All aboard?

We see the Bloomington shuttle in the distance, stopping just a block away in front of Kilroy's Sports Bar. The girl in front of me picks up speed, her purse slapping against her thigh as she begins to do more than just the power-walk. I suddenly realize that when trying to catch a ride on the drunk bus, running and making a fool of yourself is totally acceptable.\nIt's a mad dash up North Walnut Street, swerving through groups of half-drunken people holding onto slices of Rockit's pizza or just each other.\n"Catching the drunk bus?" someone crows with laughter as we fly by them. I hope Tyler, Weekend's photographer, is still behind me.\nJust as we get within a few feet of the shuttle, its doors shut. \n"Hey, wait! Stop!" yells the guy at the front of our running group as he jumps into the street and waves his arms wildly at the vehicle, which begins to drive away. Defeated, he takes his girlfriend's arm, and they retreat to the parking garage.\n"We may not be getting a ride on the drunk bus tonight," I gasp as we watch the white, bulky shuttle chug off into the distance.\nThis evening has begun with a simple enough premise. After rumblings on campus and in the newspaper about the usefulness of the Midnight Special system, known more commonly as the "drunk bus," the Weekend staff decided we needed to check out the phenomenon ourselves.\nEnter me, and Weekend's trusty photographer, Tyler. We'd catch a shuttle a little before 2 a.m. and ride around until the end of the night, which ends at about 4 a.m. Along the way, we'd planned to meet some new friends and maybe have a drunken philosophical conversation or two. Couldn't be easier, right? Wrong.\nSo we've already been standing at the Indiana Memorial Union bus shelter for roughly half an hour, watching the headlights on 7th Street approach in the hopes that one of them is a shuttle. This is where the drunk bus supposedly starts its route, according to the campus bus Web site, and it should stop by every 20 minutes. The drunk bus, of course, is actually three or four of the Bloomington shuttle buses that normally drive back and forth from the airport.\nNoting the frosty air Tyler is expelling from his mouth, I begin to regret my decision to wear flip-flops and a short-sleeved shirt with a non-wind-resistant shrug. It's far too cold for this. \n"Where are you guys going?" an over-friendly brunette asks, walking crookedly with her boyfriend supporting her.\n"We're catching the drunk bus," I say, hoping they are as well.\n"Wow, that's awesome, a drug bust?" the boyfriend asks, his eyes huge as he checks out Tyler's expensive photography equipment.\n"No, the drunk bus," I repeat. Laughing, they wish us well and stumble off into the night. \nThis whole riding-the-drunk-bus thing is going to be a lot more difficult than I thought.\nWe drive over to Kirkwood Avenue and park, following the vague instructions listed on the Web site that say the drunk bus stops on Jordan, Kirkwood, Walnut and Third streets.\nThe question: Where is it?\nTwo shuttle chases later, I'm beginning to feel like I need some alcohol myself. Or, at the very least, a dowsing rod that senses large, moving groups of alcohol-soaked students.\nAt least I think we are getting some entertainment for our wasted time, as the police outside Sports slam a drunk in a pale green T-shirt against the side of their vehicle.\n"I can't feel my thumb!" the guy screams as two officers hold him down.\nA blonde girl on crutches, her entire leg in a flexible cast, hops by us, obviously not deterred from her night out by a measly little broken bone.\n"Settle down, settle down," a guy tells his girlfriend as she slips off of the sidewalk into the street while he watches the police with a wary eye.\nMore people head toward the parking garage and their cars, some unable to walk straight. I suppress the urge to suggest to the inebriated that they should be calling a cab or waiting for the drunk bus with us.\nMunching on a slice of pizza, senior Katherine Tabaka stops to chat with us as the drunk in handcuffs is put into the back of a police cruiser. The red and blue lights flashing from the four police cars across from us cast a weird pulsing glow over the street -- in time to the beat of the music pouring out of Sports.\nMaybe our problem is that we aren't drunk, I think, as Tabaka explains that the drunk bus always seems to magically appear when required. \n"Whenever I need it, it just seems to come there," she laughs. "I don't think they have schedules."\n"To be honest, if you just get on the bus and tell them where you want to go, they'll just take you there," her friend adds, wrapping his arms around Katherine to keep her warm.\nWell, we're getting somewhere in our quest for the drunk bus. So far, we've figured out that it passes along four major roads, usually stops in front of large bars like Kilroy's, and sometimes takes you exactly where you need to go. Maybe.\n"One random time it dropped me off at Steak n Shake," Katherine says, biting into the crust of her pizza. \nI really need that dowsing rod right about now.\nWe outlast the drunks in our wait for the Bloomington shuttle, but when the last three shuffle away in defeat, we know that our hunt for the drunk bus has to continue somewhere else. Like back on Kirkwood.\nIt's 3 a.m., and the night is getting surreal.\n"Five-foot tall is an average height," an extremely short guy screams across the street from us, obviously upset by his diminutive stature.\nLaughing with some other less drunken people in front of the Monroe County Public Library, we run into my bus buddy, senior Joie Meffert, who befriended me last month on a city bus ride home one day.\n"What are you guys doing tonight?" Joie asks, standing to give me a massive hug. I tell her I'm looking for the drunk bus. \n"I love riding the drunk bus," her friend Matthew Harmeyer says, making loud, slurpy kissing noises. "Big, sweetie kisses for the drunk bus."\nAfter a short conversation, Meffert, Harmeyer and their friends decide that the drunk bus, while loved, is kind of "random on purpose." I am so not convinced.\nStopping in front of the hot dog stand, I try to engage one of the men working there in a conversation about the drunk bus.\n"It starts off regular, but its been dealing with drunks all night, so it's random as heck," the hot dog guy outside of Kilroy's, Matt Berry, says, pointing out that the drivers of these shuttles are "pretty hip cats" to do this job.\n"They try to do the most good they can for the budget that they can," Berry says, his eyes googly through his thick glasses.\nFinally, we hit pay dirt. After 3:30 a.m., one of the shuttles pulls up in front of Peoples Park into a handicapped space. The crowd starts running toward it.\nI follow, my pad and paper clenched tightly in hand as I cross the street, ignoring the cars driving by in my attempt to get on the bus.\nAt the doorway, I stop and look back at Tyler, who is trying to take some photos, and beyond him into the dark where my car is parked. \nSuddenly, I realize that it's too late to catch this ride. \nThe bus driver kindly informs me that this is the last pass by Kirkwood tonight, and, deflated, I step aside and let the other eager patrons board.\nWe'd found the drunk bus, and our long and arduous search, which had taken almost two hours, was over. It hadn't required a dowsing rod, just a bit of luck and some high school track skills. Yet I feel like I've lost the race. \nI return to the hot dog stand, resting my arm gingerly along the plastic countertop.\n"There might be one more along tonight," Berry tells me as he slops chili sauce and onions on one of the dogs.\nI need a drink.