"All Is Well, That Ends Well"
Posted by Ercille Christmas at 7/10/2009 9:01 AM 
Categories: Social
Tags: Travel;William Shakespeare;the Paris hotel;
Categories: Social
Tags: Travel;William Shakespeare;the Paris hotel;
I borrowed the title of this tale from the great Mr. William Shakespeare, and I debated whether to use another offering from the bard. I thought about calling this "A Midsummer Night's Dream," only I would have substituted the word "dream" with nightmare. That would certainly have been a more upbeat title than "Highway to Hell!"
So, "once upon a time," the heroine of this tale, yours truly, set out on an adventure to Las Vegas, to go to the Paris Hotel, for dinner at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant. Luminaries from the worlds of finance and politics were going to be featured, at an event organized by NewsMax. Even if I had to walk, I was determined to be there! I almost ended up walking. A former boss, was scheduled to accompany me. At the last minute, he was busy wheeling and dealing and had to cancel. So the heroine was left scrambling to arrange transportation to get there. My "pampered" Ford Mustang Convertible will never be subjected to "trekking" cross country! After looking at the airline fees being offered, with rates higher than fares to Iceland, the decision was made to go with Greyhound. After all, about $60 round trip will always trump almost $300. Let the adventure begin!
The plan was to drive to the Greyhound station, leave Mr. Mustang overnight, and then hop on the bus. Not so fast. The lot is available for parking for 10 hours. There is street parking. The signs prominently proclaim that the parking allowed is for 1 hour, 2 hours or 4 hours. I did not want to have my Mustang "booted." Yes, I know that there is a first time for everything!
I decided to pull a "Norma." Don't try this at home. Leave this to the professionals. Following Norma's modas operandi when faced with a lack of street parking, including a nearby paid parking garage, throw yourself on the mercy of a nearby business, and offer to pay for parking for a certain length of time. I approached the manager of a nearby business with my proposition. He turned down my terms. I could park but he would not accept payment. I promptly agreed to his terms!
The idea at the Greyhound station was that I would pay for the ticket and the bus would get to Las Vegas half an hour before the event. Deal! Just as the time for the arrival of the bus was approaching, the station manager announced that the bus would be about 40 minutes late. No problem.....I could miss the salad. 40 minutes turned into 70. The bus came. We are on our way. I am going to miss the meal, but at least I can be there for desert and could at least tell Steve Moore that I began to take his financial advice seriously, after he bared his legs on "On the Record with Greta Van Susteren!" Just kidding! I always look forward to his segments because I know that I am going to get "cut to the chase" advice.
We set off on our journey. About 50 miles into the journey, on Hwy 14, close to Soledad Canyon Road, the driver made a sudden maneuver and stopped the bus. I thought that he had done a half swerve to avoid something or someone. The bus had an "ailment." I immediately thought that all the driver had to do was to call The White House, because the president did guarantee warranties for Government Motors cars! It was not that simple. The driver had to call a Greyhound mechanic. The chances of my getting to Vegas, even for dessert, are beginning to look slim to none. Should I disembark from the bus and do a Claudette Colbert routine, to attract a Clarke Gable type, something like in the movie "It Happened One Night?"
The driver, between following his training and listening to well-meaning suggestions from the passengers, gets the bus moving to try to coast to the next scheduled stop at a Greyhound station. We made it! Just then the song "Highway to Hell" began belting out on my radio! So now even the disk jockeys are mocking me? Well, we were not on a highway.....any longer. The forty minute wait for a replacement bus creeps up to about two and a half hours. At 5:01 p.m. the bus got there. The mechanic had gotten lost. Is he impersonating me, the person who has perfected the art of getting lost?
My fellow passengers are throwing out new expected arrival times, the earliest being 10:30 p.m. Heck, at that rate, I would not arrive to help the waiters and housekeepers clean up! It turns out that they were not too far off. We motored into Las Vegas at 10:58 p.m. I entered the terminal and got into the line for the return trip on the midnight bus to Los Angeles, not midnight train to Georgia! My trip was a real roundabout way to go sightseeing between California and Nevada! One passenger mentioned about the proposed fast rail train between the City of Angels and "Sin City." I may have to jump onboard that fast rail train bandwagon! Ironically, right on cue, as we were approaching Sin City, a religious song, by the News Boys, entitled "Amazing Love," began playing on the radio, apparently part of the changing of the radio frequencies, that occurred as we traveled along.
