The bad bus.

[8:40 a.m.]

The man at the ticket window slothily counted putrid smelling paper Kip. I leaned on the counter, shifting my stare from his eyes to the money passing through his hands. Maybe I wasn't intimidating enough. He didn't look at me once.

He unlocked a drawer out of my sight, and slid a pile of inflated cash into his desk. Eyelids propped only half open stirred not in their glaze of monotony. Wiry glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and black hair stood frozen, parted on the right with bangs overhanging a slight pout held in round cheeks. All these features heaped together into a pudgy face finally acknowledged my awaiting eyes in a sleazy shift. He wanted every measure of power available to a ticket seller, including redefining customer service.

"Vientiane," I said for the third time.

I signed my name on a clipboard and pushed 100,000 Kip through the window. He picked his rubber stamp, assigned me seat number 8, and pushed my ticket through a plexiglass half-circle.

"When does it leave?" I thought there was a bus scheduled at 9:30, but just to be sure, I asked him.

"About one hour." And with that he assumed the same place as before; he returned to his paper, eyes downcast and pudge hanging.

This encounter ended at 8:50. Now its...

[11:20]

...and we have just begun to pull out of the lot. Either this bus is truly operating on the laid back Asian watch, or the sellers want to fill every single seat. Probably the latter. At least five red plastic stools propped up passengers in the rubber matted aisle, and we would pick up more along the way.

For a moment, I miss punctuality. The timeliness of the Metra train that pulls away from sprinting passengers only 10 seconds late, or the rush of the "El", with its warning beeps and ensaring doors.

[11:35]

We have moved just next door to a fuel station and now here we sit, in a line, behind a utility truck, while motorbikes squeeze in the cracks. How hard would it be to fuel the bus beforehand, I wonder? Or is this another example of faulty logic? -- case and point, the woman in front of me, that has repeatedly tried to force her seat back into a reclined position, not looking once for mechanical failure, or the more obvious reason: that my legs, propped up on the wheel well, are cramped against the back of her chair. She repeatedly smashes my kneecaps.

[11:44]

Its almost noon and we still haven't fueled. I guess this is the first stop for bathroom breaks too.

[11:50]

Fast forward.

[9:17 p.m.]

More kneecap smashing.

Fast forward again.

[11:30 p.m.]

We arrive.

After three 15-20 minute driver cigarette breaks, two potty breaks for a whining two year old, and a long stop for lunch, I finally arrived in Vientiane. I walked around the city in the dark of half past eleven and moved from full guesthouse to full guesthouse -- finally settling for a bed in a scorching room that kicked me out at 6:30 in the morning for guests that had made reservations.

Now I'm sweaty, with no clean laundry, and a visa that expires in 4 days, sitting in an internet cafe, and listening to Bush, while a prolonged, on-and-off, 2 week abnormal stomach eats at me after I fed it a danish pastry and two cups of coffee. Sure, not Laos food, but comfort food.

This is my life. Now.