Six Hours & A Hundred Dollars

I woke up in New Jersey at 10 AM on a Wednesday morning. I got a decent night's sleep and I felt like sliding out of bed and making something of my first day off in 2 weeks. Getting stuck in the bus every single night with a 5 to 8 hour drive can make your bones crack. Like sleeping on top of a running bull. As if the back bending live show wasn't enough for the spine, the multi-hour drive while bouncing in the air over harsh terrain makes you nearly break. You slither out of your bunk and lift your head up and see someone else doing the same thing. Bent over with one hand on the lower back and just internally whispering… Ooooouuuuch. You look at each other and give a lifting of the chin "What Up!". My body was tired but my mind wasn't. I got myself together and walked down to breakfast with the other early risers. Me, Taime, Chad, MT, Bones & Tender decided to hit the Tick-Tock Diner. A bit of a local legend for great greasy food. I walked in last cause I was tired and my toes were bleeding from my Chuck Taylor All-Stars that fit a bit to tight. With all the jumpin' around on stage my feet start to look like a concubine. When I lazy walk thru the doors the hostess doesn't say "Welcome" or even a "Good morning". She simply lifts her hands like a matador holding a redflag and whisks me over to the table of black embalmed musicians. She knows I am with them, no questions asked. Taime is hidden behind gigantic black sunglasses with no hint of his eyes. His hair is dyed jet back and hangs to his 7th vertebrae. Chad is chill and open with his exposed face, messy head and a shirt that says "West Coast Killers". A fine statement to make at a quaint suburban diner. MT is always looking stage ready. His hair is slicked back under a hat and black bandanna and his bangs hang to the right. He has mad style and always looks perfectly imprecise. Bones has a loose t-shirt that hangs nearly to his knees and a pair of shorts. He is always chill, always laughing. He's seen more bands, more musicians and more insanity roll thru tour busses over the last 15 years than we could ever imagine. He keeps it ALL to himself but you can understand when you look in his eyes that "He Knows". But with all of this display of depth cursing across the room, Tender is a pure statement of honesty that doesn't get overlooked. People don't glace a stare and then turnaway. He has a hypnotism about his presence. He doesn't want attention but for good reason his aura demands it. He has on the same thing he had on yesterday and even the few days prior. He chooses his get-up at the beginning of the week and wears it the week thru. Tender inspires me. He never tries to be anything but himself. Very courteous and confident. He never cares about what others might make of him. He is 6 foot 4, has blacker hair than the LaBrea Tar Pits and his clothes cling tight. His voice scratches the pavement when he speaks and every other sentence makes you laugh. Laugh so hard at times that you almost kinda pee a little. He don't try to be funny. He just is. And don't get him started on why he hates ducks. He's got good reason and if you ask him about it you might pee a little bit too.

We order our food and get it fast. Service so fast you kinda think they wanna get you out of there. Before you had your first bite the check is face down slipped under the edge of your perspiring waterglass. We liked it. We didn't wanna be in there longer than we needed to. We left the restaurant individually as we each finished. No customary dining etiquette. Someone would push their empty plate to the middle of the table, stand up, dig in their pocket, pull out a mess of dollar bills, throw a few on the table and leave. No goodbyes, just vanishing thru a dining room full of gawkers.

I stayed last and took my time. It's hard to devour a big meal in the morning and it took me awhile to chore the food down. With no semblance of a well balanced diet or any normal eating schedule, it's hard to eat at times. I finish my meal, throw my dollars on the table and take my turn at vanishing.

Back to the bus. I'm thinking about what I am gonna do today. I recall that Chad mentioned at breakfast the New York City was a few miles away. I walk up to the lobby of a nearby hotel and ask some questions. "How do I get to Manhattan?" The concierge (it's Jersey, so let's just call him the guy at the front desk) gives me a bus schedule. I pull the schedule open and start to digest this 6 panel glossary of times and places. I get a handle on the schedule and see that a bus is swinging by Clifton in 20 minutes. I ask a few questions, get some directions from the "Concierge" in broken English and a lot of pointing in one particular direction. I walk out of the hotel and head in the pointed direction and it leads me to a divided highway with a 4 foot barrier. I don't think this is the way… I mentally calculate the possibility of running across the high speed traffic, jumping the barrier and playing Frogger across the other side of traffic. I laugh at myself and think "Who are you kiddin', your feet are already bleedin'".

I see a guy saddling up on his Harley motorcycle nearby and walk over and say "Can I ask you a question?" He gives me precise directions to the bus platform to get me to the city. I hustle over following the bikers directions and find "The Platform". It turns out "The Platform" is merely a sign posted on the emergency lane of the Jersey Turnpike. Nothing more than standing a few feet away from multi-lanes of dusty speeding traffic. I can see the New York City skyline rise up above the end reaches of the Turnpike. I'm close. I lean against the rusty sign that says BUS STOP. I wait for about 30 minutes. I get my things together. Wallet with cash in the front left pocket, phone in the right. Back pockets have my less desirable etceteras including a bus schedule, lighter and candy. I love candy. Shoulda kept that in my more protected front pockets.

The bus grinds to a hault and I step up quickly and pretend like I have a clue as to what is going on and how this works. I say "How Much". The driver says $4.40 . I struggle thru my pockets like my pants are on fire, pulling out all my belongings cause I'm nervous. I don't have a handle on my new pocket scenario and I'm confused. I'm patting and pulling at all of my pockets. I got all my stuff out and find my wallet… Finally. I got my money so tightly wound up in my miniature wallet and I rip out the wad of bills. I look to my left and see the 20 or so riders craning their heads into the aisle and staring me down. They are giving me that "Hey idiot, why don't you have your fare ready". I scramble and pull out 5 crumpled dollar bills and I say to the driver, "What do I do with them?", thinking I need to insert them somewhere. He laughs at my novice bus riding skills and says quite loudly "Give em to me". He counts the bills, punches some keys and my change dispenses like I was at Wendy's. I now have my phone, exploded wallet and lighter on the bus floor and the bus schedule hanging from my mouth. I'm kneeling on one knee and I grab my change. I feel like I'm genuflecting. I grab everything in my hands and secure it to my chest with my arms so I don't drop anything. I stumble to the very back row of the bus. I throw my stuff on the seat and the forward momentum of the bus throws me face first into the seat. I gather myself and put my hands to my side and push out a deep breath. I'M GOING TO NEW YORK CITY!… I got 6 hours and a hundred dollars. Well, actually about $95.60.

To Be Continued…. With Pictures!

Marty Casey