Journey to Flugtag

FLY DAY

While nowhere near “bus-savvy,” my navigating skills have reached the elevated status of “slightly above inept.” When my computer is able to pick up my neighbor’s wifi signal, Metro Transit’s Trip Planner (http://www.metrotransit.org/TripPlanner/Default.aspx) almost always guides me to where I need to go.  Despite my maturing sense of direction, I was still nervous about taking the bus to Flugtag alone. Immediately after I found the intersection closest to Lake Harriet, my internet cut out. Without the help of the omnipotent Trip Planner, I decided to take the bus to downtown St. Paul, cross my fingers, and follow a crowd, loud noises, or signs to Harriet Island.

Since I’d missed out on carpooling with my friends to the event, this was going to be a solo journey. Standing at the bus stop, I formulated my plan: I’d ask the bus driver for directions, and go from there. While I tried to reassure myself I’d be fine, I realized just how lost I was: How will I know when to get off? Had I missed the bus? Will I even be able to find my friends when I get there? As my brain went into overdrive contemplating all the cracks in my plan, a young woman walked up to me and asked,

“Has the 3 come yet?”
“No,” I replied, “At least not in the last ten minutes. Is there any chance you’re taking it to Flugtag?”
Fortunately, she was (like me) going to Flugtag, and (unlike me) knew exactly how to get there. Praise Jesus.
After five minutes of pleasant chitchat with my new friend, Megan, the bus finally arrived. I’d only seen the 3 so crowded during rush hour, but now instead of business professionals checking their Blackberrys and students looking through note cards, the bus was teeming with drunken “frat boys” (sorry for abusing that term, my brother is a frat boy and I think he and his frat “brothers” are wonderful, but I’m trying to conjure up the stereotypical image of a frat boy. Actual members of fraternities or not, these guys fit the stereotype perfectly). Megan and I were warmly welcomed by this crowd, who offered to kick their friends out of the seats next to them so we’d have a spot, but we walked past them laughing.

Megan and I felt a sense of sober solidarity with the overwhelmed family that boarded our bus just in time to hear the frat boys chant, “Flug-tag! Flug-tag!” I’ve never been on a party bus, but I was starting to think this rowdy bus would count.

That is, until our bus driver put the kibosh on the party. Apparently he’d been yelling at everyone to be quiet on his microphone for quite some time, but no one heard him, as the chants of “Flug-tag! Flug-tag!” had muffled his angry pleas for silence. Fed up, our tiny Asian bus driver parked on the side of the road, stood up, and with a glint of rage in his eye yelled,

“Be quiet!! I know you have been drinking the alcohol, and if you don’t quiet down I will kick you all off this bus and call the cops!” 

The bus driver’s speech kept everyone quiet for a good thirty seconds, then they were roaring again. The chanting briefly subsided because the frat boys spent some time calculating when exactly they begin chanting, “Flug-tag! Flug-tag!” again without getting kicked off the bus. Surprisingly, their calculations were incorrect. By mandate of our tired driver, we departed the bus one stop early, chanting as we disembarked.

Megan and I followed the crowd to the river, making the mistake of following a pack of drunken guys (from our bus) who made a pit stop to pee in a parking ramp. We recounted just how ridiculous our bus ride had been, and wondered as we walked across the bridge if we’d ever find our friends in the giant sea of people below. Once we got through the giant Red Bull blow-up gates, we amicably parted ways, wishing each other luck, and thanking our respective deities for the traveling companion.

Shocking as it may be, I ended my journey to Flugtag both alive and at Flugtag. Stay tuned for Part II, my account of the actual event!