on the road

In the movie version of my bus ride home from New York City last night, Bill Murray would play the part of driver. From where I sat, two rows back and across the aisle, he looked for all the world like Bill's less successful, hard-luck twin. He was sporting black bug-eye sunglasses, a middle-age mullet (thin on top, party out back), and the kind of skin that suggests a decades-long cigarette habit and/or time in the clink.

Beyond the physical, Bill would be a natural at finessing the driver's character. For example: After frantically collecting tickets at the bus terminal ("This bus is go'in ta BOSTON. You hand me a ticket for FRAMINGHAM, and you're WALKIN," he shouted to the crowd at one point.), he got everyone on board the bus ("Whoah. I hope I dint overload this thing," he said, looking at the hoard of people trying to find seats inside.), and roared out of Port Authority. We were pinned to the backs of our seats as he accelerated, then forehead-to-tray-table with the two-footed braking that immediately followed. Tunnel traffic. Don't think he didn't have colorful things to say about tunnel traffic.

Four lanes divided into two, and everyone wanted to be in the left two. But Bill wanted to go right and set about crushing anyone who got in his way. "We're gettin through this light if we have to take METAL with us," he announced to those of us lucky enough to be within earshot. I glanced around me, and everyone's eyes were as big as saucers. In the two blocks of traffic outside Port Authority, he used his horn as often as he called someone an idiot--which wasn't as often as he muttered worse things to himself. At the height of the drama, he opened his window, put the good part of his torso outside, and yelled "DICKHEAD!" to someone blocking the way. Bill looked around to see if his captive audience was as amused as he was. I looked around for a seat belt.

For the first few hours, it was harrowing. Roads leading out of the city are narrow and curvy, and a Greyhound bus is neither nimble nor designed for racing. But he made incredible time. In fact, he dropped us in Boston a full half-hour ahead of schedule--a fact that did not go unmentioned. "Ladies and germs," he announced over the speaker, "I hope you've enjoyed the trip. But don't ever expect to be a half-hour early again, because I doubt you'll get me as a driver again."