There is a place in Hell reserved for people who put their seats all the way back on a crowded bus. But it's not so special.

The following is a series of Facebook Statuses made from a bus, and then a boat, as I made my way from my current home of Cambridge to the place of my ancestral homeland, Martha's Vineyard.

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I apologize to the people whose seat is so far back I can taste their shoulderblades because the entire bus must unite to battle the insane woman tunelessly mumbling the lyrics to Christmas Carols loud enough that I can hear her through my headphones.

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Oh no, insane mumbling woman and person tunelessly relaying Christmas lyrics are two different people AND THEY ARE BECOMING LOUD FRIENDS.

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"ARE YOU IN A BAND?"

"NO, I CAN"T FIND ANYONE AS COMMITTED AS I AM."

"I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE DON'T COMMIT TO THINGS. DO YOU LIKE NEW YORK?"

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK."

"YOU SHOULD GO. THAT'S WHERE ALL THE PEOPLE WITH MUSIC GO."

"REALLY?"

"YEA. OH MY GOD. YOU'RE SO YOUNG. YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL. YOU HAVE SUCH A GREAT VOICE."

I wish my seat back went back about three rows.

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The loud peoples' names are Karen and Tray, in case you were wondering. And I know you were.

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"AM I BEING TOO LOUD?"

"YOU SHOULDA TOLD ME."

"I DON'T CARE. ASSHOLE. SORRY. AM I BEING TOO LOUD? WATCH OUT WILD DRIVER. HAHA. SORRY, AM I BEING TOO LOUD? I'M SORRY. YOU DIDN'T DESERVE THAT. I'M SORRY. SORRY. I DON'T MEAN TO BE SO LOUD. AM I BEING LOUD?"

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Tray, the Christmas Carol warbler has grown completely silent, realizing he has lost the title of Craziest Person On The Bus.

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Tray gets off the bus in Bourne. Karen starts to follow him off before realizing that she has no idea where she is.

"HOW LONG UNTIL WE GET TO BOSTON?"

I stare blankly at her.

"HOW. LONG. UNTIL. BOSTON?"

I feign concern. "Pardon?"

"BOSTON? CHRIST. WHEN DO WE GET TO BOSTON."

We, of course, departed from Boston about an hour previous. "Je suis desole. Je ne parle pas Anglais."

"KEY-RIST. WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU? WHEN BOSTON?"

"I sorry. I no speak good English." I shrug.

"WHEN THE--"

Mr. Seatback says, "He doesn't speak English. We're not going to Boston. We're coming FROM Boston. We're going to Woods Hole."

"OH RIGHT. I MUST HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP AND THE BUS IS GOING THE OTHER WAY NOW." Karen says. She is wrong. She got on just after me at South Station.

Mrs. Seatback asks "Could you lower your voice, please? We're in an enclosed space. There is no need to shout."

"SORRY. I MUST HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP. WHEN DO WE GET TO BOSTON?"

Mr. Seatback sighs. "In an hour. Go back to sleep."

"FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE. SORRY, SORRY. YOU DIDN'T DESERVE THAT."

Then Karen goes and sits back down, occasionally muttering to herself for the duration of the trip.

In Woods Hole, I make sure to put at least two people between me and Karen, so that when she inevitably stumbles into someone, "I'M SORRY. YOU DIDN'T DESERVE THAT. THE BUS SWERVED. IT SWERVED." It's parked. "I'M SORRY." I'm not the one she's stumbling into.

I move fast enough that there's no line to get my tickets to the ferry. Mr. and Mrs. Seatback walk to the also lineless window next to mine.

I ask, "Could I have a round trip to The Vineyard please?"

Mrs. Seatback's eyes balloon.

"Sure thing. That'll be sixteen dollars." The guy behind the window says.

"Thank you so much. Have a Happy Holiday." I say.

"I think you mean A MERRY CHRISTMAS." Mr. Seatback says.

"I don't think I do." I say. "But then again, my English isn't very good."

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For those concerned that I am mocking Karen for being mentally deficient, I should point out that she didn't appear to be mentally disabled, but you could smell the gin on her breath from the Mars Rover.

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Karen just ran a full loop around the ferry following some poor steamship authority employee. I'm not quite motivated enough to find out what's going on in this part of her Soap Opera.

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She's back!

"IS THE BOAT GOING THAT WAY?" She points to the front of the boat.

"Sorry. No English."

She sits down a few rows away.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING NOW?"

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She also just tried to buy a drink from the very friendly guy behind the counter.

She was not served.

"WHY CAN'T I HAVE ANOTHER BEER." She, of course, has not had a beer since at least getting on the bus nearly three hours ago.

"We're not serving anymore." The guy says. "But I AM about to play a very naughty Christmas Carol."

"WHY AREN'T YOU SERVING ANYMORE? I'M SORRY. I DON'T MEAN TO BE NOSEY BUT FUCK I WANT A BEER."

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Mr. Seatback, who I had not seen since getting on the boat just kept her from walking out to the open deck, probably saving her drunk life.

I guess he's not all bad.

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"IT IS SO WINDY IN HERE!" Karen says, though we are in an enclosed part of the ferry. 

I mean, Mr. Seatback has been sighing a lot but I don't think it's enough to be called "windy".

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I got caught breaking character on my way off the boat. She was standing between me and the exit and she said "JUST GO AROUND. GO AROUND ME."

And I said. "Thank you."

And she looked bewildered but didn't say anything.

Also, if you had two and a half minutes in the "How long before Adam's dad says something racist about Ferguson" then congratulations you win the deep foreboding sense of decay in American society.