After our 14.5-hour Amtrak ride from Sacramento to Union Station in Los Angeles, we had to get to our hotel in Long Beach. Despite our delay in San Luis Obispo, we still arrived in L.A. with plenty of time to catch our transfer to our final destination for the night. It was 9:30PM when our train pulled up to the platform and our bus was not scheduled to leave until 10:10PM. Happy to be off of the train, Nick and I made our way through the station to the bus terminal… only our bus was not there.
The Amtrak bus-wrangler informed us that our bus was, in fact, running late. We were told to come back around 10:45PM and our bus might be there. Hmm….
After a painfully long train ride the last thing that either of us wanted to do was wait. We decided to fall back on our Plan B. Plan B was something we had talked about before, but decided that the bus ride was our best option. Since our best option was not looking too appealing from our particular vantage point that night, we agreed to do something that we never should have done. We agreed to do something that people in their right minds would never do. Being that we were not in our right minds after our seemingly never-ending train ride that day (and night), we did it. We went with Plan B.
The tickets we never used
Plan B is like that last drink that you know you never should have had. That last shot of tequila. That last shot of Jack. That last shot of Jaeger. That 4th long island iced tea, if you will. The one that did you over. The one that did you in. The one you knew at the time that you shouldn’t have, but you have it anyways. Plan B is kind of like that. If only I could trade our Plan B for a massive hangover, I would be saying, “I love you, you blinding headache.” I would be saying, “I love you, you dear, sweet toilet bowl.” I would be saying, “I love you, you raccoon-eyed, smeared-makeup self. I wish I had had the presence of mind to wash you off last night, but I love you anyways.” Plan B, however, had me saying a whole slew of other things.
Plan B had me saying, “WTF?!?,” “please, please, please let this thing end,” and, “I am too young to die.” People may know Plan B using nomenclature that is typical to the common folk. So, here goes: Plan B was the Metro. I know, I know, the Metro doesn’t seem too scary, but let's be honest, it was the Metro from Union Station to Long Beach (i.e. the Metro from Union Station through South Central L.A.). In other words, the Metro that passes through Compton. And, by passes through I mean stops in Compton. And, lets not forget the other umpteen Compton-esque stops from Union Station to Long Beach. If this were a jeopardy question, an answer might read: Artesia and the correct response, of course, would be, “what is a Compton-esque stop on the blue line Metro through South Central L.A.”
Plan B
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