So today, after class, I walked to the SAC to pick up a Griller and cheese sticks for lunch. After pondering the juice aisle, I decide it's been a while since I've had real fruit juice, and get a Kiwi-Strawberry Snapple. After paying for it, I walk home, eating two of the cheese sticks on the way. I plop down in front of my computer, where I hungrily devour my lunch (it was 2pm).
When I finish (now 2:15), I notice that I'm really thirsty. I especially want to drink something with flavour. I ponder the Guava juice carton in my fridge, but I pass. Suddenly, I think "didn't I buy a juice at the SAC?" It slowly starts coming back to me. It was a Kiwi-Strawberry Snapple. I look around my desk, but fail to come up with the juice. As I start to remember more details, I distinctly notice not remembering carrying the juice while walking back home.
I put on a coat and walk back to the SAC. After getting there, I ask the cashier if I left a juice behind. She points at my drink sitting behind some paper bags.
All in all, this pretty much proves what I've been telling people--I have the first recorded case of juvenile alzheimers.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
A Trip to the Hospital
Last week, one morning, I woke up with fairly bad back pain. This has been a fairly chronic thing, dating back to about last October. But last Wednesday, it was the worst it's ever been, so I went to Campus Health about it.
I got looked over by a nurse, she said come back Friday when the doctor was in.
So I came back Friday. Doctor put pressure on spots in my back, in places causing a lot of pain. So he sent me for X-Rays. Personally I thought X-Rays were an overreaction, but I was stuck at this point.
So on Monday, I went to the hospital. Walla Walla General. I left home about 4:15. I spent the next thirty minutes looking for a bus stop. I wasn't sure whether I should go, because I knew I had an appointment with my accompanist, and I didn't know when it was that day. I waited at the bus stop until 5:00, then walked back to the music building to attempt to call my accompanist again. Having just spent 45 minutes outside, including much of that time standing still, I was now frozen. But I got a hold of her and cancelled the appointment.
Now it was 5:15pm. I got on the bus at 5:30. Got to the Hospital about 6:00. Went to admitting, they sent me to emergency. Went to emergency, waited in line for about twenty minutes, then got told that radiology closed at 6, but if I wanted to wait, the radiologist was in the Operating Room, and he could serve me once he got out. I asked how long that would be. "At most, an hour and a half." It was hinted at that I could go home, and come back tomorrow. So I did.
I walked down the road, and, as I expected, the buses were no longer running. (Or so I thought.) So I began the long process of walking home.
The temperature had notably dipped since I left. When I had left home I was not sure whether I should bring a scarf and hat, so I put it in my backpack. They proved useful when I got frozen the first time. Now they were merely hurdles for the cold to jump through.
At first, the scarf was quite useful. But the problem with scarves, when worn like I do and have them cover the mouth, is that it prevents the breath from going anywhere. The warm, moist breath--and as such, it simply rises, onto my glasses, where it condenses. If I forcefully exhale, I avoid this problem; but it can get quite annoying to forcefully exhale every breath you take; and eventually you forget once, and your glasses fog up for the next 10-15 seconds.
After a while, my glasses were no longer fogging up for 10-15 seconds--the condensation was freezing on the glasses. So I'd take my gloves, wipe off my glasses, then walk for a couple of minutes with good vision, then walk for five or ten minutes with fogged vision bad enough that I could only see headlights and stop lights, with shadows telling me where the sidewalk was. While this was happening, my legs froze, my knees froze, everything froze, and I was generally miserable. On the plus side, I kept myself going by humming the first few measures of Liszt's Totentanz. My feet and legs certainly felt like the piano part.
An hour and a half later, I made it back to campus. This would be about 8pm. You will note the irony that this was the time by which the doctor would have been out. (On the flip side, this would have meant me returning home by 9:30.) I proceeded directly to the music building, where I had the most productive oboe practice I've had all quarter, despite only being able to play for half an hour due to everything thawing out. (Meaning: if you are in desperate need of a good practice, go outside and freeze yourself to near frostnip.)
The next day, my oboe teacher gave me a ride to the hospital after my lesson, meaning I got there around 2:30. I waited for a little bit, then got to see a receptionist in the radiology department. She asked for my insurance. I gave it to her. She said this wasn't insurance, it was a drug plan. I said, "I have a drug plan?" I then spent five minutes digging through my wallet for anything that resembled a health insurance card, coming up short. She then picked up my drug plan card again, flipped it over and said, "Oh wait, I think it's right here. That's odd. I've never seen a medical plan and a drug plan printed on the same card. Hey, _____, have you ever seen this?"
