And Another One Rides the Bus
Going By Hound
It’s not just TransIt that hauls my carcass around. Sometimes I use the commuter bus’s bigger cousin, Greyhound, to get where I’m going. Such was the case recently when I went home to Central Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving, a cooler containing a fresh turkey from my nice bosses in tow.
At a layover in Harrisburg I heard the latest horror stories of trying to travel during a major holiday, especially this year when everyone hit the road and the skies, possibly wanting the comfort of family as long as they kept their opposing political opinions to themselves that is. A woman told me that a connecting bus out of New York City filled up fast and some hapless passengers were left behind. We lucked out, though, with seats for me and my turkey as well as the rest of the pilgrims.
But it wasn’t all gratefulness and loving feelings from one young woman traveling with her toddler. The mom insisted that the kid’s safety seat belonged on the bus, not under the bus in the luggage compartment. The driver explained that rules are rules, to which the woman snapped, “If my daughter gets hurt I’m suing you!”
Most times the passengers couldn’t be sweeter. I recall a trip in the summer when the air conditioning went of the fritz and we were forced to wait for a replacement bus. As soon as it arrived, several passengers jumped in to transfer the luggage, including stacks of eggs headed for market just so we could get rolling. Other times I’ve been treated to interesting and touching stories from my fellow travelers, including a girl sitting in the station who said she had just gotten out of jail and could she have money for a Chap Stick. Another time there was a young man who had traveled from the West Coast, sleep-deprived and giddy about how he was going to surprise his grandmother for Christmas.
“Welcome to bus travel the day before Thanksgiving,” the driver called out sarcastically as we left the station. She followed it with the usual litany of rules about what we couldn’t do—no alcohol, no radios, cell phones needed to be put on vibrate and there was no smoking of any kind.
“Actually, no tobacco period,” she said. “Including snuff and chewing tobacco. How anyone could use those things is way beyond me, but there you have it.”
Her spiel was nothing compared to one of the other regular drivers who routinely yaks for 15 miles down the road, lecturing on everything from keeping your germs to yourself and not littering the bus with candy wrappers, coffee cups and half-eaten sandwiches.
About an hour from my destination a woman a few seats behind me decided to throw caution to the wind and conduct a loud and lengthy conversation on her cell phone—what a rule breaker. I learned of her bad feet and how her daughter-in-law couldn’t cook to save her life but was hosting Thanksgiving dinner. She went through the list of pies she was going to make, just so they would at least have a decent dessert even if the turkey was dry, the gravy lumpy and cranberry sauce from a can.
I have a few weeks until I board the hound for the trip home for Christmas. If I’m lucky I’ll arrive in my hometown the day Santa stands outside the station grilling hot dogs for the loyal riders. Until then I’ll get my mass transportation fix with my more familiar bus buddies.
