The Daily OrangeTraveling home on the bus can help with getting to know neighbors
By Danny Fersh
Posted: 4/15/09, 2:17 AM EST Section: Feature
Somewhere between New York City and Syracuse University, Sunday night:
8:06 - I am writing to you right now as I attempt to sleep on a Greyhound bus back to school after spending the long weekend with friends in the Big Apple.
In front of me, my buddy Neph is sitting next to his girlfriend, who is coming back with us to SU. They hardly see each other, so they're making the most of their time together with PDA that would make Paris Hilton squirm. On the bright side, they're being very quiet, so if I close my eyes I can ignore them.
To my left, my roommate Abram is sleeping so heavily in a position so unorthodox that the people around me honestly think I dragged his dead body onto the bus and stuffed him head-first into a seat. Don't worry - he's snoring, so we know he's alive. Though it definitely still smells like something died in here. I'm afraid to go into the bathroom.
To my right, my friends Josh and Shelly are watching a movie on Josh's laptop. It looks like it might be pretty good - wait, no. It has Patrick Dempsey. Oh well. At least they have headphones on.
Actually, the bus is pretty much silent. It's also dark out, the lights are off and I was up all last night. There are only two passengers talking, and most of the bus can't even hear them.
Perfect time for a little shut-eye, right?
Wrong. Directly behind me, the two aforementioned passengers are having an impassioned conversation on all-things-overly-personal-that-shouldn't-be-discussed-in-public. Unbeknownst to them, they have an audience of one. And he has his unconscious roommate's laptop.
8:15 - From what I can gather, the talkers are both SU students on their way back to school after visiting family. One of them has a boyfriend, and apparently the other one has a rash.
8:27 - After spending 10 minutes listing her entire sexual history, the one with a boyfriend asks her single friend for relationship advice that would stump Dear Abbey. The single friend responds with instructions straight out of the Karma Sutra.
8:06 - I am writing to you right now as I attempt to sleep on a Greyhound bus back to school after spending the long weekend with friends in the Big Apple.
In front of me, my buddy Neph is sitting next to his girlfriend, who is coming back with us to SU. They hardly see each other, so they're making the most of their time together with PDA that would make Paris Hilton squirm. On the bright side, they're being very quiet, so if I close my eyes I can ignore them.
To my left, my roommate Abram is sleeping so heavily in a position so unorthodox that the people around me honestly think I dragged his dead body onto the bus and stuffed him head-first into a seat. Don't worry - he's snoring, so we know he's alive. Though it definitely still smells like something died in here. I'm afraid to go into the bathroom.
To my right, my friends Josh and Shelly are watching a movie on Josh's laptop. It looks like it might be pretty good - wait, no. It has Patrick Dempsey. Oh well. At least they have headphones on.
Actually, the bus is pretty much silent. It's also dark out, the lights are off and I was up all last night. There are only two passengers talking, and most of the bus can't even hear them.
Perfect time for a little shut-eye, right?
Wrong. Directly behind me, the two aforementioned passengers are having an impassioned conversation on all-things-overly-personal-that-shouldn't-be-discussed-in-public. Unbeknownst to them, they have an audience of one. And he has his unconscious roommate's laptop.
8:15 - From what I can gather, the talkers are both SU students on their way back to school after visiting family. One of them has a boyfriend, and apparently the other one has a rash.
8:27 - After spending 10 minutes listing her entire sexual history, the one with a boyfriend asks her single friend for relationship advice that would stump Dear Abbey. The single friend responds with instructions straight out of the Karma Sutra.
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