FM’s gluttonous research team broke tradition this week. In addition to indulging in Newbury Street’s pricey drinky-drinks and calorie-rich desserts, we sought misadventure on a renovated Blue Bird school bus. The drizzling rain and cool temperature of the evening made the Harvard shuttle more appealing than usual: its two heaters could warm our chilled toes as we eavesdropped on your conversations.
The night began around 12:45am in front of John Winthrop House. The mechanical sounds of the shuttle clambering down Mount Holyoke Street encouraged loitering students off of the street and onto a sidewalk filled with impatient travelers. When the brakes grinded to a halt, the doors of the shuttle opened and an inebriated FM comper emerged with puckered lips ready to attack. The lips were then pressed against an innocent researcher who quickly boarded the shuttle.
The bus’ conservative décor screams safety. A first aid kit mounted on the wall overshadows a more noteworthy ‘body fluid clean-up kit’ (the contents of which are still unknown). Large metal handrails span the ceiling, lending support to students who would otherwise fall during their post-party drunkenness or the bumpy ride around campus. An imitation-leather strip of padding rests above the shuttle’s exit to protect taller students from injuring their heads. The red, plush upholstery on the gray seats almost matches the four no-smoking signs that breathe life into the shuttle wall’s mundane stretches of white paint and window. Such simplicity balances the external power of this ten foot, seven inch long monster-bus.
Gazing out of these windows, passengers are reminded that non-students live in Cambridge too. Cute houses and droves of cars line the streets where lovers walk hand-in-hand through piles of fallen leaves. Harvard first-years can be spotted stampeding like herds of cattle to this or that rumored party carrying not-so-discreet brown bags. FM can only speculate about the contents.
But there was no speculation that many of the passengers were under the influence. On the shuttle, a girl with too much make-up and a white styrofoam cup announced to anyone listening, “I can’t walk, I can’t stand, my feet hurt like a bitch.” When FM asked her about her evening, she recounted how she gained access to an “exclusive” dance club in Miami this past Columbus Day. Then came unsolicited advice: “You would have to wear khakis and a dress shirt at least.” The pungent scent of vodka wafting from her unshuttable trap was almost enough to intoxicate everyone else on board.
At the next stop, Mather House, a group of 5 girls sporting what appeared to be J. Crew mounted the shuttle bemoaning “we just got played.” They stared wistfully out the window as 3 males walked away with another girl. Though the shuttle was alive with conversation, their chatter stood out above the din...probably because it was dipped in bright green envy. “Look at her lunging out there.” And yes, said anonymous female was writhing against her equally anonymous man-friend. But so were the hoardes of women at waiting impatiently at Johnston Gate. Always a popular pick-up point, Johnston Gate was filled a mass of people standing against the cast-iron gate, lined up like convicts getting mug shots. A male in a tight t-shirt with extremely large muscles held a girl cave-man style over his shoulder. When she dismounted and boarded the shuttle, her friend advised her. “It isn’t cool. He’s your prefect.”
The FM team got an earful as two young women boarded the shuttle and screeched “Oh my god, you have to talk to us.” One of the young women relayed a story about a ride on the shuttle earlier that evening. “And I was talking to this wrestler,” she continued, “and I thought his knee was against my leg.” Yadda, yadda. Three minutes of dialogue about how they met. Details, details. “All of a sudden I reached down and I was like ‘That’s not his knee on my thigh.’” (Note: CVS brand Instant Antibacterial Hand Sanitizer is available for $1.19. Highly recommended for anyone considering a ride).
Although everyone from Johnston Gate abandoned ship at Currier House, a rowdy swarm of 21 jocks piled in to make up for the loss. They wore their hats and visors backwards as they moved loudly toward the back, slapping each other’s butts along the way. They ultimately crammed into the final three rows which only have 13 seats. The sportsmen obnoxiously chanted lyrics from popular music: “Let me ride that donkey,” “Throw yo hands up at me,” and “Get krunked up, get krunked up. . .” to name a few. The most appropriate diddy had to have been “Raise ‘da roof!” seeing as how the shutle is equipped with two pop-up emergency exits located on either ends of the ceiling. The bevy of boys finally exited at Radcliffe Yard repeating “Yeah, bus driver, yeah, bus driver.”
The shuttle returned to Winthrop House at 1:25am— right on schedule. With Missy Elliot’s “Get Your Freak On” blasting from the radio, our friendly research team exited the shuttle as another eager group of night-outers hopped on. The sounds of chattering and rank smell of vodka dissipated into the cool evening air as the shuttle bus, Massachusetts tag #1587, bumped down Mill Street for another round of pick-ups.
