Bus, you are making me not like you

So I did it. I did the impossible. I got my husband to agree to use the local Metro plus the Flyaway to get to the airport last weekend.

For this feat, we needed nerves of steel. Or just a willingness to go with absolutely no sleep; we went to bed at 11:30 pm, to wake up at 3:30 am, trundle outside at 4 with our luggage, and wait in the almost pitch-dark for the 20. I had been told by what I assumed was a reliable source that, after 9 pm, the fare decreases to 75 cents, but this was not true! Or at least not true on weekdays, so when I go, all confidently, “75 cents, right?” (hoping to show off for the the hubby) the driver goes, “no, 1.25.” Suckaz.

There was precisely one other white person on the bus with us at that hour, with headphones on, looking exhausted. Where were all these people going at 4 am on a Friday morning??!

So we get to Westwood in RECORD TIME (almost non-stop, and NO CARS ON THE ROAD — my fastest trek ever ever, never to be repeated probably) and walk over to the Flyaway stop on Kinross. There are mad amounts of cop cars cruising UCLA this time of night, so rest easy, Parents of Students.

I’m giddy, prone to bursts of insane, exhausted laughter but hubby is not amused. As promised, the Flyaway arrives at 5 pm on the dot and costs 4 bucks each. The air conditioning is FRIGID. There are mostly UCLA students with us, chattin’ away. It’s a non-stop straight shot to LAX, with drop-offs right at your terminal. It was easy breezy.

Sure, it took a little extra preparation and time on our part, but the early hour, lack of rival traffic, etc made it a relatively painless, quick, CHEAP journey.

Not so for the ride back.

And as a result, I’m fairly confident we will never do this again.

First, the Flyaway takes FOREVER to get through the airport, since it has to stop and pick people up CONSTANTLY, amongst all the the shuttles, buses, rental car vehicles. That took a good hour from the time we waited for it to show. The 405 etc wasn’t bad, but still. AND THEN, the West 20, which I’d assured my husband would be empty because the Westwood/Wilshire stop is the first pick-up on the route, made a TOTAL LIAR out of me; not only was it half-full, there was a fucked up, crazy-ass, disgusting, dirty, insane homeless woman immediately next to me.

Let me try to describe her.

Keep in mind it’s tough to describe someone that you never looked at directly; I was repulsed when I noticed that she was in skin tight, unwashed pajamas, and kept fidgeting her hands inside the tips of her shirt sleeves, shuffling them back and forth in agitation. But keeping them in her shirtsleeves was better than the alternative, which was to show her fingers, each of which sported TWO-INCH LONG, DIRTY ASS FINGERNAILS.

These claws will haunt my dreams for years.

They were inhuman. They came so close to touching me. Each time the bus lurched (which was often), my husband dug his fingers into my arm to keep me from sliding into the homeless woman, who periodically looked over she was gonna start some shit.

And she screamed in my ear at one of the stops; I don’t know why or what she said. The ride was a nightmare, with thugs and homeless and creepy parents with passed out children (wtf were they doing at midnight on a Sunday, passed out on a bus? I swear they looked drugged or trafficked). The stench was awful. It was by far my worst experience on the bus, and it breaks my heart that my husband had to see it that way. Now he doesn’t understand why I would ever elect to ride the bus, and I know he’ll never want to take it to the airport again, even though all told we saved at least 80 bucks.