Alright, for all of those who skipped yesterday’s post I am talking about Williamsburg VIRGINIA not Brooklyn. If you are disappointed, I am sorry, I promise I will eventually get around to talking about an adventure or two in the Brooklyn area, but for now – Williamsburg, VA.

So when I last left you, Brazilian Helicopter Pilot and I had just drifted off to sleep. We woke up at a fairly early hour on Saturday, meaning I kicked him out of bed and told him to shower so I could starfish in the middle of the bed and catch another hour of sleep. We took part in more continental breakfast and then slid into our badass Sentra and hightailed it to Yorktown! We got to the visitor’s center before my sister and set about preparing the coolest entrance for her EVER! I bullied Brazilian Helicopter Pilot into standing with me at the entrance to the only road coming into the parking lot and started practicing my pirouettes and fouettes and leaping from side to side in anticipation of my sister’s arrival. But my sister has always been sneaky so she WALKED to the visitor’s center and I had to trudge up to meet her instead of joyously dancing her through the entrance.

So, my sister – The Historian – and her husband – The Programmer – met us at the visitor’s center and away we went. The Historian had purchased THE CHEESIEST audio tour ever and we drove around Yorktown Battlefield listening to two men who sounded almost exactly alike (I didn’t get to check the CD to see if they were the same guy) except one of them had THE WORST fake British accent ever. But because the Moore house closed at 1 pm we went out of order so we could stand in the house where the British negotiated their surrender to the French and the Americans. What I found exceedingly interesting about the whole thing was that because the British did not allow the troops at Charleston to surrender with full honors, the British were not allowed to surrender with full honors at Yorktown. I kind of like it when things comes around to bite people in the ass, it is a special type of schadenfreude for me.

We then went to lunch because three out of the four of us were starting to get hangry, and then we went on the audio tour. History, real history that is not diluted and prettied up by high school teachers and bad history books, is fascinating. To be able to stand behind the trenches that French and American soldiers dug in order to take back Yorktown was an amazing experience. It is very hard to imagine and understand what happened and what 1600 yards actually is and what the guns looked like. To stand in the middle of a redoubt and know that this is where French or American soldiers charged with unloaded muskets and bayonets fixed to take over these crucial British points of defense. That they fought hand-to-hand combat and finally prevailed. We didn’t get to Surrender Field because we had to head back to The Historian and The Programmer’s Bed and Breakfast for our pre-dinner wine and cheese.

Dinner was lovely and were able to just chat and catch up. Afterwards we headed back to the hotel were I was lucky enough to get to watch Beyonce’s Lemonade on TV. The cinematography was breathtaking and the lyrics were sharp. She perfectly captured what it is like to be in a relationship and discover that your partner is cheating on you. My favorite parts were where she would talk between the songs. The writing there was so tight and sharp that I got chills and intimately recalled my own experience with someone cheating on me. Shortly thereafter I passed the fuck out from exhaustion. According to my phone I had walked 17,000 steps.

Sunday was an unmitigated disaster.

It started off well enough, we slept in until 8 am and then ate and checked out. We filled the car up with gas and headed out to Colonial Williamsburg to pick up an ornament for The Historian and The Programmer. There was a one-sided game of phone tag and then lots of snapping of pictures and sending them for approval, but we did find the ornament they wanted and purchased it. Then we drove to Enterprise to drop off the car. I called the taxi company and requested a cab. They said 25 minutes. I told them that worked just fine.

Forty-five minutes later the cab had still not arrived. I had called the cab company multiple times and no one was picking up. And then the cab came, but zipped right past us. I was about to have a nervous breakdown, Brazilian Helicopter Pilot was annoyed and pissed. I chased after it and managed to flag it down and the cab driver  was all confused, what was going on? I was just dropping someone off before coming to pick you up.

We got to the bus station an hour early and there were some other people there waiting for the same bus. I went pee and we waited inside the building until 1:00 because I am neurotic and didn’t want to miss the bus which was scheduled to arrive at 1:30. We stood outside for 45 minutes. No bus. I called Greyhound when it became obvious that no bus was coming even though I felt like a crazy person and that any minute the bus was going to come around the corner and make me look like an idiot. That conversation went something like:

Me: *normal, kind tone of voice* Hi, I am just calling to check on where my bus is, I am at the Williamsburg, VA station and the bus is fifteen minutes late. I have a connection that I have to make in Richmond that if the bus is any later, I won’t make.

Operator: Let me check on that for you. What time did you arrive at the bus station? Did you get there an hour before the bus was scheduled to arrive?

Me: *a little confused* Yes, I got here at 12:15

Operator: Well, the bus already came through and is at Richmond

Me: *tone sharpening* The bus didn’t come through, there are ten people here who have all been waiting since 12:15 and that bus never came through this station.

And it just got better.

Apparently, we had missed the bus – too fucking bad for us! Buy a new ticket for the 7:55 pm bus to NYC and you know you can submit for a refund. I was so furious I was shaking. I was sick to my stomach and ready to scream and cry. I will admit I got a little nasty on the phone. There were at least ten of us who had all been patiently waiting since 12:15 pm for a bus that must have done a drive by three streets away and decided we weren’t worth it. I filed a complaint and had a miniature melt down. My Brazilian Helicopter Pilot called my sister and she said she was three hours away, but she would turn back to come and get us if necessary. Just as we were solidifying that plan, one of the other passengers came in and told us that he had just gotten off the phone with the Norfolk Greyhound station and that the bus was running late. It would arrive at 3:30. I was freaking out, should I wait for this bus or should I “get shwasty” and wait for my sister.

Then the train station manager came by and said that yes, Greyhound had contacted her and that the bus would arrive at 3:30 and all of our tickets would be sorted out as soon as we got to Richmond. We decided to wait for the 3:30 bus.

It didn’t arrive until 4:07 pm.

We got to Richmond at 5:25 pm and they switched our tickets for a 6:15 pm bus to DC where I would transfer to a 10:00 pm bus to NYC. We made the 6:15 bus without a problem and settled in for a 2 hour ride to DC, hungry and tired and concerned about what the fuck else could go wrong and if sheer exhaustion could count as sick. We made it to DC with little trouble and I hunkered down in the waiting area while Brazilian Helicopter Pilot went looking for food. He returned with three sandwiches that had been given to him for free because the place was closing and they were going to throw them away anyways. I nearly cried from the kindness.  At 9:30 pm we got in line for the bus, boarded on time and left. We did not reach NYC until 2:30 am and I did not hit my doorway until 3:45 am.

It was a harrowing return, but a good trip overall.