I Don't Wanna Be Homeless Anymore :(

19 May 2009

Sar-y Sar-y quite contrary
how do your travels go?
With canceled trains
and bus crashing pains
and 3 maids asleep in an elevator.


Every poem is a short story. So given the short story above, let me hash out the full story. In as much harrowing detail as possible.
Our departure from Oxford was nearly perfect. We were planning on taking the 5 pm bus to London but ended up taking the 5:30 bus. That afforded us a last cup of coffee with dear Seb B. Spirits were high and hearts were all aflutter with the exciting journey ahead.

We arrived at the Victoria Street station about 7:30 ish. All we had to do was hop on the tube from Victoria Street station to Liverpool Street station and catch the train to Harwich. Easy.

About a quarter of the tube lines were down due to construction. Scheduled construction. That we were unaware of. That’s ok. At this point we’ve still got plenty of time because the ferry doesn’t leave until 11:45 pm.
We manage an alternate route to Liverpool street via the Victoria line north to Oxford Circus, then the Central line east to Liverpool street. We made it to Liverpool Street at about 10 past 8. That meant we missed the 8:03 train to Harwich. The last train was the 9:03 leaving from platform 14. We rejoiced in the fact that we were going to make the last train of the night. If we’d left any later we might have been stranded in London!

So we sat on some steps and watched the mangy pigeons. We watched everyone walk by. We talked about fashion. Who/what dictates it. What you can tell about a person based on their shoes or hair. Basically judging people, I guess.

About 8:45 we decided to head towards platform 14. Didn’t want to have to rush to the train when it arrived. As soon as we got to the platform an announcement came on the loud speakers.
“The 9:03 train to Harwich departing from track 14 is canceled due to technical malfunctions. A replacement train will depart from track 14 at 9:33.”

They might have apologized for any inconveniences this may cause. At this point Lydia was about 11 and 1/2 percent worried that we wouldn’t make the ferry that night. I was a bit more worried than that. We had 2 hours and 12 minutes to make an hour’s journey. We’d be alright. Once we were on the train we’d have to take a bus replacement from Marks Tey Station to Manningtree Station, then get back on the train at Manningtree for the last 10-mile stretch to Harwich.

We got on the 9:33 train and the ride seemed a lot longer than it was supposed to be. We finally got to Marks Tey for our bus replacement. By then we had 45 minutes till the ferry left port. The driver of the bus was pretty old. He was pretty slow. He looked up how far it was from Manningtree to Harwich for us and said the bus ride from Marks Tay to Manningtree would be about 20 minutes or so. After the first stop he crashed the bus into a pole.
We couldn’t believe it but in a very Murphy’s Law way, we could believe it and almost expected it. The bus driver crashed the bus so we had to get a bus replacement for the bus replacement for train replacement for the cancelled train. We could still make it.

The second bus got us to Manningtree at about 11:24 or something ridiculous. There were 5 people on the bus and we said to the man working at the station “Next train to Harwich! Our ferry leaves in 20 minutes!”

“There aaarrh no traaains to Harwich toniiight.”

This was the end of the line. We weren’t getting out of England. We were stranded at Manningtree. There was one other person besides us trying to get to Harwich. A Shaun who’s actually from Harwich and in the Army and he was just as stuck as we were. He offered us his last three cigarettes and called a cab from Harwich to pick us all up in Manningtree to take us back to Harwich.

If only the cab could run out of gas or hit a deer. That would top off the night. But that wasn’t the cherry on our disaster sundae. No. That’s still to come.

We figured once we were at the station we could talk to someone and crash in the lobby. Or maybe since every single mode of transportation we’d attempted had been late, the ferry would be too. But this was a lofty hope.

We pulled up to the Harwich station at quarter past midnight. The ferry was gone. There was one train on the tracks that said out of service. The doors were locked on it. We tried the lobby doors. They were also locked. We thought we saw some security guards inside, but they were gone by the time we made it around to the other door.

There was nothing we could do. The cab had already gone to drop Shaun off. We didn’t have any phone numbers for anything. Several thoughts occurred to us.

Wishes were coming true left and right on this trip. Lori got to see Big Ben. Dream come true. I wanted a commissioned painting of Harris Manchester. Dream come true. Lydia Joy Fischer always wanted to know what it was like to be homeless. Dream come true.

We slept in an elevator.

Luckily we had a block of cheese, 3 bread rolls, a bag of peanuts, an orange, 2 bananas, 3 bars of chocolate, and a bottle and a half of water. We wouldn’t go hungry. And we’d all used the bathroom on the train.

When we bought the bread and cheese we thought about getting a bottle of wine but thought we wouldn’t be able to bring it on the ferry. We wished we’d just gotten it anyway. Maybe we would have actually slept if we’d split a bottle of wine.

We were thankful for the elevator because it blocked the wind, even if it wasn’t necessarily warm. We used our backpacks as pillows. Towels as blankets. Notebooks as cushions for those hard joints like hips and knees. The floor was cold so the more layers you could put between you and the floor, the warmer you were. But warm is a relative term.

Absolutely unbelievable. We spent the night in an elevator in Harwich, England. Who doesn’t? Would we get kicked out if a security guard found us? What if this was a real homeless person’s spot and we were taking over what didn’t belong to us?

What if we were each on our own? I refused to even entertain the thought. Lori said she would have had the taxi driver take her straight to the nearest hotel and not even try to get into the station. Lydia said that thought probably wouldn’t have occurred to her.

Things got cold and we had to huddle together and at one point I said to Lori, “Lori, do you need more space?” She said, “No, I’m trying to get closer.”

It was very bright in the elevator and I asked if there was a way to shut the lights off. Would that be too much to ask? What I found annoying (bright lights) Lydia and Lori found comforting. They’d rather the lights be on than off.

The luster of experiencing life as homeless wore off after a while and at some point in the middle of the night I moaned that I didn’t want to be homeless anymore. I wasn’t kidding. I groaned it in as much sincerity as I’ve ever possessed.

The station opened at 6:30 a.m. so we spent 6 hours in that elevator. We approached the desk and told the woman that we were supposed to be on the night ferry and we obviously missed it. She was quick to assure us we’d be on the 9 a.m. ferry to the Netherlands. We were prepared for maybe not trouble, but at least a bit of an explanation and a little persuasion. We’d reviewed the case over and over to determine if we’d made a mistake in this situation, but we didn’t.

When we told her we’d slept in an elevator she didn’t laugh. She was concerned. I guess we’d been laughing about it most of the time we expected her to laugh about it too.

We slept a nights worth in the middle of the day on the ferry and arrived in Amsterdam about 7 pm.

We often reference that night we slept in an elevator. If something goes a little inconveniently, we can always say, “at least it’s not an elevator.” And it’s pretty satisfying to say, “Slept in an elevator.”

I’m pretty sure that in 45 years I’ll be in the grocery store buying an apple or an orange and some small thing like an add for deodorant with a picture of several people cramped in an elevator and a tag line that says, “Don’t sweat it” or something equally as cheesy and I’ll laugh out loud at just the thought of being hot in an elevator.



Bit of an update:
The train from Amsterdam to Berlin was great until the last 2 hours or so. It got so crowded and stuffy hot that we figured the cosmos were trying to make it up to us for the cold night in an elevator by supplying us with a hot afternoon on a train. No, Cosmos. We appreciate your thoughtfulness, but let’s just call it even.

We’ve got today to roam around Berlin before taking a night train to Zurich and then a train from Zurich to Innsbruck. Lori’s bound and determined to get a leather jacket. Lydia’s in need of a good watch. I need shorts. Things are getting warm and jeans are heavy. It’s time to lose some layers.