The cynical view of this could be to look at it as a "wasted" trip. It was not wasted. I interacted with fellow ordinary Americans and truly enjoyed the time. With all of the drama over the bus breaking down and the extended wait, there was not one person who behaved in a churlish manner. Folks tried to help one another, including lending cell phones, even to the driver. One gentleman invited me to stay over in Las Vegas, where he would be celebrating his 77th birthday this coming Sunday. He wanted me to remain to watch him dance, and celebrate with his family, including his wife, children and grandchildren. It appeared to be a genuine invitation, made in the spur of the moment as he was bonding with his fellow passengers, as we were united in our misery. I declined. Understandably, his wife might have had a small problem with a strange woman showing up on her doorsteps! On the return trip, a young man sat next to me and offered me the choice of a banana or an orange. He was not even part of our original group, that had bonded. He was a stranger offering a courtesy to another stranger. May God bless all of these kind folks. Maybe getting a chance for this interaction was the main purpose of the trip.
It was good to get away from the intrusive headlines about the latest peccadilloes of corrupt politicians and the whodunnit stories about celebrities of song and sports. For a twelve hour period, I could not care less about whose doctors and assistants "assisted" in helping a celebrity on his journey to the hereafter, by the use of a myriad of "pharmaceuticals," or another celebrity whose mistress gunned him down in his "home away from home," while his wife occupied the "home that is the primary residence." I cared even less about stories of politicians with mistresses where it would take a longer trip than a midnight train to Georgia, to visit the mistresses, or mistresses who were given "charitable donations" from the parents of the disgraced politicians. Enough already!
In addition to the wonderful interaction with my fellow passengers, I got a solid block of time as the bus sped on the highway, to do some serious thinking about my life, its predestined brevity and consequently the need to really use the given time, wisely. I once again got to see the geographic beauty of the land. It was a pleasure to see an American Flag proudly flying atop an Office Depot, the only business in about a quarter mile stretch of the highway. This United States of America may be down but it is not out.
I did say that "all is well that ends well?" This tale has a gracious ending, on the part of Greyhound. When I returned to the Greyhound station from where I began my journey, I told the manager about our adventures, and having to miss the scheduled dinner. He completed a voucher for some kind of reimbursement. I told him that I would settle for a voucher for a trip, not necessarily return of the fare. I intend to return to Las Vegas, to visit the Paris Hotel, and eat at the Eiffle Tower Restaurant. "If at first you don't succeed, try again." Maybe I can convince those luminaries to meet me in Paris, the hotel in Las Vegas. I will just have their people call my "people," as soon as I find my "people!" The line to the right is for volunteers to become part of Ercille's posse!
So, "once upon a time," the heroine of this tale, yours truly, set out on an adventure to Las Vegas, to go to the Paris Hotel, for dinner at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant. Luminaries from the worlds of finance and politics were going to be featured, at an event organized by NewsMax. Even if I had to walk, I was determined to be there! I almost ended up walking. A former boss, was scheduled to accompany me. At the last minute, he was busy wheeling and dealing and had to cancel. So the heroine was left scrambling to arrange transportation to get there. My "pampered" Ford Mustang Convertible will never be subjected to "trekking" cross country! After looking at the airline fees being offered, with rates higher than fares to Iceland, the decision was made to go with Greyhound. After all, about $60 round trip will always trump almost $300. Let the adventure begin!
The plan was to drive to the Greyhound station, leave Mr. Mustang overnight, and then hop on the bus. Not so fast. The lot is available for parking for 10 hours. There is street parking. The signs prominently proclaim that the parking allowed is for 1 hour, 2 hours or 4 hours. I did not want to have my Mustang "booted." Yes, I know that there is a first time for everything!
I decided to pull a "Norma." Don't try this at home. Leave this to the professionals. Following Norma's modas operandi when faced with a lack of street parking, including a nearby paid parking garage, throw yourself on the mercy of a nearby business, and offer to pay for parking for a certain length of time. I approached the manager of a nearby business with my proposition. He turned down my terms. I could park but he would not accept payment. I promptly agreed to his terms!
The idea at the Greyhound station was that I would pay for the ticket and the bus would get to Las Vegas half an hour before the event. Deal! Just as the time for the arrival of the bus was approaching, the station manager announced that the bus would be about 40 minutes late. No problem.....I could miss the salad. 40 minutes turned into 70. The bus came. We are on our way. I am going to miss the meal, but at least I can be there for desert and could at least tell Steve Moore that I began to take his financial advice seriously, after he bared his legs on "On the Record with Greta Van Susteren!" Just kidding! I always look forward to his segments because I know that I am going to get "cut to the chase" advice.
