Spring Break
Traveler beware... horror lurks in the darkness
Tim Pfarr
Issue date: 11/16/07 Section: Forum
Gather around boys and girls; it's time for a spooky story. Time: October 2005, just a few short weeks into my freshman year of college. Setting: The lonely, cold city of Corvallis amongst the litter of deceased leaves. What: One of the worst decisions of my life.
A little over two years ago, I decided to take a little weekend trip home to Issaquah, Washington to meet up with my friends and find out how the first year of college was treating them. (Issaquah is about 17 miles west of Seattle, about four and a half hours away from Corvallis with light traffic.) I had originally left my little 1993 Corolla at home, thinking having a vehicle in Corvallis was not worth the outrageous on-campus parking fee. However, after just a few days in town, I realized having a car would make life a lot easier. So, the plan was to take the bus home on Friday, spend Saturday with the family and friends, and then drive my car back on Sunday. My mom was nice enough to buy my ticket for me and tell me everything I needed to do: She told me to show up a couple hours early, tell the attendant my name, get my ticket from them and wait for the bus to arrive. Then, in Portland, I was to change buses.
I had never taken the bus before in my life and I knew my first trip (alone nonetheless) was going to be an interesting experience, but nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen. In the station, I was greeted by the creepy, tattooed man behind the counter with glasses and a bushy beard. He informed me that I needed a confirmation number to pick up my ticket - a confirmation number I didn't have and didn't know I needed, forcing me to purchase another ticket for a later bus. (To make a long segment short, he also coughed on my cell phone. Don't ask.)
Frustrated, I took a seat and began reading my anthropology textbook, only to be interrupted several minutes later by the only other person in the station: A heavyset woman who had been in the phone booth. This woman walked over, sat down directly across from me and asked where I was headed. "Seattle," I said. "How about you?"
A little over two years ago, I decided to take a little weekend trip home to Issaquah, Washington to meet up with my friends and find out how the first year of college was treating them. (Issaquah is about 17 miles west of Seattle, about four and a half hours away from Corvallis with light traffic.) I had originally left my little 1993 Corolla at home, thinking having a vehicle in Corvallis was not worth the outrageous on-campus parking fee. However, after just a few days in town, I realized having a car would make life a lot easier. So, the plan was to take the bus home on Friday, spend Saturday with the family and friends, and then drive my car back on Sunday. My mom was nice enough to buy my ticket for me and tell me everything I needed to do: She told me to show up a couple hours early, tell the attendant my name, get my ticket from them and wait for the bus to arrive. Then, in Portland, I was to change buses.
I had never taken the bus before in my life and I knew my first trip (alone nonetheless) was going to be an interesting experience, but nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen. In the station, I was greeted by the creepy, tattooed man behind the counter with glasses and a bushy beard. He informed me that I needed a confirmation number to pick up my ticket - a confirmation number I didn't have and didn't know I needed, forcing me to purchase another ticket for a later bus. (To make a long segment short, he also coughed on my cell phone. Don't ask.)
Frustrated, I took a seat and began reading my anthropology textbook, only to be interrupted several minutes later by the only other person in the station: A heavyset woman who had been in the phone booth. This woman walked over, sat down directly across from me and asked where I was headed. "Seattle," I said. "How about you?"
Note: writers will not reply to comments.
Comments by registered users are approved by default.