Dan x Dan in Rhode Island Day One: Travel

1 October 2017 

I’m sitting here all alone in a small apartment near the sea. I can just about hear the gentle waves of the bay over the serenade of the crickets. There’s no fucking wifi. The owner of the property who lives round front isn’t home and he’s not left the wifi passcode. Yes, I overcame my shyness and went to talk to somebody. Shit, I’ll starve before I ask someone for food or die of thirst before I ask for a glass of water, but the wifi? Hell no. I need that shit. (Maybe this is an addiction that I need to sort out?)  I hope he comes back soon because I’m going out of my mind here. I’ve not downloaded any films or shows onto my laptop and there’s no telly either. What the fuck is going on?! I did bring a book though. Great. I spent an hour reading a map to get here from the bus depot two cities over and now-what’s this?? I hear movement in the front of the house. The bloke might be home.  His name is easy enough to remember. It’s the same as mine. Dan. Also, happens to be the way into the house on the keypad. ((I already tried it as the wifi passcode.)) 

Seeing as I have all the time in the world here, I should probably start at the beginning when I first arrived in Providence, seeing as the rest of the journey was boring and uneventful. I arrive on the outskirts of Providence at the older bus depot. It’s a spooky kind of mint green and for some reason makes me think of a 50’s funeral home morgue. It also makes it feel like Christmas for some reason. A tired ticket clerk sits half asleep behind the counter and a small Asian woman is brewing coffee at a small coffee stand. A small television hangs in the corner playing some sort of news, but it’s muted and I don’t feel like craning over to read the subtitles. This has to be one of the most dated bus stations I’ve ever been in. HOLY FUCK THEY HAVE FREE WIFI! Thank Christ I won’t be sitting here with nothing to do. I’ve already read one of the 4 books that I brought with me. I’m getting back to my normal volume of book reading; I can concentrate again. Wonderous. 

I sit chatting online to my mates, waiting for the next bus to take me into the downtown stop. I don’t see the little “gates” labelled, so at 5 of, I walk over and ask the sleepy clerk where the bus would be. She told me to just get on the bus to New York City, as they had to make a stop downtown anyway and my bus that I was supposed to be taking would be delayed at least another hour. Modern Marvels. I join the line of people getting on the bus and in front of me stands a lanky, goofball joking around with the riders as he scans/collects their tickets. “Where are you going?” He asks when he gets to me. “Downtown.” “Are you sure? Nowhere else?” “Maybe your mother’s house when I’m done doing what I need to do in the city’s downtown.” He looks at me and in a cheery voice says, “Well then! Welcome aboard!” I push my wheelie case to the luggage man and board the bus with Pork Chop. The bus is packed and I need to sit next to a woman who’s engrossed in her phone. She peels her eyes away just long enough to size me up. 

The driver makes announcements in a goofy voice, informing us that we’ll arrive at the downtown stop in about 5 minutes time. I could have fucking walked that shit probably. We head along the twisty little roads for a few seconds before heading into the downtown area. It’s so small-town New England and I love it. I love to see the contrast of the modern and the old. I’m drawn to the old more than the modern. We pull up at the side of the bus terminal and he announces we’re here as if everyone was blind or couldn’t read. I wordlessly jump off the bag and grab my case from the under the coach compartment and skitter away onto the pavement. I need my map. I pull out my little printed directions and briefly connecting to the wifi let my mates know that I’m heading out to Warwick now and it would be a little bit before I could talk to them again and I’d do so as soon as I could. I download the directions to the property quickly just in case something has changed in the three weeks since I printed out the directions and head off in what feels like the right direction. I see one street sign and continue in the direction, assuming that it’s the right way.

I’m lost. Nothing is really labelled. What is it with America and not labelling things? Jesus fucking Christ. I have no choice but to ask someone. A woman walks by me but I can’t gather the courage to ask her. but who do I ask? A man who looks like Joel Rifkin who’s stood reading something on his iPhone. “Excuse me mate, I’m looking for this plaza here, it’s where I’m to catch a local bus. Do you know where it is?” He looks down at my phone that I’ve held out to him. “I’m not sure. Let’s have a look.” “What kind of bus are you needing to catch?” “A local one.” He studies the phone intently, not noticing that I’m studying him. I’m enthralled that he resembles one of my favourite serial killers. I’m wishing it was him because I have so many questions, but I know it’s not because he’s still incarcerated. (Dare to dream?) “I think you go this way.” He looks up and points to the left. I’m not good at map reading.” I have to fight the urge to ask him if he’s good at strangling prostitutes. “Thank you very much.” He seems a bit surprised by my manners but gives me a wide smile in thanks of them. “You’re welcome.” Thankfully, I was already headed in the right direction. 