She goes on to ask for my billing information. I ask, "but I have health insurance, so why do I need to be billed?" She replies that the company I use (the school's plan, btw) has one of two plans; either they pay the full up to $700, then 80% after that; or they pay 80% flat. And what you're getting today will certainly be more than $700. I quickly do the math in my head--20% of $700 is $140. Curing my back pain is not worth $140.
I then ask myself "if health insurance doesn't pay all your medical bills, what is the point of it?" Followed by "does it really cost $700+ to run an X-Ray machine for a few minutes?" Because I'm pretty sure doctors don't make $800 an hour, and there was a steady stream of people in the waiting room.
After waiting a half hour or so, I get in. I have to change into a medical gown. Very odd and cold little device. Then I make it in. There are two radiologists. It doesn't take me long to realize that the one working with me is a student. "Well, that last X-Ray didn't turn out, so let's try again." "This one didn't turn out; what happened?" Other person: "Try making him raise his arm more like this." "Ah, I see." I ended up getting 5 X-Rays done of my head (neck) and 4 of my chest. I hope my brain didn't get irradiated.
Took the bus back. Half froze once again sitting on the metal bus stop bench. Got back a little past 5, or barely in time for band. A wonderful adventure, wouldn't you say?
I got looked over by a nurse, she said come back Friday when the doctor was in.
So I came back Friday. Doctor put pressure on spots in my back, in places causing a lot of pain. So he sent me for X-Rays. Personally I thought X-Rays were an overreaction, but I was stuck at this point.
So on Monday, I went to the hospital. Walla Walla General. I left home about 4:15. I spent the next thirty minutes looking for a bus stop. I wasn't sure whether I should go, because I knew I had an appointment with my accompanist, and I didn't know when it was that day. I waited at the bus stop until 5:00, then walked back to the music building to attempt to call my accompanist again. Having just spent 45 minutes outside, including much of that time standing still, I was now frozen. But I got a hold of her and cancelled the appointment.
Now it was 5:15pm. I got on the bus at 5:30. Got to the Hospital about 6:00. Went to admitting, they sent me to emergency. Went to emergency, waited in line for about twenty minutes, then got told that radiology closed at 6, but if I wanted to wait, the radiologist was in the Operating Room, and he could serve me once he got out. I asked how long that would be. "At most, an hour and a half." It was hinted at that I could go home, and come back tomorrow. So I did.
I walked down the road, and, as I expected, the buses were no longer running. (Or so I thought.) So I began the long process of walking home.
The temperature had notably dipped since I left. When I had left home I was not sure whether I should bring a scarf and hat, so I put it in my backpack. They proved useful when I got frozen the first time. Now they were merely hurdles for the cold to jump through.
At first, the scarf was quite useful. But the problem with scarves, when worn like I do and have them cover the mouth, is that it prevents the breath from going anywhere. The warm, moist breath--and as such, it simply rises, onto my glasses, where it condenses. If I forcefully exhale, I avoid this problem; but it can get quite annoying to forcefully exhale every breath you take; and eventually you forget once, and your glasses fog up for the next 10-15 seconds.
After a while, my glasses were no longer fogging up for 10-15 seconds--the condensation was freezing on the glasses. So I'd take my gloves, wipe off my glasses, then walk for a couple of minutes with good vision, then walk for five or ten minutes with fogged vision bad enough that I could only see headlights and stop lights, with shadows telling me where the sidewalk was. While this was happening, my legs froze, my knees froze, everything froze, and I was generally miserable. On the plus side, I kept myself going by humming the first few measures of Liszt's Totentanz. My feet and legs certainly felt like the piano part.
An hour and a half later, I made it back to campus. This would be about 8pm. You will note the irony that this was the time by which the doctor would have been out. (On the flip side, this would have meant me returning home by 9:30.) I proceeded directly to the music building, where I had the most productive oboe practice I've had all quarter, despite only being able to play for half an hour due to everything thawing out. (Meaning: if you are in desperate need of a good practice, go outside and freeze yourself to near frostnip.)
The next day, my oboe teacher gave me a ride to the hospital after my lesson, meaning I got there around 2:30. I waited for a little bit, then got to see a receptionist in the radiology department. She asked for my insurance. I gave it to her. She said this wasn't insurance, it was a drug plan. I said, "I have a drug plan?" I then spent five minutes digging through my wallet for anything that resembled a health insurance card, coming up short. She then picked up my drug plan card again, flipped it over and said, "Oh wait, I think it's right here. That's odd. I've never seen a medical plan and a drug plan printed on the same card. Hey, _____, have you ever seen this?"