We set off on our journey. About 50 miles into the journey, on Hwy 14, close to Soledad Canyon Road, the driver made a sudden maneuver and stopped the bus. I thought that he had done a half swerve to avoid something or someone. The bus had an "ailment." I immediately thought that all the driver had to do was to call The White House, because the president did guarantee warranties for Government Motors cars! It was not that simple. The driver had to call a Greyhound mechanic. The chances of my getting to Vegas, even for dessert, are beginning to look slim to none. Should I disembark from the bus and do a Claudette Colbert routine, to attract a Clarke Gable type, something like in the movie "It Happened One Night?"
The driver, between following his training and listening to well-meaning suggestions from the passengers, gets the bus moving to try to coast to the next scheduled stop at a Greyhound station. We made it! Just then the song "Highway to Hell" began belting out on my radio! So now even the disk jockeys are mocking me? Well, we were not on a highway.....any longer. The forty minute wait for a replacement bus creeps up to about two and a half hours. At 5:01 p.m. the bus got there. The mechanic had gotten lost. Is he impersonating me, the person who has perfected the art of getting lost?
My fellow passengers are throwing out new expected arrival times, the earliest being 10:30 p.m. Heck, at that rate, I would not arrive to help the waiters and housekeepers clean up! It turns out that they were not too far off. We motored into Las Vegas at 10:58 p.m. I entered the terminal and got into the line for the return trip on the midnight bus to Los Angeles, not midnight train to Georgia! My trip was a real roundabout way to go sightseeing between California and Nevada! One passenger mentioned about the proposed fast rail train between the City of Angels and "Sin City." I may have to jump onboard that fast rail train bandwagon! Ironically, right on cue, as we were approaching Sin City, a religious song, by the News Boys, entitled "Amazing Love," began playing on the radio, apparently part of the changing of the radio frequencies, that occurred as we traveled along.
The cynical view of this could be to look at it as a "wasted" trip. It was not wasted. I interacted with fellow ordinary Americans and truly enjoyed the time. With all of the drama over the bus breaking down and the extended wait, there was not one person who behaved in a churlish manner. Folks tried to help one another, including lending cell phones, even to the driver. One gentleman invited me to stay over in Las Vegas, where he would be celebrating his 77th birthday this coming Sunday. He wanted me to remain to watch him dance, and celebrate with his family, including his wife, children and grandchildren. It appeared to be a genuine invitation, made in the spur of the moment as he was bonding with his fellow passengers, as we were united in our misery. I declined. Understandably, his wife might have had a small problem with a strange woman showing up on her doorsteps! On the return trip, a young man sat next to me and offered me the choice of a banana or an orange. He was not even part of our original group, that had bonded. He was a stranger offering a courtesy to another stranger. May God bless all of these kind folks. Maybe getting a chance for this interaction was the main purpose of the trip.
It was good to get away from the intrusive headlines about the latest peccadilloes of corrupt politicians and the whodunnit stories about celebrities of song and sports. For a twelve hour period, I could not care less about whose doctors and assistants "assisted" in helping a celebrity on his journey to the hereafter, by the use of a myriad of "pharmaceuticals," or another celebrity whose mistress gunned him down in his "home away from home," while his wife occupied the "home that is the primary residence." I cared even less about stories of politicians with mistresses where it would take a longer trip than a midnight train to Georgia, to visit the mistresses, or mistresses who were given "charitable donations" from the parents of the disgraced politicians. Enough already!
In addition to the wonderful interaction with my fellow passengers, I got a solid block of time as the bus sped on the highway, to do some serious thinking about my life, its predestined brevity and consequently the need to really use the given time, wisely. I once again got to see the geographic beauty of the land. It was a pleasure to see an American Flag proudly flying atop an Office Depot, the only business in about a quarter mile stretch of the highway. This United States of America may be down but it is not out.
I did say that "all is well that ends well?" This tale has a gracious ending, on the part of Greyhound. When I returned to the Greyhound station from where I began my journey, I told the manager about our adventures, and having to miss the scheduled dinner. He completed a voucher for some kind of reimbursement. I told him that I would settle for a voucher for a trip, not necessarily return of the fare. I intend to return to Las Vegas, to visit the Paris Hotel, and eat at the Eiffle Tower Restaurant. "If at first you don't succeed, try again." Maybe I can convince those luminaries to meet me in Paris, the hotel in Las Vegas. I will just have their people call my "people," as soon as I find my "people!" The line to the right is for volunteers to become part of Ercille's posse!
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