Ari's Amazing Travels

It's always strange to hear what people think about your physical aspects. When I was little, I had blonde curly hair. My brother had straight blonde hair. For some reason, our hair both turned dark when we got older. To see him now, with his head buzzed, people have mistaken him for being mexican. Strange.

I have spoken to people in the past and when the conversation turned to roots, I have mentioned that my grandmother was born in Cuba.

"Yes! That's it! Cuba! I knew you had a little ethnicity in you!"

"... I meant Cuba, Illinois."

Illinois has to be the fakest state in the whole country. We have New Mexico, Paris, Cuba, Detroit and I think there's even a London in there somewhere. Someone should tell Illinois, stop trying to be everyone else!

But I digress. I'm not cuban. People just think I am. It would be cool if I were cuban, but I'm not. Sucks to be me. Now see, I have been to Miami. No one there really thinks I'm cuban at all. One or two people tried to speak to me in spanish, but that was about it. I don't speak spanish, so those were tricky conversations. I think I accidently told this guy I was a prostitute in spanish. He kept trying to hook up with me. It was weird. I tried to tell him that I'm not a prostitute, but yeah. Once guys get that thought in their head, they'll never let it go. He was all trying to hug me in the middle of the airport. Embarrassing, dude. I'm not a prostitute.

I have crazy travel stories. Seriously crazy. I'm not talking wild, adventurous crazy. I mean straight up dude-should-be-in-an-asylum crazy.

So I went to Miami to visit my uncle. Who lives in Tampa. Obviously, I have problems with booking flights that actually go where I intend to go. Tampa is like four hours away from Miami. I'm an idiot. So I had to take a greyhound up to Tampa. I was nineteen, traveling alone, by myself, in Miami at a friggin' greyhound terminal. Someone should have told me that the greyhound station tends to be the meeting place for all the loonies. I didn't know. Scary.

I sat down to read a book while I waited for the bus to come. Two hot guys were sitting to my left, being dorky, trying to get my attention. I ignored them. Then this big dude comes in the station and sits down. He doesn't buy a ticket, he just sits down like he's waiting. I ignored him too.

Now earlier, I had browsed through the selections of a vending machine, only to be shocked to find out they sold packages of bologna. In a vending machine. In Miami. At a greyhound station. What the fuck. So when big dude got up and went to said vending machine, I watched as he made his choice. He got the bologna. Dude bought the bologna!!! My jaw must have been seriously on the floor. One of the hot guys made an "ew" sound. I hid my face in my book to keep from busting out laughing.

I am not making this shit up. It happened. But wait, there's more.

I had a seriously long wait ahead of me. We're talking seven hours here. Like I said, I am horrible at planning travel arrangements. So I was in this bus station for the long haul. After awhile Big Dude left. Hot guys tried to talk to me, but after the airport prostitute incident, I was just not digging it. I just stared at them until they left me alone.

Eventually, Big Dude comes back. This was shortly before the bus was to arrive. He went up to the counter and demanded his ticket. The lady asked him if he'd bought one. He swore he did. She said she had no recollection of this purchase. He got pretty irate with her. Then he went and sat down. She asked him if he would like to buy a ticket and he responded that he was waiting for a bus.

"I know, but you have to buy a ticket first," she told him.

"I ALREADY BOUGHT A TICKET. JUST GIVE IT TO ME!"

This is the point where I hugged my suitcase close to me, edging myself as far away from the situation as possible. Hot Guys had the same idea and before I knew it, the three of us sat next to each other in awe and shock.

"Is he crazy?" Hot Guy one asked.

"This is insane," I replied.

"Someone needs to call the police," Hot Guy two said.

"I didn't even know you two spoke english," I replied.

Meanwhile, Big Dude took out the bologna. He opened it up (I am not making this up, I swear, this shit is too wild for my imagination) and placed the slices of bologna on his head. No one was really paying any attention to the ticket lady, but she was in the process of calling the police at this point.

"WHERE'S MY TICKET? I'M GETTING ON THAT BUS!"

He ranted, he raved, he paced back and forth.

"I bet you'll never visit Miami again, huh?" Hot Guy two said.

"Or at least not a Miami greyhound station," I whimpered.

Finally, the cops arrived, put him in handcuffs and took him off to jail. Or the looney bin, I'm unsure. All I know is that when I came back to Miami to go the airport, I chose the nicest looking guy in the station to sit next to. Ya know, in case the shit hit the fan again.

Honestly, I haven't been back down to Florida since then, but next month, I'll be making a return. I won't be going to Miami, nor will I be visiting any bus stations, but still... We'll see how this goes.