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The story of my Harrowing
Where to begin? OK, on December 29th 2003, it snowed. Big time. Like blizzard-variety snow. It snowed so hard the plows couldn’t keep up with it, and tried to just clear the road in sections. If that doesn’t scare you a little, keep in mind that most of the tourists driving said road have no idea how to handle said conditions. So there was the inevitable pile-up. No one was hurt, thank goodness. It was quite a trick getting the tow trucks through the snow and dragging the cars out of the way, though. Then, when they thought they were going to get everything handled, a tour bus came around a turn to find the line of cars stopped behind the pile-up. The bus did everything it could to stop, including turning itself sideways and aiming for the snowbank. The bus then got stuck, blocking both lanes of traffic, hanging a few inches over the cliff.
Meanwhile...
I get off work a bit early. I still have to wait until five for the bus. Alright. No big deal. Except the road’s closed. Oh. I guess I’ll wait until six. Six o’ clock. Mad rush for the busses. Every bus is full. Hopefully, everyone is on. We drive about fifteen minutes, down to the base of the hill, then pull over. We wait for a long time before anyone tells us why. Apparently, the road is still blocked. The tow truck can’t move the bus, so they’ll need to call in one from outside the park. The road is closed in both directions. We can’t go anywhere, and we can’t figure how the tow truck is supposed to get in. We’re informed that we’re likely to spend the night here. In the bus. There is no way to lie down. Every seat is taken by employees, tourists, screaming children. People start stripping down to their wife-beaters and stocking feet. There are no windows on this bus. The batteries on my CD player run out. They couldn’t have let us spend the night up at the day lodge, with all that space and satellite tv. Oh no.
This is gonna be a hell of a night.
After a few hours, we move. We’re moving! The screaming, swearing, bitching dies down. My seat-neighbor and I team up to keep the huge windshield defrosted. With all of us steaming it up all this time, it’s quite a chore. [We’re moving!] We reach the long line of cars stopped behind the skewed bus. It seems we are on a rescue mission. There was supposed to be another bus coming up to take all the passengers from the stuck-bus. I suppose we’ll have to do. These poor people have been standing out in the driving snow for hours, because it wasn’t safe for them to be on the bus with one wheel off the road. I give up my seat. Heaven knows I’ve been sitting long enough. Standing will be a nice change of pace. We hang out for another hour or so, exchanging horror stories with the newcomers, then we’re moving again! I am told I may not stand. Only the people on the bus in front of us may stand. This bus has no handholds. Luckily, there's one seat open. Sandwiched between a couple of the more fragrant passengers. Nice guys, though. Nice enough to put their shoes back on. The rest of the trip is painfully slow, but uneventful. I arrive back at my room only five hours behind schedule. I still have to take a shower and make the bed. I don’t get paid for the commute. How odd, that I choose to spend seven hours of my free time this way.
Where to begin? OK, on December 29th 2003, it snowed. Big time. Like blizzard-variety snow. It snowed so hard the plows couldn’t keep up with it, and tried to just clear the road in sections. If that doesn’t scare you a little, keep in mind that most of the tourists driving said road have no idea how to handle said conditions. So there was the inevitable pile-up. No one was hurt, thank goodness. It was quite a trick getting the tow trucks through the snow and dragging the cars out of the way, though. Then, when they thought they were going to get everything handled, a tour bus came around a turn to find the line of cars stopped behind the pile-up. The bus did everything it could to stop, including turning itself sideways and aiming for the snowbank. The bus then got stuck, blocking both lanes of traffic, hanging a few inches over the cliff.
Meanwhile...
I get off work a bit early. I still have to wait until five for the bus. Alright. No big deal. Except the road’s closed. Oh. I guess I’ll wait until six. Six o’ clock. Mad rush for the busses. Every bus is full. Hopefully, everyone is on. We drive about fifteen minutes, down to the base of the hill, then pull over. We wait for a long time before anyone tells us why. Apparently, the road is still blocked. The tow truck can’t move the bus, so they’ll need to call in one from outside the park. The road is closed in both directions. We can’t go anywhere, and we can’t figure how the tow truck is supposed to get in. We’re informed that we’re likely to spend the night here. In the bus. There is no way to lie down. Every seat is taken by employees, tourists, screaming children. People start stripping down to their wife-beaters and stocking feet. There are no windows on this bus. The batteries on my CD player run out. They couldn’t have let us spend the night up at the day lodge, with all that space and satellite tv. Oh no.
This is gonna be a hell of a night.
After a few hours, we move. We’re moving! The screaming, swearing, bitching dies down. My seat-neighbor and I team up to keep the huge windshield defrosted. With all of us steaming it up all this time, it’s quite a chore. [We’re moving!] We reach the long line of cars stopped behind the skewed bus. It seems we are on a rescue mission. There was supposed to be another bus coming up to take all the passengers from the stuck-bus. I suppose we’ll have to do. These poor people have been standing out in the driving snow for hours, because it wasn’t safe for them to be on the bus with one wheel off the road. I give up my seat. Heaven knows I’ve been sitting long enough. Standing will be a nice change of pace. We hang out for another hour or so, exchanging horror stories with the newcomers, then we’re moving again! I am told I may not stand. Only the people on the bus in front of us may stand. This bus has no handholds. Luckily, there's one seat open. Sandwiched between a couple of the more fragrant passengers. Nice guys, though. Nice enough to put their shoes back on. The rest of the trip is painfully slow, but uneventful. I arrive back at my room only five hours behind schedule. I still have to take a shower and make the bed. I don’t get paid for the commute. How odd, that I choose to spend seven hours of my free time this way.
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Silly job...They should pay you. Darn it. :)
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g
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Your welcome. You're nice to chat with.