She goes on to ask for my billing information. I ask, "but I have health insurance, so why do I need to be billed?" She replies that the company I use (the school's plan, btw) has one of two plans; either they pay the full up to $700, then 80% after that; or they pay 80% flat. And what you're getting today will certainly be more than $700. I quickly do the math in my head--20% of $700 is $140. Curing my back pain is not worth $140.
I then ask myself "if health insurance doesn't pay all your medical bills, what is the point of it?" Followed by "does it really cost $700+ to run an X-Ray machine for a few minutes?" Because I'm pretty sure doctors don't make $800 an hour, and there was a steady stream of people in the waiting room.
After waiting a half hour or so, I get in. I have to change into a medical gown. Very odd and cold little device. Then I make it in. There are two radiologists. It doesn't take me long to realize that the one working with me is a student. "Well, that last X-Ray didn't turn out, so let's try again." "This one didn't turn out; what happened?" Other person: "Try making him raise his arm more like this." "Ah, I see." I ended up getting 5 X-Rays done of my head (neck) and 4 of my chest. I hope my brain didn't get irradiated.
Took the bus back. Half froze once again sitting on the metal bus stop bench. Got back a little past 5, or barely in time for band. A wonderful adventure, wouldn't you say?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Unsettled
You know how they say that you're not supposed to rush the journey?
When you're in school and all you want is to be done? When you're dating and you want to skip to the married part? When you're looking for work and you want to have work? When you have work and you just want to be retired?
Well, I'm stuck in that waiting period. And I can attest that the journey is making me horribly unsettled. Just take me back to certainty, please... as long as it's a good certainty.
When you're in school and all you want is to be done? When you're dating and you want to skip to the married part? When you're looking for work and you want to have work? When you have work and you just want to be retired?
Well, I'm stuck in that waiting period. And I can attest that the journey is making me horribly unsettled. Just take me back to certainty, please... as long as it's a good certainty.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Top 10 Ways to Give Your Senior Recital "Oomph"
10. Serve Haystacks at your reception.
9. Play a Webern piece as your final number.
8. Get your recital to be worth CommUnity credit. (Or for those in other colleges, just think "chapel" credit or some equivalent.)
7. Make a personal ad detailing all of your "outstanding and desirable qualities" to cover an entire page of your program. Make it preposterously cocky.
6. Prepare 4 encores; then hire some friends to stand at the back and clap until you've performed them all.
5. Propose to your significant other in a program insert.
4. Tape a $50 gift certificate to Starbucks under one of the seats of the auditorium, then announce that it's there during the intermission.
3. Spike the punch.
2. Change your shirt & tie/dress between every number.
1. Write a book about your life, then set up a table at the close of the program and sell copies for $39.95. Offer autographs.
Bonus: Serve wheatgrass juice as your punch.
Bonus #2: Spike the wheatgrass juice.
Disclaimer: The help of friends was enlisted to create this list, so I cannot account for everything that you see here.
9. Play a Webern piece as your final number.
8. Get your recital to be worth CommUnity credit. (Or for those in other colleges, just think "chapel" credit or some equivalent.)
7. Make a personal ad detailing all of your "outstanding and desirable qualities" to cover an entire page of your program. Make it preposterously cocky.
6. Prepare 4 encores; then hire some friends to stand at the back and clap until you've performed them all.
5. Propose to your significant other in a program insert.
4. Tape a $50 gift certificate to Starbucks under one of the seats of the auditorium, then announce that it's there during the intermission.
3. Spike the punch.
2. Change your shirt & tie/dress between every number.
1. Write a book about your life, then set up a table at the close of the program and sell copies for $39.95. Offer autographs.
Bonus: Serve wheatgrass juice as your punch.
Bonus #2: Spike the wheatgrass juice.
Disclaimer: The help of friends was enlisted to create this list, so I cannot account for everything that you see here.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Travelling Adventures, Vol. III
I woke up around 3:30AM Thursday morning (New Year's Day), having stayed up till past midnight the previous night--it was New Years Eve, so obviously I stayed up and watched Evel Knievel's son jump over some artificial volcano. My flight was leaving at 7, so I had to be gone by 4--in theory, anyways. I took a shower, taking me to about 3:45ish, then I began packing my things, figuring I didn't need long. Given that I finished packing by 4:30, I'd say I was justified. (And given that I forgot my USB stick, I'd say I was proven wrong.)
