Thursday, September 15, 2011

My Grand Misadventure

I had work in Oxford the other day. It’s at the same school where I worked a lot last year. It’s a pretty rough school and I was hoping to never have to go back there, but I’m not really in a position to turn down work right now so I had to take it. Besides not being a particularly good place to work, I also didn’t know how to get there from my new flat. I know my way around Oxford and I knew which bus to take once I got there, but the getting there was a problem. That problem was exacerbated by the fact that our internet still wasn’t set up so I couldn’t use my trusty friend google maps. On a totally separate subject, I LOVE google maps. I can with complete assurance state that, without google maps, I wouldn’t be able to survive life in England. It has become my truest and nearly constant friend. It never lets me down and is always there when I need it. Except for this time. But it wasn’t google maps’ fault. It was the unwillingness of our internet provider to come set up our phone line until nearly two weeks after we’d moved in that was at fault. Two freakin’ weeks. That’s just ridiculous. But I digress. Back to the story. Charlotte, my bookings agent, had called me Wednesday for Friday so it did give me some time to see if I could figure things out. I agonized over what to do and finally decided to test the sincerity of our neighbors’ offer of ‘anything you need.’ I had only met them once, but they seemed really nice. So, I popped across the hall, knocked on the door, and unfortunately interrupted their dinner. They were gracious and welcomed me in and set up the computer for me to use.

First I checked the national rail website where you can plan train journeys. Strike one. No trains from High Wycombe to Oxford. There was an option to go through Banbury (of Banbury Cross fame,) but it would have cost £26 and that’s just outrageous. Then I typed in the postcodes on google maps and, sure enough, something came up. It would take over two hours, but it was pretty straightforward. I wrote everything down, thanked the neighbors for their kindness, and headed home. I spoke to Charlotte the next day and told her I’d give it a shot and if it worked I’d go back. (I was secretly hoping it wouldn’t work so I’d have a good excuse never to go back to that h*** hole.)

6:00 Friday morning came really early. I got up, got dressed, ate my go power, and headed out. Step one: catch bus 32 into town at 6:47 for £3.20. That part went smoothly. I was familiar enough with town to know where I was and where I needed to be. Step two: catch bus 275 to Oxford at 7:08 for £5.50. This step was also completed without incident. The bus ride was lovely. It wove through charming towns, patchwork fields, and dense forest. I typically quite like taking the bus because it forces me to see areas that I wouldn’t otherwise see. Step three: get off bus 275 at the end of the Headington Road, walk a couple of minutes to the Cowley Road and catch either bus 1 or 5 by about 8:20 for £2.90. Now the success of this venture hinged on me knowing where to get off the bus in order to get the next one without wasting too much time. As we came in to Oxford, I began to feel a bit nervous about this last step. I had no idea how long it would take for the bus to get to the right spot, nor did I know exactly where the right spot was. Unfortunately, I missed getting off at the correct stop, so step three was a fail. I got off at the next stop, which was several minutes farther into town in the opposite direction of where I needed to be. As I was walking to the right bus stop, I saw a number 5 go past. Lame. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for a number 1 and we were back in business, but after wasting nearly 10 minutes, I was going to be cutting it pretty fine. I did in fact make it with 2 minutes to spare and didn’t end up having a first lesson; all the rushing was for naught. The day went pretty well, but I was pretty glad to leave.

Now, the real adventure began. I needed to be home no later than 6:30 because we had a young women’s camp reunion and as the camp director, I really needed to be there. I thought it wouldn’t be a problem at all, seeing as I had three and a half hours to make the journey. I took bus 1 back up the Cowley Road, got off at the right spot, and walked to the bus stop across the street from where I should have gotten off that morning. So far so good. I waited patiently for bus 275 thinking that surely there would be at least one every hour. I had made the schoolboy error of not checking the return journey on google maps, but I assumed I could just make the same journey in reverse. I waited for half an hour without seeing one and figured that I must have just missed the one that came that hour. After another half hour without any sign of bus 275, I began to panic. I knew the bus ride would take around an hour and a half and I didn’t have loads of time to spare. Plus, I needed the loo, but I couldn’t leave in case the bus came while I was gone. So I kept waiting. Finally after waiting over an hour, I decided that drastic measures needed to be taken. I called the bus company and asked when the next bus would be leaving from Oxford. Imagine my despair when the woman told me the next bus wasn’t until 5:40! That was just not going to work. I decided to get on the next bus to Aylesbury, which is in the same general direction as High Wycombe, and hope there was somewhere along the way where I could catch a bus to High Wycombe. (People here laugh at me for being more familiar than they are with England’s geography, but on this occasion, it saved the day.) So I got on bus 200 to Aylesbury for £3.80. The bus driver was really helpful and told me where to get off to catch the next bus. It was in a lovely little town called Thame. Luckily, there was a bus there that goes to High Wycombe. It only leaves once per hour and I got there with 10 minutes to spare. Not quite long enough to hunt for a toilet, though. So at 5:40 I boarded bus 40 for £4.40. (For those of you keeping track at home, that’s nearly £20 spent on transportation. The part that really frosted me was that I wasted the money I paid for the return journeys to High Wycombe and my house.) It was set to arrive at High Wycombe at 6:30 so I called Robyn and asked her to meet me at the bus station with a pair of jeans and a sandwich so we could head out there for the reunion. We made it in plenty of time, but needless to say, I don’t think I’ll take work there again.