|What happened to the party?
||[May. 24th, 2005|11:38 am]
A little over 10 years ago I took the Greyhound bus from Eugene, Or. all the way to Dallas, Tx.|
The bus would stop at every city along the way and piddle around making the trip close to four days long.
Due to a fresh incision from an abdominal surgery I had less than two weeks before the trip was also exceptionally uncomfortable. Sitting the entire time and not being able to lay down didn't help.
Back in high school I learned that the more interesting people could often be found at the back of the bus. So that's where I stayed. And sure enough along the way the bus would stop and some type of freak or another would get on the bus and head straight for the back.
I found companionship from generous people from all over the country and all backgrounds with great stories (a topic for another entry perhaps). We shared sneaked-on tequila, wine, pot, and codeine pills from my surgery. It was actually 4 days of fun.
I never saw any of those people again, and I will never forget them.
Now on the other hand, over the past four years I have flown between Austin, Washington D.C., Dallas, and Los Angeles too many times to count, and never have I found a party on the airplane.
I sit there alone and sip my glass of airplane chardonnay and watch the landscape far below. No one wants to tell stories or philosophize. No one wants to bend the rules.
Is it a class thing? Are airplane people all just doing what's expected of them and keeping their noses in magazines or paperbacks? Maybe it has something to do with knowing that you are stuck with somebody for several days and sooner or later you are going to have to deal with them, unlike the airplane which will soon whisk you so far away that there will be no consequences for isolation or ignoring people.
Even in a car we might be riding the same stretch of highway for hundreds of miles but we are in our own isolated microcosm and we don't have to deal with the guy next to us (we think he doesn't even notice us picking our noses). We can drive rudely because we are along, therefore we own the road.
In the words of Ian Breeze "We are all alone, like a car".