My Dad drove me to the airport, which was an hour away. My mother made me a wonderful lunch. Unfortunately, I forgot it in the car. Perhaps it was a function of getting only two hours of sleep the previous night. Besides forgetting lunch, the airport went quite smoothly, and I made it to the gate with 30-45 minutes to spare.
Landed in Vancouver about 9:15AM. The Greyhound to Seattle left at 10:45AM. I figured I had plenty of time to make it. I was one of the first ones off the plane, as I was sitting in the first row (no first class on this plane for some reason), and quickly made it to baggage claim. Around 10AM, I got tired of waiting, and was getting hungry, so I went to the Harvey's and ordered a Veggieburger, Poutine, Fries, and a bottled water. I tried to pay in such a way that I would retain at least one five, one ten, and one twenty, in the event occasion ever arose to show off "monopoly money." After paying, I retained one five, two tens, and a twenty.
While waiting for that, I went back to check for my bags, and thankfully they had finally come through. So I grabbed my blue roller and went back to the Harvey's, and collected my meal in a paper to-go bag, and started rushing to the bus stop, as I realized that I now only had half an hour to make it to the bus terminal--which, though not impossible, would now present a challenge.
After getting to the bus stop, I noted the fare, and reached into my wallet to have it ready... and realized I didn't have enough coins. So I ran back in the terminal, found a change machine, and inserted a ten. Then I noticed the "out of change" light was on. So I ran deeper into the terminal to a convenience store/newsstand, and bought a BreathSavers while asking for at least four quarters in return from the cashier. (If you're keeping count, this gives me one twenty, one ten, and two fives.)
At this point, I should mention that this entire time, I'm carrying an oboe inside my coat. I'm carrying it inside my coat because it is wooden, and a rental, and because twice two years prior, I had cracked rental oboes from the same company for unknown reasons, but presumed to be exposure to cold temperatures. When you crack two oboes in the space of a few months, you make sure you don't crack a third. So I'm carrying this thing inside my coat anytime I go outside, and it's rather awkward, because it makes me look like a pregnant woman--if I shift it up, emphasis on woman; shift it down, emphasis on pregnant--and in order to keep it there, I'm clutching at my supposed abdomen. I get many, many, many looks.
Made it back to the bus stop. Bus pulled up five or ten minutes later. Rode a few minutes, got off at the transfer point, and waited for another bus, waiting another ten minutes. This bus carried me into downtown Vancouver. Once there, I ran across the street to the SkyWay station, and while taking an escalator underground, walking down the escalator, my paper bag ripped open. My fries magically stayed in the bag, the veggieburger stayed wrapped... but the poutine fell out, the top popped off, and all that glorious gravy and cheesiness landed face down on the escalator. After staring at it in shock for ten seconds, I became grateful that it was a rather long escalator, giving me time to clean up before reaching the bottom. Not that this prevented me from cursing life, over and over again for the next few minutes.
Finally made it to the combined bus/train station at 11:25. I went up to the ticket counter and asked if the bus to Seattle had left yet. He said yes while giving me a look that said "why would that bus ever be late?" Evidently, he hasn't seen what I've seen. He then told me that CanTrail, a rival bus line, had a bus to Seattle leaving in three minutes--11:30--and that if I ran out and caught the driver, I might be able to see if there was still space on board the bus.
It took me three minutes just to find the bus--it was a rather large terminal. Once there, the bus door was already closed, but the driver opened it for me, and I asked if there was room. There was. I asked the price. The fare was $38. He only accepted cash. I quickly pulled out all the Canadian bills I had carefully saved up and handed them over. (Oh, the irony.) He quizzically asked how I didn't have a reservation. I answered that some plans got cancelled. (Quite true, in fact--my plan was to buy Greyhound tickets at the terminal, and those plans got cancelled when the stupid baggage carosel took nearly an hour to get me my luggage. It wasn't the first time in Vancouver my Greyhound plans had been messed up because of slow baggage workers.)
So I make the bus. I was grateful when over the next three minutes, the scene I had just created forcing the busload of passengers to wait was recreated twice, by a couple and then by another guy. The lady behind me started grumbling loudly about the wait. I was to hear her grumble about anything and everything for much of the rest of that bus ride. It was actually entertaining to listen to her grumble. (At this point in the story, I finally have a chance to eat my veggieburger and fries.)
After crossing the American border, an hour and a half into the bus ride, I pull out Anna Karenina, which I had bought earlier in the Christmas break when I found it for only $10, and start reading.
