More running and swearing than I've done in the past year

So my parents and youngest sister were here last week, which is why the blogging has been dodgy. Having your family come visit you is way less stress than anybody else, because they're used to seeing you screw stuff up. And I, of course, managed to screw things up royally Sunday night.

Saturday morning, as we were walking past the Secession, I turned to my parents and said, "I'm going to check the bus schedule quick. There's only one bus running back to Stegersbach on Sunday night, and we can't miss it." I think you can see where this is going, right?

So I checked the schedule and confirmed that the bus left at 7:15 p.m., as I thought. We went about our business.

Sunday night rolls around, we've eaten at the Chinese buffet as my sister demanded, and checked our email on the way back to the hostel to pick up our bags. We leave the hostel at 6:45, giving us half an hour to get to the bus stop, which is, after all, only five subway stops from where we were staying.

Of course, we ended up having to wait for trains both at Westbahnhof and at Volkstheatre where we transfered, and got to Karlsplatz (the closest station to the Secession) with five minutes to spare. We probably could have made it if I had followed the signs to the Secession instead of the signs to the interregional trains, but I didn't. I got completely turned around. Eventually I said (internally, because my mom doesn't let me swear), "Fuck it, gonna have to run." So I dashed upstairs, got oriented above ground, and started running in the direction of the bus, overnight bag bumping against my side all the way. I crossed against two lights, which is a deadly dangerous thing to do in Vienna, and, miracle of miracles, caught the bus.

My parents and sister hadn't been able to keep up with me as their bags were significantly heavier and they had no clue where I was going. So, one foot in the door of the bus, I asked the driver if he was going to Stegersbach.

"Yes, right now. Let's go, lady."
"My parents and sister are right behind me. They're coming."
"I don't care. It's 7:15. I have to go."
"Please!" I was practically crying by this point. "They'll be here in just a second."
"It's 7:16! I have a schedule! I don't care!" And with that he started moving the bus forward, regardless of the fact that my foot was still on the first step.
"Fine. Thank you," I sa?d, fighting to keep a sarcastic edge out of my voice. "We'll try to catch up with you at Matzleinsdorferplatz." Keep in mind that I'm insanely wound up and German is not my first language, so the fact that I could spit out "Matzleinsdorferplatz" is fairly impressive.

I dashed down the street looking for a taxi. A woman who had been standing on the bus before I got there, arguing with the driver, followed me, but I ignored her. I found a taxi, explained the situation in rapid and probably semi-incoherent German, and climbed in. The woman tried to climb in with me, asking if she could ride on someone's lap or something, just to get to Matzleinsdorferplatz. She was stubborn. "Please, just on your lap. I need to get on that bus, too."

I said, "Look, I'm sorry, there won't be room."
"Please, try to understand."
I was getting impatient. I dug in my wallet for five Euros and gave it to here. "Take another taxi," I said, and climbed in, shutting the door behind me.

Of course, by the time we waited through three red lights and found my parents, there was no way the taxi driver could catch the bus. We piled out at Matzleinsdorferplatz (thank goodness that's the last time I have to type that) and who should be standing there but the woman from the bus.

"He's gone," she said.
"I figured," I replied, "but we had to try."
"I didn't have enough money to get on the bus. I was short by three Euros," she commented.
"Ugh. Well, he was an asshole, anyway."
"Yeah, he was, and you handled the situation like an angel," she said.
"Thanks. It's good to hear it wasn't just me."
She kissed my cheeks and walked away.

So after my father listened to me rant about the bus driver using words my mother clearly does not approve of, we decided that we would go to S?dbahnhof, the southern train station, and see if we could either catch a train (another long shot, I figured) or figure out how to rent a car in a country where nothing is open on Sunday.

When we got to the train station (which I did by riding "black"?my 72-hour subway ticket had expired forty minutes earlier), I got a little jolt of hope when looking at the giant schedule board of trains: there was one leaving for Oberwart at 20:32. Fantastic. That would get us within 20 kilometres of Stegersbach?close enough to take a taxi.

I walked up to the ticket counter, waited for the man in front of us to finish. Then I had to throw a nasty look at the guy who cut in front of us in line. I didn't say anything, though, because he had three kids with him. Anyway, I finally made it to the window, and said, "Four tickets to Oberwart, please."

"What train?"
"The 20:32."
"I suggest you look a little closer," the man?Helmut, according to his name plaque?said.
"Oh, that's arrivals. Rats. Is there anything going to Oberwart tonight?"
"Just hang on, I have to look. For God's sake."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I understand."
"I know you understand, but I don't understand you." Helmut was starting to get on my nerves, and it was apparently mutual. "There's a train in three minutes."
"Okay, four adults. Which track?"
"For God's sake! I have to look!"
"Sorry," I said again. I mean, is it unreasonable to assume that information is displayed on the same screen?
Helmut printed the tickets. My father was going to pay with his credit card, but I preempted him with a 50-Euro bill, figuring that would be faster. This prompted another "For God's sake!" from Helmut.
"Track sixteen," he said, after he finished shaking his clasped hands at me.
"Thanks," I said dryly, and grabbing the tickets, I turned to my parents and said, "Run."

We caught the train and even managed not to screw up our transfer in Wiener Neudorf, but only because the conductor caught us going up the stairs in the direction of the wrong track and pointed us to the right one. In my defense, he had orignally told us the train was leaving from track 1 when it was actually leaving from track 2.

Arrival time in Oberwart: 9:45 or thereabouts, just as the station was shutting down. Next task: find a taxi. There were, of course, no phone books in the phone booths at the station, so I told my parents I would walk down to the post office, which was in sight of the station. There are phone books and phones in the lobby, and I thought it might be open since it's separate from the main post office.

No such luck.

I had to walk to a bar three blocks away and ask a less-than-thrilled-looking bartender for the number of a local taxi. She gave it to me, and I called. The driver told me I would have to wait ten minutes before he could come get us. I wanted to laugh. "That's absolutely not a problem," I said. I saved my giggles until after he'd hung up.

From that point on, things went mostly fine: the taxi arrived, had room for all of us and our luggage, and didn't mind going to Stegersbach and then back. The ride cost us ?30, making the total cost of the fiasco ?90, only about ?20 more than catching the bus on time would have, plus we didn't lose the money from the hotel we'd reserved in Stegersbach.

Of course, I was completely traumatized by the entire experience, even more so when we ran into the asshole bus driver at a Heuriger the next day. He didn't recognize me, but I called him many dirty names under my breath.