In front of me is a gaggle of pigeons and it makes me wonder if I’m in London or in Providence. I have to resist the urge to kick the one that comes up and glares at me as there are tonnes of people watching and I don’t want to end up on the local news for pigeon abuse. (Is that even a crime? Do they count as animals and not flying disease sacks?) I’m not sure if I can purchase a ticket on the bus, I’m assuming not, so I head over to the ticket machines that I caught sight of in my peripheral vision. I stay out of the small excuse for a station. There are too many dingy and dirty people flocked around it. 

The blaze of early evening sunlight makes it hard to read the machine’s screen. My somewhat large, curly-topped shadow makes it far easier to read. I’m just going to the property tonight and nowhere else, so I don’t need anything with the bells and whistles. I’m not wanting to buy a week's worth of tickets and waste money and seeing as I’m going to walk to many of the places once I reach the city, I wouldn’t need a week's worth anyway. It’s not like it was in Orlando where it’s unlimited rides within the week card purchase; the week purchase includes a number of journeys on it here. I’m momentarily distressed at all of the Spanish I see on the machine, but don’t let it get to me. Let’s see 2 hours pass with unlimited transfers during the 2 hour period. Just what Danny needs. That way in case I get on the wrong bus, I’m not having to pay again for another ride. I don’t have anything smaller than a $20.00 banknote, so I select my choice and slip the crisp bill into the machine. It accepts my payment and begins to calculate my change. It informs me that my ticket and change are down below. I reach in and find only 2 tickets, no cash. It might have been the heat or the stress or the general frustration that’s been bothering me lately, but I lost it and started to kick the machine. It must have not been an out of ordinary occurrence for most of the bus patrons because most of them didn’t even glance over at me pumbling my mechanical opponent. As I’m kicking the shit out of it I notice a small square that I hadn’t observed before; “Exact amount in US bill/coins, No Refunds.” Oh hell fucking no! That only enrages me further. My kicks become more aggressive as does the colourful, angry insults I’ve been exclaiming. 

As my first makes contact with the machine a transit “cop” notices me and starts making his way over. I can’t have the fuzz getting in the way of my plans. I offer him a gentle smile and a sheepish wave. I watch him as he considers chasing me, as I’m poised to run but he decides it’s not worth the effort, especially in the unseasonable heat and waves me off. I read through the long list of bus gates, departures and zones to find the one I need and where it docks. D. Dumbass. Fitting. Wheeling my case, I make my way down the entire length of the gating area and stop next to a little plexiglass encasement. There are a few women there, one with a large Starbucks mug and the other in desperate need of a shower. The contrast impresses me and I’m not sure why. “Does anyone speak English here?” It’s the dingy woman whose voice cuts through the pigeon chatter. “Yes.” She looks up at me. “Oh, good I’ve been here forever with no one to talk to.” I’m not really wanting to make small talk, but I do have a burning question about the second ticket I got from the machine that reads “CHANGE CARD”. I leave my case at the side of the plexiglass box and walk over to her. “What the fuck is this thing?” I hold the card up to show her. “Oh, those! It’s for your change. You can just slide it on the bus where you’d slide your ticket and it will subtract your fare off that and print you out a new ticket.” “And this is somehow cost-effective?” “What’s that mean?” “Nothing. Thanks. I was wondering what the hell I was going to do with these. I’m not used to these, I’m used to the tap and go method.” “Like in New York City!” Starbucks woman says and I turn to her. 