I get to Seattle at 3pm, getting dropped off in the Amtrak station. Never been there before--it's by Qwest Field--but a helpful information sign was nearby to provide direction. The Greyhound station appeared to be a mile away, but as the bus to Walla Walla wasn't leaving until 5pm, I thought I had plenty of time. There was a light mist of a rain.
I get to the Greyhound station about 4pm. I get to the ticket counter, and ask for tickets to Walla Walla. The ticket guy points out a sign saying all buses eastbound have been cancelled because Snoqualmie Pass is closed. I ask if the pass will be open tomorrow. He says 50-50.
So at this point, I start thinking. I had originally planned to work Friday and get a head start on practice hours on Sunday. If I couldn't get back tonight, I might not get the opportunity to get that work done; and even if I did, I'd lose some practice hours.
I start looking at alternatives. I call up Alaska Airlines. They say they have a flight leaving at 7pm. Cheapest fare is $178. I say thanks but no thanks. I go back to the ticket counter and ask if I could get a ticket through Portland, then Hermiston, then Pasco, then Walla Walla. He says that buses going east from Portland have been cancelled as well, as that road was also closed.
I formulate an idea. I call some rental car companies; bset price for a day is $130, if I'm willing to return the car to Pasco airport the next day. I figure I could borrow my roommate's bicycle and bike back from Pasco. I then call a friend who lives nearby, and ask her to look some things up on the internet for me--specifically, if any parts of British Columbia highway #3 go over passes, and therefore could be closed due to weather. She says no. I thus plan to drive back up to Vancouver (irony strikes again), across to Cranbrook, south to Spokane, and into Walla Walla.
I figure staying in Seattle costs $40 a night at the hostel I frequent; the Greyhound ticket is $60. If the pass is closed tomorrow (Friday), renting a car is cheapest.
I call the rental car company again. I reserve the car. As the only agency open is at the airport, I must try to get to Sea-Tac airport myself, most likely by bus. It turns out the car is actually $160. But as I've already made the decision in my head, and I have a tendency to stick to decisions I've made, I accept the increased price. It's now 5:30. I agree to pick up the car by 7.
At this point, I decide I'm tired of looking like a pregnant woman, so I rearrange the oboe. I put it on my back, between my backpack and my back. This sets the stage for the next two hours of utter agony, as the oboe case constantly shifts position between my shoulderblades, and up and down my spine, resulting in what I think is a bone bruise on my lower back. Further, the addition of something between myself and my backpack resulted in the straps tightening, bruising my collarbones.
Why was I walking about for two hours? I couldn't find the bus to the airport. I stop by a coffeeshop, order a marshmallow brownie thing, then ask what bus route goes to the airport. I get told 174/194. I follow his directions to the bus stop, and when I get there, I don't see 174 or 194 as a bus that stops there. This begins the process for the next two hours of walking, through the rain, visiting what feels like every bus stop in downtown Seattle looking for the magic numbers, while stopping countless numbers of people to ask if they knew where I could find a bus to the airport. I didn't get a good answer until the last guy I asked--"you have to go to 2nd street"--which was odd, because all the major bus lines ran down 3rd and 4th streets, which I had been walking up and down, even asking several passing bus drivers who were also clueless.
So I finally find a bus stop with both 174 and 194 on it, and set down under the shelter and wait 15 minutes for the bus to show up. Since the phone call, I had plenty of opportunity to reconsider my plan. My regrets were two-fold--$160 wasn't much better than a plane fare, especially given the price of gas I had failed to consider in my initial calculations; and a journey by car, back to Vancouver, across to Cranbrook, down to Spokane, Pasco, and finally Walla Walla could easily take upwards of ten hours. It was now 7pm. Ten hours away would be 5AM, which would be 8AM in Eastern Standard Time, which I had begun the day with; and on top of that, I was operating on two hours of sleep. Further, the roads conditions would likely be terrible. So to attempt this journey would be a significant risk to my life.
After waiting at the bus stop for 15 minutes, I walk away, go to the hostel and get a bed for the night.
At the hostel, I go online, and try to cancel the reservation; but, according to my best guess, they got my name wrong, and so I was unable to figure out what name they had me down as (I tried Party, Hardy and Pardee) and gave up, grateful that I hadn't given them my credit card number over the phone. (When I had booked the car, I gave them my name, and the guy on the other end goes "your name is Party, huh?" with disbelief in his voice. Serves him right for thinking I was a prank caller.)
