Fleas may travel betterSeeing the stories in the Parkersburg newspapers about Greyhound's dash out of that city reminded me of my own recent "ride the dog" experience.
We'll pause now for the Brooklyn Hillbilly to collect his mind from the gutter.
OK, now then.
I chose Greyhound for, I'm guessing, the reason most people choose Greyhound - financially having no other choice to get from point A to point B. And I think the company probably realizes this, considering the customer service, or lack thereof, I encountered at some of the stations along the course of my journey. Really, why should they bother being nice to people when they have no other competitor for the downtrodden-traveler market? It would certainly be the decent thing to do, but financially it's not a must, I suppose. It's not like I can say, "That's it, Greyhound, I'm taking my $50 and riding Poodle Lines instead," because there is, in fact, no other choice.
My trip was supposed to take about 16 hours. Driving it would have taken about half that, but again, this was not an option for me at that time. So it was off on the dog for my big adventure.
I learned many valuable lessons. Perhaps the greatest one was that it really does pay to KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. If you must travel Greyhound and are of sound mind and body, it's really in your best interest to speak to no one - not the driver, not the baggage handlers (good Lord, especially not them), and most certainly not your fellow passengers. If the bus is packed and your seat-mate engages you in a conversation, I suppose it's OK to grunt or smile, but really - do not converse. It will just backfire. If you're delusional, schizophrenic, manic, completely detached from reality, or have a penchant for proselytizing, then chatter away; you've found just the place you can fit in.
I made my first and most grievous mistake before I even got on the first bus. I was chipper - all excited about getting to travel, albeit by Greyhound. I arrived at the "station" (a gas station, actually, doubling as a Greyhound pick-up point) early and waited outside with the rest of the would-be passengers, trying to ignore the children who were rolling on the ground in the oil spots by the gas pumps. When I heard the lady next to me tell someone her final destination, I had to exclaim, "Oh, that's where I'm going, too!" because I couldn't believe the coincidence. It was not until 17+ hours later that I finally escaped the woman. She was nice enough, but I'm independent. I operate alone. And this woman apparently was looking for someone to shadow, because that's what she did the entire journey.
Most disturbing to me was that there was never an agreement that she could stalk me. I just gradually realized it was her intent. If I exited the station, she followed, at times closer than I would allow an animal to trail me. I was a nervous wreck by the time I arrived at my destination early the next morning.
Besides being followed, there were numerous other stresses along the way. The high point of the madness came during a two-hour layover in a larger-sized southern city in the wee hours of the morning. Getting off the bus, I was barked at by the baggage handler for trying to pick up my own bag. At all the other stops along the way, we'd been expected to heave our own bags from bus to bus. One driver just opened the luggage compartments and gestured, saying to put them wherever we wanted because he didn't care and had no intentions of lifting our bags, what with his bad back and all. The protocol at this big-city station apparently was that you don't touch your luggage until the handler, who bore an eerie resemblance to Morgan Freeman in "Million Dollar Baby," sets it on the curb. From there you're expected to lug it around just like at the other stations. As I learned the hard way, it was considered highly insensitive and perhaps threatening to lean forward and attempt to retrieve one's own bag.
Inside, the station was packed and the decor reminded me of something from a 1950s or 60s movie. The cashier at the snack counter called me "baby" as he handed me my change. Meanwhile, security officers patrolled the room, breaking up two near fights. Travelers jostled for position in line for the next available bus. Shouting matches erupted when travelers believed they should be at the front of the line due to their purported health conditions; others who were weary from hours or days of travel didn't care if these people dropped dead before boarding, as that would mean more space on the bus. It was truly a different world from the "no, no, you go ahead of me" attitude I encounter here at home.
Surprisingly, I landed near the front of the line for the next, final leg of my journey. The driver seemed to be a poster child for the service-with-a-snarl attitude. He took my ticket, which of course caused him great dismay because it did not look like the other tickets, and I looked out the door of the station and saw about four buses. Passengers seemed to be boarding at least two of them. I don't know what I was thinking. Indeed, now that I think about it, it was truly silly, but I had the audacity to inquire politely, "Which bus is it?"
"Now what bus do you THINK IT IS?!" He roared. "THE ONLY BUS PEOPLE ARE GETTING ON!"
Pointing out that people had been climbing the steps to TWO of the buses would have likely gotten me killed, so I just walked out onto the platform and studied the two buses in question until I recognized a woman through the window of one of them as having been a person ahead of me in line. Someone else behind me in line must have asked him the same "stupid" question because I heard him yell almost the same thing again. That individual had the gall to snap back, "DON'T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!" The jolly driver finally boarded the bus, paused to tell a young mother and her baby that he'd better not hear any crying (this warning was delivered in a non-jovial manner), and we were on our way.
To be fair, there were a couple of bright spots. One was a driver for the most crowded leg of the journey. In sharp contrast to the nearly despondent driver I met at the start of the trip, this particular driver was so amiable and pleasant that I immediately grew suspicious. Is he high drugs? Is he going to crash us into the median? Why's he telling jokes? Are we all going to die?
I arrived at my destination unharmed ("velcro buddy" still in tow), having been in no accidents, nor did I miss any of my connections due to overcrowding - a possibility that had travelers exceptionally edgy. So, oddly enough, I wound up feeling lucky. I made it. I made it without being robbed, without getting kicked off a bus because it was full, without having to spend the night in the station from hell, without getting caught up in a fight between two women dueling over who had the worst ailment. And perhaps that's the sick brilliance of Greyhound. IF you do get to your destination somewhat close to on time - I gathered from conversations I overheard that that isn't commonplace - you feel as if you've won a tremendous battle and start thinking, "Well, for $49, I guess being yelled at, humiliated, and fearful isn't all that bad." And that is sad. But darn it, if I had to make the same journey again, I'd most likely have to do the same thing.
