peter pan BONANZA

I will no longer take the bus.

This past weekend I planned a getaway to Martha's Vineyard that I expected to be perfectly relaxing. The bus from NYC to Woods Hole (where the ferry to the Vineyard departs) was scheduled to leave from Port Authority at 7:30 am. I rushed my little ass to get there with maybe a minute to spare. But alas, when I arrived at the mile-long line there was no sign of movement, nor would there be for another 30 mins. Instead, a cheery morning-shift Port Authority employee bellowed at my fellow travellers and I to move up, because we were most likely waiting in the wrong line. We weren't. So we all formed a gelatinous mob instead of a line, and began an undercurrent of displeased muttering that would continue for most of the day.

The bus finally got underway, and we continued on to Providence with only a few stops (including Fall River and the Lizzie Borden condo complex!) to detain us. Providence and its brown cinder-block bus station with perpetually understocked Dunkin Donuts came and went. I skipped the bathroom there, not wanting to wait in line. Fortunately, our next stop was a well-stocked Tadeschis at the Bourne bridge rotary. Unfortunately, they had only a Sanican to piss in, but I'm no princess.

Relieved, I was ready to make our transfer for the final leg of the journey. The first bus pulled away, and our diligent little cluster of 15 patiently waited for our white horse to arrive in the form of a Peter-Pan/Bonanza combo. This last section of road was only 20 miles, but the sun-bleached parking lot of Tadeschi's overlooking a run-down motel, crowded rotary and overpriced lobster hut was a far cry from sun-bleached parking lots of Woods Hole...where at least we could overlook the water. My travelling companion, Lily, wanted to eat, but her willpower kept her from going into Tadeschi's lest she miss the savior bus.

After 15 mins, I plopped down on the concrete to read my Vogue. After 30, Lily relented and bought an apple and some string cheese. After 45, I followed suit with some string cheese of my own. After an hour, we had missed the ferry we were planning to take. The woman standing next to me placed an irate phone call to Peter Pan Headquarters. Finally, a bus appeared on the horizon. We breathed a collective sigh of relief, but the driver's shaking head should have been an indication that we wouldn't be getting off that square of cement so soon.

His brakes practically screeching, the driver leapt from the door.

"I have one seat left! Anyone elderly or ailing?!" He croaked.

"Ha, ha," we all mumbled and started to gather our things.

"Oh, please," the irate woman intoned.

"Lady, if you think I just sat in an hour of traffic to come here and make jokes with you people, you are sorely mistaken," the driver articulated. "I have one seat. Who's getting on?"

"This is bullshit--" Irate began.

"Look I don't have to take any harassment from you!" Asserted the driver. "Is anyone getting on this bus?!"

None of us made much fuss when Irate stepped forward. We were either in shock, or happy to see her and her bitchiness ascend the steps, or a little of both.

"But we paid for tickets to Woods Hole!" A final protest from the male half of a New-Yorky couple.

"We don't guarantee transfers. Says right on the ticket. Another bus'll be here in a half hour or so. Can't guarantee he'll have seats either." With that the driver returned to his shock absorbent seat, bid us good-riddance, and drove away. We were left staring at one another, open-mouthed and feeling the bittersweet sting of mutual aggravation.

Then began a Survivor-esque formation of alliances, foes and general tribal behavior. Lily took a Chieftess role and started to look into taxi options. Taxis were expensive, and only took 4. There were a very limited number available. None of us believed the next bus would have enough seats. I knew we'd better make alliances now or risk spending the night at Tadeschi's, peeing in a Sanican and becoming fat on Cheetos. I began forming an alliance with the New Yorky couple and planned to split a cab once we had found one. A group of surly stubborn passengers sat around a picnic table and did nothing. A girl in overly-pointy shoes became a lawless savage, calling a cab without checking with anyone, and then grabbing anyone she could to join her plan with no regard to how many might fit.

The Tadeschi's workers "helped" us by suggesting we take the one dollar van that came every hour on the hour. Turns out it didn't go to Woods Hole. Lily finally found us a cab, just as New York Couple switched their allegiance and agreed to join Pointy-shoes. No cabs had even arrived yet, and we'd already missed the subsequent 2nd and 3rd ferry options. Things looked bleak. Suddenly, two older women who had stayed on the periphery of the tribe bid us all farewell and started loading their bags in to a minivan. One of them had a friend in Falmouth who had come to rescue them.

I pounced on the opportunity. "Are there any more seats?" I gasped.

"I could squeeze in two," the kindly and slightly crusty driver offered.

Without thinking, Lily and I abandoned our fellow passengers and jumped into the van. In the wild, one must fend for herself. Our alliances melted away as quickly as they had formed.

"Do you think it was wrong of us to leave without saying anything?" Lily asked.

"No way," I said. "They would have done the same."

They could take us only as far as Falmouth, but it turned out there was a ferry from there too. We figured anything was better than the parking lot at Tadeschi's. Along the way, the driver regaled us with tales of hitchhikers and women with broke-down cars who had met their maker on the Cape, being naive enough to believe strangers really would offer a helping hand. He also said he didn't trust hitchhikers one bit, and never picked them up. It was comforting to know he had such high moral standards. Seeing as we were finally on our way to paradise, both Lily and I smiled and nodded with our mouths shut.

As the icing on the road-weary cake, we arrived at the waterfront in Falmouth just in time to see the Island Queen literally uncouple from the dock and push off. The next ferry wasn't for an hour and half, but with the island in sight the time melted away. Lily and I split a lobster roll at a combo Italian/seafood joint up the road, and then enjoyed the sweetest sun-soaked ferry ride of our lives, followed by a wonderful sojourn on the Vineyard.

Mr. Peter Pan and Barry G. Bonanza will be hearing from my lawyer. Or at least my angry typing finger.