The hostel served free dinner that evening (and every evening, which is why I love them so much), consisting of burritos. Quite good. After that experience, I think I can make myself a burrito now. (Took me long enough to learn :-)
The next morning I woke up, too late for the free breakfast they served, but with plenty of time to get to the Greyhound station. First thing I hear when I get to the front desk is "Five O'Clock World" playing loudly. It made me smile. Snoqualmie had opened up, and so I managed to get passage onto a quite full bus going east.
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. I switched back to carrying the oboe on my front, deciding that personal comfort trumped looks. The bus was delayed for 30 minutes as the driver first put on chains before Snoqualmie, then took off chains after the pass; the bus was delayed another 15 minutes when the wheelchair ramp broke, so the driver had to operate it by hand-pump in order to get the guy out of the bus. This turned a one-hour layover in Pasco into a 15 minute one. I managed to get to page 348 of Anna Karenina, which was quite an accomplishment for me, reading speed-wise. So far I'm quite enjoying it. (The book being Anna Karenina, I only have 615 pages to go!)
Somewhere around Wallula, I was inspired to come up with this quote: All words are lies, because they conform reality. While thinking of this, I reached down, and drank half the remaining water in my water bottle, saving the rest for when I might need another drink, and that drink inspired this poem.
Dying of thirst, I drink
a draught of water which
tumbles down, leaving
my mouth and throat
parched, no memory of
its existence, except
a quake in my belly.
And I thought that my original quote was so correct--this poem was so much better before I had to destroy its beauty by turning it into words. Words only approximated the thought.
I got to College Place to discover snow, everywhere. Well, slush, anyways. I noted with disgust that, besides the University and Davis Elementary, there were only two sidewalks shovelled in the entire town. I wanted to get a bullhorn and excoriate the people by telling them about how in my hometown, a law was passed requiring all sidewalks to be shovelled within 24 hours of a snowfall, in order to protect the senior citizens who might otherwise slip and fall trying to walk on the ice/snow; and that the general response to that law was not that it was communist, but rather "finally the 10% of the population that's too lazy to shovel their own sidewalks is being forced to do their part." (My roommate later informed me the snowfall was fresh, so my strong feelings were rather undeserved, even if College Place is still the laziest town for snow-shovelling that I have ever seen.)
And so I returned home to the view of the setting sun on the horizon.
My Dad drove me to the airport, which was an hour away. My mother made me a wonderful lunch. Unfortunately, I forgot it in the car. Perhaps it was a function of getting only two hours of sleep the previous night. Besides forgetting lunch, the airport went quite smoothly, and I made it to the gate with 30-45 minutes to spare.
Landed in Vancouver about 9:15AM. The Greyhound to Seattle left at 10:45AM. I figured I had plenty of time to make it. I was one of the first ones off the plane, as I was sitting in the first row (no first class on this plane for some reason), and quickly made it to baggage claim. Around 10AM, I got tired of waiting, and was getting hungry, so I went to the Harvey's and ordered a Veggieburger, Poutine, Fries, and a bottled water. I tried to pay in such a way that I would retain at least one five, one ten, and one twenty, in the event occasion ever arose to show off "monopoly money." After paying, I retained one five, two tens, and a twenty.
While waiting for that, I went back to check for my bags, and thankfully they had finally come through. So I grabbed my blue roller and went back to the Harvey's, and collected my meal in a paper to-go bag, and started rushing to the bus stop, as I realized that I now only had half an hour to make it to the bus terminal--which, though not impossible, would now present a challenge.
After getting to the bus stop, I noted the fare, and reached into my wallet to have it ready... and realized I didn't have enough coins. So I ran back in the terminal, found a change machine, and inserted a ten. Then I noticed the "out of change" light was on. So I ran deeper into the terminal to a convenience store/newsstand, and bought a BreathSavers while asking for at least four quarters in return from the cashier. (If you're keeping count, this gives me one twenty, one ten, and two fives.)
At this point, I should mention that this entire time, I'm carrying an oboe inside my coat. I'm carrying it inside my coat because it is wooden, and a rental, and because twice two years prior, I had cracked rental oboes from the same company for unknown reasons, but presumed to be exposure to cold temperatures. When you crack two oboes in the space of a few months, you make sure you don't crack a third. So I'm carrying this thing inside my coat anytime I go outside, and it's rather awkward, because it makes me look like a pregnant woman--if I shift it up, emphasis on woman; shift it down, emphasis on pregnant--and in order to keep it there, I'm clutching at my supposed abdomen. I get many, many, many looks.
