The Desk Chair: The Bus Game

If you noticed my two day hiatus- awesome. I hope you've been waiting with bated breath for a new post. If, on the other hand, the last 48 hours were sheer torture for you, it's possible you're a little too into me. Or you don't recognize mediocre writing. Or both. 

Anyway, I was away from The Desk Chair because I was, literally, away from the desk chair, engaging in, you know, relevant real life activities. (Well, insofar as classical singing is "relevant." A debate for a different blog...) As is often the case, part of my most recent real life adventure involved riding a bus to New York. Arguably, the worst thing ever. 

Ok, not the worst thing. Especially now that I have it down to a science. If you've never had the pleasure, allow me to offer you some tips:

For a slightly better than horrible ride, you will need:

• Dramamine
• Ear plugs

For a tolerable ride:

• Dramamine
• Ear plugs
• Socks and Blanket
• Snacks 

For an almost pleasant ride:

• Dramamine
• Ear plugs
• Socks
• Snacks
• Fully charged electronic device and charger
• Reading material

For an actually, quite lovely ride:

• Dramamine
• Ear plugs
• Socks and Blanket
• Snacks
• Fully charged electronic device and charger
• Reading material
• Working electrical sockets
• A seat to yourself

Ah, the seat to oneself. Beautiful. Elusive. Worth fighting for. 

But how?

First of all, unless you're a real amateur, you're in line early and you're one of the first to board. Otherwise, I can't help you. No one can. Yours is a fight for mere survival. As the bus fills, anyone traveling alone will naturally fill any empty two seat unit. (With the exception of this one girl last night who asked to sit with someone even though there were still empty two-seaters... anarchy!) Once there's at least one person in each two-seat unit, you've reached the tricky part. If, like me, you've counted the number of people waiting for the bus and compared it to the bus capacity, you know your next move. If it's clear the bus will be completely filled, you give up. You organize your belongings in the best possible way and hope against hope that your seat partner isn't enormous and/or smelly (I suggest making eye contact with the first tolerable person that comes down the aisle to improve your odds). But, if it's clear that the number of remaining passengers means some singles will have seat partners and others won't, it's game time. 

Here's what usually works for me:

• Immediately upon taking your seat, spread out all of your belongings. 
• Find something that crinkles, like a wrapper or a piece of trash. Crinkle it with abandon.
• Unpack and repack at will as though you're desperately looking for something.
• Sigh loudly. (A step below muttering.)
• Look out the window as though you're waiting for someone.
• Furiously text.
• Don't commit to either seat. Straddle both and/or stand while you crinkle, unpack, and loudly sigh. 

Admittedly, the whole process would be a lot easier if I weren't resistant to looking actually crazy and not just frazzled and annoying... or if I didn't mind straight-up refusing to let anyone sit with me. As I mentioned in a recent facebook status, not being a sociopath is really inconvenient.

But last night, I think I finally found the golden ticket. 

Hummus. In a moment of inspiration, I opened it. Then I sort of held it out, almost in the aisle, while I did my normal rifling-through-stuff routine. Worked like a charm. Smelly and messy enough to discourage a potential seat partner, but not so smelly and messy that it elicited any kind of serious ire from nearby travel companions. I think I was one of two people without a seat partner by game's end. HUMMUS WINS AGAIN. (Incidentally, I really like those little Sabra hummus and pretzel combos, but the pretzel to hummus ratio is seriously off, amiright?)

Come back tomorrow. I think I'm going to take Molly up on her tea suggestion.