“I love New York City. I was there earlier this year and last year on business.” “I like your accent.” “Thanks. What’s the city like? I’ve been to Newport before, but not Providence.” “It’s lovely. It’s got some of the most historical landmarks of the country!” He proceeds to point out areas for me to visit. “The only thing I really know about Rhode Island is from what I’ve seen in Me, Myself & Irene.” She laughs, making her boobs jiggle and that’s when I notice a spider tattoo on her right boob poking out at me. The rest of the conversation goes with me staring at her boobs, willing the rest of the spider to come out and play with me. I know it wouldn’t be right for me to ask her to pull her top down so I could see the tattoo nor would it be okay for me to ask about it, even though I’m burning inside to. I decided to ask her if the directions are correct as I’ve had issues with Google Maps before. “Yes! I know where that is roughly, you’re headed in the right direction. That’s the bus that I’m taking as well. You can sit with me.” Her kindness is a bit alien to me, but I don’t reject her offer of company. 

A few minutes later the bus pulls up to the dock and Pork Chop and I follow the curvy blond onto the bus. I push my case to the side and sit with Pork Chop on my lap. She’s not said anything about him the entire time. She pulls out a novel and I put my earbuds in and watch as the city turns into the suburbs with Steel Panther raging in the background. We ride for almost 30 minutes in silence until we reach her stop. I move for her to get off and she turns to me, smiles and says a warm “Good Luck.”. Now that she’s left it’s just Pork Chop and me on the bus. Just how I like it. No prying eyes to watch me in case I make a mistake. I’m not sure where the stop is, so I head to the driver and ask her. She’s friendly as well. It must be something in the water here. “Oh, that stops up right before I start to turn and head back to the city.” “Could you let me know when we’re there?” “Sure thing,  Sweetie.” “Thank you very much.” I return to my seat and wait about 10 minutes more before the bus slows to a stop. “This is it.” I thank her again and jump off the bus with my case and Pork Chop. She waves to me as she drives off and I return to gesture. 

I hope off the bus deep into a residential area of Warwick and into a warm summer air that’s heavily perfumed with the smell of hotdogs, baking potatoes and campfires. It’s October. It feels more like June. The air is warm as I make my way with Pork Chop on my back and my wheelie case down the streets, walking on the side of the road as there are no pavement-or SIDEWALKS. The fuck is this, honestly? The trees are slowly starting to turn to reds and oranges giving it the appearance of early autumn. Dogs bark and kids scream as we journey further. The smell of hot dogs is making my head spin. It could be that or that fact I’ve only had a cup and a half of water since the morning and I’ve been moving almost all day in warm weather. ((Not the smartest choice, I know.)) 

At the top of the slight hill in the road, I see the ocean bay and I know I’ve made it. I almost run, I can’t because of my case, seeing the property and tear across the side yard round to the back. I’m gonna get in, settle in, message my mates, get some chow and put on Brooklyn 99. I’ve become addicted to that show in the past few days. Jesus Christ, it’s so good. I watched the first 17 episodes of the show in one day. 

My world starts to shatter in slow motion when I realise that I can’t connect to the wifi. What the hell am I going to do?! Not good. A cartoon figure of me in my brain begins to pull some of the curls out of his fringe and scream bloody murder in frustration. I won’t be able to talk to anyone…Then I also realise that means I’ll be unable to order food and I haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday afternoon. I’m either going to die of boredom or starvation. Let’s see what happens first. My money is on boredom. 

The owner of the property seems to be obsessed with Hawaii. From the surfboard curtains to the Aloha decked out number plate that reads “DUDE” in bold letters, it’s quite clear he thinks he’s in Honolulu and not Warwick. I guess he must figure both are near the ocean so what’s the difference? Well, only it’s two different oceans, two entirely different cultures and one’s tropical one is not. Other than that, though, fuck yeah. 

It feels odd to be sitting here in someone’s home. The apartment is a bit smaller than I expected. It’s actually about the size, maybe even a bit smaller as my bedroom at home. It's like the silence is magnified and pressing in on my skull. PLEASE, PROTECTOR OF ALL, THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY GRANT ME THE WIFI CODE!! I do like the snazzy blanket on the bed, though. It matches the one in the Airbnb add. Aside from the lack of wifi, it’s going good so far. Maybe this won’t turn out to be as horrific as my last experience with rental properties. 

I’m gonna go see in a little bit if he’s returned. I’m going out of my mind here and I’m fucking dying to watch a new YouTube update. I’m kinda scared to go and talk to the guy. I keep running over thousands of scenarios in my head, none of them ending well. Why does this kind of shit always happen? Maybe I’m cursed.