Made it back to the bus stop. Bus pulled up five or ten minutes later. Rode a few minutes, got off at the transfer point, and waited for another bus, waiting another ten minutes. This bus carried me into downtown Vancouver. Once there, I ran across the street to the SkyWay station, and while taking an escalator underground, walking down the escalator, my paper bag ripped open. My fries magically stayed in the bag, the veggieburger stayed wrapped... but the poutine fell out, the top popped off, and all that glorious gravy and cheesiness landed face down on the escalator. After staring at it in shock for ten seconds, I became grateful that it was a rather long escalator, giving me time to clean up before reaching the bottom. Not that this prevented me from cursing life, over and over again for the next few minutes.
Finally made it to the combined bus/train station at 11:25. I went up to the ticket counter and asked if the bus to Seattle had left yet. He said yes while giving me a look that said "why would that bus ever be late?" Evidently, he hasn't seen what I've seen. He then told me that CanTrail, a rival bus line, had a bus to Seattle leaving in three minutes--11:30--and that if I ran out and caught the driver, I might be able to see if there was still space on board the bus.
It took me three minutes just to find the bus--it was a rather large terminal. Once there, the bus door was already closed, but the driver opened it for me, and I asked if there was room. There was. I asked the price. The fare was $38. He only accepted cash. I quickly pulled out all the Canadian bills I had carefully saved up and handed them over. (Oh, the irony.) He quizzically asked how I didn't have a reservation. I answered that some plans got cancelled. (Quite true, in fact--my plan was to buy Greyhound tickets at the terminal, and those plans got cancelled when the stupid baggage carosel took nearly an hour to get me my luggage. It wasn't the first time in Vancouver my Greyhound plans had been messed up because of slow baggage workers.)
So I make the bus. I was grateful when over the next three minutes, the scene I had just created forcing the busload of passengers to wait was recreated twice, by a couple and then by another guy. The lady behind me started grumbling loudly about the wait. I was to hear her grumble about anything and everything for much of the rest of that bus ride. It was actually entertaining to listen to her grumble. (At this point in the story, I finally have a chance to eat my veggieburger and fries.)
After crossing the American border, an hour and a half into the bus ride, I pull out Anna Karenina, which I had bought earlier in the Christmas break when I found it for only $10, and start reading.
I get to Seattle at 3pm, getting dropped off in the Amtrak station. Never been there before--it's by Qwest Field--but a helpful information sign was nearby to provide direction. The Greyhound station appeared to be a mile away, but as the bus to Walla Walla wasn't leaving until 5pm, I thought I had plenty of time. There was a light mist of a rain.
I get to the Greyhound station about 4pm. I get to the ticket counter, and ask for tickets to Walla Walla. The ticket guy points out a sign saying all buses eastbound have been cancelled because Snoqualmie Pass is closed. I ask if the pass will be open tomorrow. He says 50-50.
So at this point, I start thinking. I had originally planned to work Friday and get a head start on practice hours on Sunday. If I couldn't get back tonight, I might not get the opportunity to get that work done; and even if I did, I'd lose some practice hours.
I start looking at alternatives. I call up Alaska Airlines. They say they have a flight leaving at 7pm. Cheapest fare is $178. I say thanks but no thanks. I go back to the ticket counter and ask if I could get a ticket through Portland, then Hermiston, then Pasco, then Walla Walla. He says that buses going east from Portland have been cancelled as well, as that road was also closed.
I formulate an idea. I call some rental car companies; bset price for a day is $130, if I'm willing to return the car to Pasco airport the next day. I figure I could borrow my roommate's bicycle and bike back from Pasco. I then call a friend who lives nearby, and ask her to look some things up on the internet for me--specifically, if any parts of British Columbia highway #3 go over passes, and therefore could be closed due to weather. She says no. I thus plan to drive back up to Vancouver (irony strikes again), across to Cranbrook, south to Spokane, and into Walla Walla.
I figure staying in Seattle costs $40 a night at the hostel I frequent; the Greyhound ticket is $60. If the pass is closed tomorrow (Friday), renting a car is cheapest.
I call the rental car company again. I reserve the car. As the only agency open is at the airport, I must try to get to Sea-Tac airport myself, most likely by bus. It turns out the car is actually $160. But as I've already made the decision in my head, and I have a tendency to stick to decisions I've made, I accept the increased price. It's now 5:30. I agree to pick up the car by 7.
