Today began like any other: I awoke to the gradually louder and increasingly annoying beeps of my alarm clock, I turned the alarm off, and I went back to sleep. A few minutes later, when I determined that to stay in bed one more minute meant to miss the Loser Cruiser to work, I got out of bed, made my bed (because I’m anal), took a shower, dressed without much thought of the weather, ran out the door as Othello looked on with his puppy-dog-kitty eyes from his spot on the table near the window, and walked up Church Street to the bus station.
When I arrived at the Loser Cruiser hub, I was alarmed to find no Loser Cruiser waiting for me. In the winter, on those typical Vermont snow days, this was expected; but in the warmer months, the bus routine is as predictable as the menstrual cycles of college roommates. I sat down on one of the benches, took out my David Sedaris book, and waited for news of my morning commute’s fate. After another bus’s driver notified Make Out Woman that our bus was broken down and would be delayed at least 30 minutes, and as Make Out Woman and Biography Man walked away (to, I’m guessing, their respective vehicles), I sat next to Hunger Mountain Girl and considered my options. I called Mama Benchly who graciously let me borrow her car and I began walking in that direction, when I suddenly became overwhelmed with a feeling I can only describe as a distant cousin of survivor’s guilt. I turned around, approached Hunger Mountain Girl, and offered her a ride to work. When she accepted, we headed to Mama and Papa Benchly’s home to get the car.
(When we were met at the front door by Brother-in-Law #1, who had just dropped off Niece #2, I was treated to a stinging moment of awkwardness when it became clear to me that he had mistaken Hunger Mountain Girl for Hypothetical. That one’s going to leave a mark, especially for him when my sister finds out and punches him.)
Those who know me best, know that I don’t do well when dealing with strangers. And though Hunger Mountain Girl and I had ridden the bus together for almost a year, my invitation to her this morning were the first words I had ever spoken to her, and the thought of spending the next hour in a car together was an uneasy one. My fears were put to rest soon enough though as we settled into our car and a nice conversation about San Francisco and obnoxiously rich people. On our way out of town, we passed another one of the Loser Cruiser’s stops and when we noticed two fellow passengers waiting impatiently in the rain, we pulled over and offered them a ride. And so, the morning commute to work became the car-pool tale of Mr. Benchly, Hunger Mountain Girl, the Cruiser Snoozer, and Audi Girl.
Most of our conversations stayed far away from anything controversial with the exception of the uncomfortable silence that greeted Hunger Mountain Girl’s observation that most convenience store owners are “foreigners.” The Cruiser Snoozer talked about his children, Audi Girl talked about a town meeting she went to the night before, Hunger Mountain Girl talked about her upcoming two month trip to the West Coast, and I talked about my job and my need for a new one. Hunger Mountain Girl told me that Stonecutter Way Girl’s name was Claire and she was from France (do you hear that, Sarah? She’s FRENCH!!!!) and that while I was sitting in front of her one day, she drew a picture of me. The highlight of the trip, by far, was when we all came together in a union of nostalgia to swap stories about Al Bundy. Oh how we all miss Al Bundy!
As we exited the interstate at the Montpelier exit, Hunger Mountain Girl asked me where I was going to drop everyone off. I said, “might as well do the route.” I then shouted out in my best Deane voice, “anyone for National Life up on the hill?” When no one answered and while everyone silently thought of National Life Guy, I made my way to State Street. I pulled up to the Chittenden Bank and called out “David? David?,” thus mocking Deane’s daily attempt to wake up the Cruiser Snoozer. Finally, I drove down Stonecutter’s Way and pulled over to let out Audi Girl and Hunger Mountain Girl. As they left the car, giving wishes for a good day and gratitude for the ride, I responded the only way I know how: “I’ll see you on the bus.”
Benchly'sword 