For three months, I happily planned another visit my youngest grandson, in Dunnville, Ontario. That trip, by car, would take about two hours. However, by bus it takes four, since it goes ‘all around Robin Hood’s barn’! It was September, and I planned on visiting from the 19^th to the 26^th.  We were both looking forward to another visit, and I planned on getting him to take a walk at least once a day outside. He stays in his room at the computer all day and far into the night, and I thought it would be good for him to have a little change.

 

All the plans were made and I was mostly packed, when I went to a meeting of the Arts and Crafts group in my building. I had heard a snippet of news that disturbed me before I went down, and asked if anyone had heard the whole report. Several said yes, and the report was that Greyhound was going on strike at midnight. That is the bus line that I use, the only one that has a connection to Dunnville. I almost stopped breathing! Oh, drat that Murphy!

 

In order to visit my grandson, I have to let the place where he lives know, a month in advance, my arrival and departure dates. The room was booked – when could I re-book if there was a strike? And how long would the strike last? I went back up to my apartment with my mind in a whirl, and got on the computer to contact Andrew. He was, as he said, ‘not happy’ at the thought of a strike, and my visit being indefinitely postponed.

 

It wasn’t until eight a.m. on Friday, September the nineteenth that I called Greyhound and, at last, talked to a real, live person. I heaved a big sigh of relief when the young lady checked and informed me that there would be no strike. I computered Andrew to let him know, and finished my packing. At two p.m. I boarded the bus for the first leg of my journey, from Toronto to Niagara Falls. I thought Murphy had struck and gone on his way, and settled back to enjoy the bus ride. Little did I know!

 

The bus went through Mississauga, ran into heavy traffic at Burlington, went on through Grimsby and St. Catharines, so we arrived at the Niagara Falls Terminal about one minute past five p.m., and saw another bus pulling out. I asked the dispatcher who was standing by the bus door when the Dunnville bus was due to go. He looked almost sheepish, tilted his head toward where the bus had disappeared, and told me that was it! I almost wailed, “What can I do? I’m supposed to be on it!”

 

 

The Toronto driver hadn’t looked at the second part of my ticket, only the part he took off, so he hadn’t realised he had a passenger to connect with the Dunnville bus. He was mildly upset, but radioed the Dunnville driver to come back and pick me up. I thanked him, and dragged my suitcase into the terminal to await the arrival of my bus, muttering curses at Murphy and his nasty tricks.

 

By six fifteen or so, I realised that the driver had either ignored the call and refused to come back, or the Toronto driver hadn’t been able to contact him, and I was stranded. I asked the man who sold tickets and announced arrivals and departures, and he told me to contact Greyhound, and refused to even try to do anything himself. I sat for a while wondering what to do, and groused to a young lady sitting beside me. She suggested calling my grandson to see what could be done. It was a great idea, but I wasn’t sure I had the number with me. You can imagine my relief when I found I did. Then came the problem of getting enough change to make a long-distance call.

 

Once I had everything I needed, I went to the public phone and started to make the call. I placed the little book and the change on the top of the phone, just below eye level, ready to make the call. And Murphy took over again! The little phone book I had wouldn’t stay open, I had my purse and a large tote bag on one arm, my glasses, a handful of coins, and the phone receiver to cope with, while I put the required coins in and tried to punch in the numbers. Coins went rolling all over the floor, so I had to hang up, gather the coins, take the ones from the return slot, and start all over.

 

I managed to get through to the reception desk, and started telling the young lady there my problem. While we were talking, I was told to put in another quarter for one more minute. I tried to pick one up, only to have coins scatter again, and was cut off. This happened again on attempts two and three, (at three dollars and eighty cents a shot!), after which I finally re-organised everything, using the suitcase as a more reachable and roomier table top for the coins and book. Thankfully, that worked, and I was able to get through to Andrew at a few minutes before 9 p.m. The receptionist had notified him of the problem, so he already had John standing by, who told me not to worry, they were on their way to get me. I thought I had at last defeated Murphy.

 

I sat back down and waited, and at around ten p.m. John and Marilyn arrived. I was so happy to see them, I hugged John (to his surprise), and would have hugged Marilyn too, but she had a bad cold and didn’t want to spread it.

 

It was after 11 p.m. when we finally pulled in to the parking lot at Edgewater Gardens (the bus arrived in Dunnville at six oh two!!), and we went in. We were greeted by the head of the night staff, who was very upset. She couldn’t find the key to the room I had booked, and didn’t know if she could get it before Monday! “Sheesh” I thought “Murphy is really working overtime on this. What else can go wrong?”

 

John and I went to Andrew’s room and I hugged him and thanked him for his good work getting me there. John said I would be staying with them overnight, so we said goodnight, and left. I had a nice, quiet, rest that night, breakfasted with Marilyn on Saturday morning, and she drove me back to Edgewater Gardens. I was greeted by a happy staff member, who had the key to the Harvest Room, and all was well. Marilyn brought my luggage over later that day, and, except for providing a very cold, windy afternoon for the Church picnic on Sunday, Murphy backed off and went to play his tricks on someone else. I do hope he leaves me alone next year, when I go to see Andrew!