At this point, I decide I'm tired of looking like a pregnant woman, so I rearrange the oboe. I put it on my back, between my backpack and my back. This sets the stage for the next two hours of utter agony, as the oboe case constantly shifts position between my shoulderblades, and up and down my spine, resulting in what I think is a bone bruise on my lower back. Further, the addition of something between myself and my backpack resulted in the straps tightening, bruising my collarbones.
Why was I walking about for two hours? I couldn't find the bus to the airport. I stop by a coffeeshop, order a marshmallow brownie thing, then ask what bus route goes to the airport. I get told 174/194. I follow his directions to the bus stop, and when I get there, I don't see 174 or 194 as a bus that stops there. This begins the process for the next two hours of walking, through the rain, visiting what feels like every bus stop in downtown Seattle looking for the magic numbers, while stopping countless numbers of people to ask if they knew where I could find a bus to the airport. I didn't get a good answer until the last guy I asked--"you have to go to 2nd street"--which was odd, because all the major bus lines ran down 3rd and 4th streets, which I had been walking up and down, even asking several passing bus drivers who were also clueless.
So I finally find a bus stop with both 174 and 194 on it, and set down under the shelter and wait 15 minutes for the bus to show up. Since the phone call, I had plenty of opportunity to reconsider my plan. My regrets were two-fold--$160 wasn't much better than a plane fare, especially given the price of gas I had failed to consider in my initial calculations; and a journey by car, back to Vancouver, across to Cranbrook, down to Spokane, Pasco, and finally Walla Walla could easily take upwards of ten hours. It was now 7pm. Ten hours away would be 5AM, which would be 8AM in Eastern Standard Time, which I had begun the day with; and on top of that, I was operating on two hours of sleep. Further, the roads conditions would likely be terrible. So to attempt this journey would be a significant risk to my life.
After waiting at the bus stop for 15 minutes, I walk away, go to the hostel and get a bed for the night.
At the hostel, I go online, and try to cancel the reservation; but, according to my best guess, they got my name wrong, and so I was unable to figure out what name they had me down as (I tried Party, Hardy and Pardee) and gave up, grateful that I hadn't given them my credit card number over the phone. (When I had booked the car, I gave them my name, and the guy on the other end goes "your name is Party, huh?" with disbelief in his voice. Serves him right for thinking I was a prank caller.)
The hostel served free dinner that evening (and every evening, which is why I love them so much), consisting of burritos. Quite good. After that experience, I think I can make myself a burrito now. (Took me long enough to learn :-)
The next morning I woke up, too late for the free breakfast they served, but with plenty of time to get to the Greyhound station. First thing I hear when I get to the front desk is "Five O'Clock World" playing loudly. It made me smile. Snoqualmie had opened up, and so I managed to get passage onto a quite full bus going east.
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. I switched back to carrying the oboe on my front, deciding that personal comfort trumped looks. The bus was delayed for 30 minutes as the driver first put on chains before Snoqualmie, then took off chains after the pass; the bus was delayed another 15 minutes when the wheelchair ramp broke, so the driver had to operate it by hand-pump in order to get the guy out of the bus. This turned a one-hour layover in Pasco into a 15 minute one. I managed to get to page 348 of Anna Karenina, which was quite an accomplishment for me, reading speed-wise. So far I'm quite enjoying it. (The book being Anna Karenina, I only have 615 pages to go!)
Somewhere around Wallula, I was inspired to come up with this quote: All words are lies, because they conform reality. While thinking of this, I reached down, and drank half the remaining water in my water bottle, saving the rest for when I might need another drink, and that drink inspired this poem.
Dying of thirst, I drink
a draught of water which
tumbles down, leaving
my mouth and throat
parched, no memory of
its existence, except
a quake in my belly.
And I thought that my original quote was so correct--this poem was so much better before I had to destroy its beauty by turning it into words. Words only approximated the thought.
I got to College Place to discover snow, everywhere. Well, slush, anyways. I noted with disgust that, besides the University and Davis Elementary, there were only two sidewalks shovelled in the entire town. I wanted to get a bullhorn and excoriate the people by telling them about how in my hometown, a law was passed requiring all sidewalks to be shovelled within 24 hours of a snowfall, in order to protect the senior citizens who might otherwise slip and fall trying to walk on the ice/snow; and that the general response to that law was not that it was communist, but rather "finally the 10% of the population that's too lazy to shovel their own sidewalks is being forced to do their part." (My roommate later informed me the snowfall was fresh, so my strong feelings were rather undeserved, even if College Place is still the laziest town for snow-shovelling that I have ever seen.)
And so I returned home to the view of the setting sun on the horizon.
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