Repost from elsewhere...
It is hard to leave New York. I was determined to get on the bus at 6pm. But spending the afternoon at MoMa with Michaela, I lingered. From 6 became 7, then we made dinner out of it, with more friends.
Finally I got to Port Authority at 10pm, joining the red, white, and blue snake of people baseball-hatted with Red Sox hats. Damn, nobody informed me that Red Sox played the Yankees today, which means half of Boston is trying to get back along with me. A little frog-eyed pug was prancing up and down, panting, looking up at everybody with his puggly eyes. We wait. And we wait. Apparently one bus has come and gone, we are the leftovers that have to wait for an extra bus to be sent.
After about an hour of waiting, it comes. We stuff ourselves on the bus like sardines, and resume waiting. We wait ten minutes, twenty, nothing happens. Suddenly the bus terminal security comes and inquires after a "dog in a plastic bag". Apparently someone complained about a dog on board. A young girl steps forth with the little pug, who is fortunately not at all in a plastic bag. They take her off the bus. Bus is murmuring with disapproval. My neighbor, a young slim woman but with a voice of a hurricane, stands up, pointing at a big grouchy man with thick glasses.
"It was him. He complained. The girl just spent her last money on the ticket and now she'll be stuck in New York because of the fat jerk. The dog couldn't have bothered him, he was at the back of a bus, in a bag!
A young man assumed a role of a negotiator. Any way we could accommodate both? If you sit in the front and the girl with the dog in the back? No. The fat man wouldn't have it. He's allergic, and we should all leave him alone. He won't have the dog on board. More people pitched in with persuading and commenting. The jerk proceeds to insult everyone. All my inclinations to reconcile the masses went down the drain when he referred to the Rutgers basketball team in connection with my neighbor. I was perfectly willing to let anyone shred him to pieces then.
"Wait what I'll do to you when we get off the bus in Boston!" said the fat jerk to the negotiator.
"Are you threatening me, sir? Did everyone hear that?"
"Yeah! We all heard him, get him off the bus!" bus roars.
Negotiator went to get the security. By now the bus is two hours late. Security comes back and asks the man to step off the bus. He won't. We are asked whether we want to proceed to Boston with him, since we're so late already, or call 911.
"Call 911! I don't feel safe with a racist on board!" someone exclaims.
I try to convince the jerk that it's not worth his or our time to be holding everyone up, but he won't budge. "It's a matter of principle!" he exclaims. I roll my eyes, and step outside for a smoke. Finally the police comes and they drag him out during wild cheering of the bus.
In the meantime, the girl with the pug was displaced. A group of volunteers sets off in search of her. When they emerge victoriously, holding the pug up above their heads, his feet sticking up in the air stiffly, another round of hollering ensues. Finally we start for Boston. We'll get there around 4am. Ack. As I drift to sleep, the negotiator is passing around his phone number. He's having a barbecue tomorrow, and wants the whole bus to be there. I have to do this Greyhound thing more often. There sure is more action than in the last James Bond movie.
