[More events and thoughts from Sept 21 (into the 22nd)]
So I took the #3 back to Canal St., which stopped a couple of blocks from where the #6 stops on Canal. (Actually, I think the #3 doesn't actually stop on Canal, I had to get off and take the #1 back to Canal. Or maybe that's backwards; the subway is nothing if not confusing for a while.) On the way back to Chinatown, I stopped at a street fair and picked up a sausage with onions and peppers. (Yes, another one.) Munching on that, I continued to Chinatown... and ran into about 30 thousand people, all of whom were apparently trying to take the bus back to Boston.
I finally got to the bus ticket counter and asked when the earliest bus with open seats was running. "No more tickets today!" I got a little chill. But nothing too serious, I still had some food and I knew there was at least one more bus company around there. So I just kept munching and walking around Chinatown.
I got to another place that seemed to be selling tickets, until some random guy started telling people they couldn't stand where the ticket office was. It was a little confusing, but it was okay, we just needed to wait on the other side of the street. While the bunch of us were crossing, the bus driver was just going to apparently turn the empty bus around, maybe going around the block. When he didn't come back in 30 minutes, I started to worry a little. Asking around the crowd of people, it seemed some people had tickets, and others didn't and wanted to try to buy their way on with the bus driver. It didn't quite sound like something I wanted to get into...
So I was basically stuck in Manhattan (or, indeed, any part of NYC since I still had some rides on my subway pass). No need to panic, though; worst case scenario, I could take the subway to an airport, get a rental car, and drive back to Boston. Not ideal, but a good fallback. I called Steve and had him and his roommates brainstorm a little. They came up with the idea that I could take a Greyhound bus if I could get to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It would be a little more expensive than the Chinatown, but a little more reliable too.
Meanwhile, I had called my wife and explained the situation. She was more than a little worried for me, but I told her that everything would be fine. It was actually kind of fun wandering around and learning the subway by trial-and-error. "Well, I'm sure glad this wasn't a family vacation," came her reponse. I don't know why she wouldn't want to try to keep track of a 9- and 5-year-old in that situation... ;-)
Anyhoo, the big challenge lay ahead. The Port Authority didn't lie on any subway line that went through Grand Central *or* Times Square (the two main stations I knew how to get to). I had to figure out how to... (wait for it)... change trains! With subway maps posted prominently in every station, it was a piece of cake. I took the #6 (by that time, my favorite train) to 51st St., took an underground tunnel, and boarded some blue line (I think it was like the N). Without a single wrong step, I ended up at the Port Authority in about 20 minutes. Score!
According to the Greyhound schedule posted on the wall, I had just missed the second-to-last (7p) bus by 20 minutes, and would have to wait for the 10p bus. Unfortunately, that would put me into Boston well after 2a. The gal at the counter cleared all that up. "I don't know what's up with the schedule on the wall, I just know what's in my computer." $30 later and I had a ticket on the 8p bus.
Again, more people mass. All of the people who couldn't get on the Chinatown bus apparently had the same great idea to go Greyhound. They filled the first 8p bus with me left standing second in line to board "the next bus" which should be there "in five minutes". Uh huh. Well, I actually won this time as the next bus was right behind them. We filed on board, I tried to ignore the frat boy puke in front of me flirting with a really cute Asian girl, the bus driver turned on Hunt for Red October, and we were on our way.
I called Steve when we pulled into Boston (just before 1a) and he came to the bus station. We decided we were hungry and headed to an all-night diner, the name of which escapes me, but was REALLY good. We barely missed their 1a cutoff time for beer, which was probably a good thing, so we just kinda caught up over sandwiches.
We were talking about my baseball trip, which the fry cook was semi-listening to. At a break, he asked if we were going to Fenway, to which I said, "Of course!" I told him about how I'm kind of eating the same thing at every park and comparing. I asked him about the beer situation at Fenway. His response: a discouraging thumbs down. "Bud, Bud Light, maybe something like Amstel Light [which is certainly drinkable], but nothing spectacular." I thanked him and Steve and I headed out.
So I had already been tainted about Fenway. I immediately began fretting over the fact that I would have to give it a poor beer mark on my blog. I was imagining how I would phrase it as I went to sleep that night.
Posted by pcg at September 29, 2003 6:37 PM