Once again, I'll momentarily break character to say that this ticket lady was the first of several Greyhound employees to give us an attitude for no reason. The second person that spoke to us here was a police officer who screamed at us for sitting on the floor, despite the fact that the station was not remotely busy; he also yelled at a mother when her young child kicked an inflatable ball around. I would have chalked it up to "having a bad day," except that some friends of his showed up and they were all having a grand time. Power tripping cops are the worst. Anyway, at least the bus station there was attractive; I expect that the city is doing its best to put on a pretty face for travelers. We hung around and got some reading in; I began a simply incredible book called Desert Solitaire, which Alanna lent to me. It's a series of reflections by Edward Abbey on his experience as a park ranger in Arches National Monument, Utah, modern life, and the desert itself. Meanwhile, Brian was reading A Game of Thrones and found a small bit of weed between two of the pages. Oh, summer.
After a time, we grew hungry and restless. Unfortunately, we had a large amount of luggage -- a backpack, a large duffel, and a sleeping bag for each of us, plus the tent and the sleeping mats -- and were somewhat fettered to the station. So Brian went out on a walk while I enjoyed the book, and when he returned, I struck out to pick up a couple of sandwiches at a place called Primanti Brothers, highly recommended by a friend of Brian's. Pittsburgh is an interesting place. It's decaying and irrelevant, the typification of a Rust Belt city, but somehow these things lend it a little bit of vintage charm, and a kind of sadness as well. And the smells! In the course of a mile-and-a-half walk, I encountered many different food aromas, the ocean smell from a fish market, the sickly sweet of rot, the fresh scent of a farmer's market, smoky and chemical odors intermingling, and other, still more inexpressible things. I saw trash everywhere, though some young trees were a clear sign of attempted beautification. I stopped to admire a church-turned-venue called the Altar, and noted a forlorn "Go Pens!" sign in a shop window.
When I reached Primanti Brothers, I was expecting some kind of super-deli, like Wollaston's plus authenticity and fame. Alas, my dreams of a Huskie (hold the pickle) were dashed. This place is into hot sandwiches, and their menu is basically any meat you can think of plus cheese, coleslaw, and french fries all stuffed into a sandwich. Neither of us were too impressed with our meal, though the sandwiches were considerably improved after scraping out some of the slaw. I guess the original Primanti Brothers went pretty huge when it came to coleslaw. Before too long, six hours had passed, and we prepared to board a bus to Columbus, Ohio, and then on to Indianapolis. Of course, it wouldn't be a true Greyhound boarding unless we took flak from at least one employee. Brian asked the driver, "Is this the bus to Indianapolis?" The driver shot back, "What about it?" The baggage loader also took an attitude, blaring, "Down. Down. Down," and pointing vehemently at the ground when we attempted to hand him our duffels.
I managed to get in a restful nap on the way to Columbus. Brian was not so lucky; he ended up next to some guy from Texas with the worst teeth ever who's going to propose to his girlfriend, and had to listen to his ramblings for some time. After a brief layover in that city, which looked about as boring as they come, we took off for Indianapolis. Once again, Brian was stuck with Tex, and I myself ended up next to an enormous guy who informed me that Dayton is the worst city in Ohio. He had just been turned away quite rudely from an empty seat by a woman who said, "I need to stretch out." He then spent a few minutes loudly talking about how bags aren't supposed to be kept in seats and thanking me for offering him a place to sit. We made a few minor stops on the way, and after that man disembarked, I was first joined by a younger and mercifully smaller guy, and later by an apparent hillbilly who asked me "how much those little video games cost". Brian and I were playing a match in Advance Wars 2 on his Game Boy at the time, and neither of us had any idea what it cost, awkwardly enough. In other news, Ohio is flat. And I mean flat. I don't think I could stand living there any longer than a few months. My mind is clouded with stress over the deposit, but I'm beginning to detect a new sensation as well: a hunger to travel, to see the rest of the United States. It's not as if Columbus was too encouraging, but just being someplace I've never been is a good feeling. During this trip, I'll have seen four states I've never visited (Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee). TO conclude: We reached Indianapolis, where the Greyhound station is built under some kind of rail overpass, around eleven at night. Brian and I obtained White Castle across the street, I called home, and when I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, the filling in my front tooth fell out again. It seems that Murphy's Law is in effect for the duration of our traveling.
Quotes of the day:
"You know how to carry, I know how to talk." - Brian
"Everywhere is heaven compared to this fuckin' place." - Biggie Smalls, on Columbus
"We are literally not fucking meant to be on this trip." - Brian, after my filling fell out
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