums
up my bus buddy experience.
Things started off well enough, chatting with this man who was
old enough to be my father - "where ya from? where ya going?" type
deal. And then with an astonishing demonstration of how many wrong turns don't
make a right I found myself flabbergasted on the receiving end of an invitation
to be his date to a wedding in Spain that summer. This was before I had even
told him my name. I had just listened to the lengthy list of “awesome” stag
(bachelor) parties he had been to in Amsterdam – side effect of having been in
The Netherlands and the conversation had trickled into weddings. I shouldn’t
have even brought it up in the first place, but I was so very desperate to stop
hearing about his wild times in Amsterdam, I made a joke about how everyone and
their brother at home was getting married. Before I knew it he was telling me
about the empty plus one that he had for this Spanish wedding and looking at me
with expectant eyes.
At first I just laughed, thinking that there was no possible way
he could be serious, and then realized that this man was indeed, desperate
enough to invite a complete stranger to be his date to this event. I could
practically see Liz Lemon walking through announcing: "shut it down".
I
used every line in the book to deflect that one - some true, some un, whatever
would get me out of that mess. Then I tried to steer the conversation away from
all things marriage, prattling on about something like The Netherlands and
teaching and whatnot, but as soon as I paused my filibuster to catch my breath,
he switched us back to stag parties and all the good ones he barely remembers.
Mercy. There was finally a long enough pause in conversation that I was able to
shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. Unfortunately, with my backpack jammed
down at my feet, there wasn’t much room to comfortably “be asleep”. I shifted
back and forth, trying to find a suitable position. Unable to situate myself, I
opened my eyes to fold my coat into a good shape and found my seat buddy
staring at me with earnest eyes, offering me a blow-up camping pillow. Still a
little perturbed by our earlier interaction, I very politely refused, telling
him that I couldn’t possibly take his pillow. And that is when he looked me
square in the eye and said, “but I blew it up for you”
…
Nope,
nope, nope. Nopenopenopenope.
Again,
I refused and went back to “sleeping” for the rest of our journey. I’m sure he
was just trying to be kind, but a girl’s gotta look out for herself, especially
when traveling alone. But oh, how talking to strangers can be fun.
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