Fire from the Hip: Thoughts on Sports & Real Life

Looks pretty harmless doesn't it? Friendly blue sky, big, sturdy and reliable bus ready to roll. No angry hordes of people, no mass of humanity trying to board one sole bus, headed west. No 3 a.m. pit stops in Milesburg, PA where everybody must get off the bus. Four days before Christmas, I had my first real Greyhound experience. Below is the story of that journey, recounted through my journal.

My Itinerary: 10:15 p.m. > Depart New York, NY
10:00 a.m. > Arrive Toledo, OH

So misleading...just get on a bus and sit on it for twelve hours. I could do that...maybe I'd even take a flask and take a couple of swigs now and again whenever I'd come to. I imagined fifteen to twenty hearty souls, headed West along dreary I-80, with more empty seats than full ones and the occasional crazy. But otherwise, a trip that would provide me with an experience from a bygone era. Ohh how wrong I was.

8:23 p.m. - After several episodes of Wonder Years and a bowl of 3 Lentil Chile from Bagel World, I leave my apartment, turn on my ipod and envision myself in fourteen hours at home in Ohio, a place I haven't seen in a year. The Manhattan-bound F pulls into 7th Ave just as I finish descending the stairs.

8:56 p.m. - Having entered Port Authority, I arrive at the Greyhound ticket counter where 75 to 100 people are waiting for one of three agents to help them. To my left, 20 to 30 people stand in a line for two Greyhound agents under a sign with the vague title: Information. I hesitantly get in the longer line, checking the clock. Trouble's abrewin'. I turn my Ipod off. Moments later, several people in front of me go get out of line, heading for the Information line. I yell to one of the people standing in the other line, asking what the difference between the lines are. Several people shrug their shoulders. I make the jump into the other line. After a few minutes more and as more people jump into the Information line, a husky woman behind the counter shouts: "Hey, you!," pointing to the women behind me. "What are you doing in this line?" "I don't know," she responds, "I bought my ticket online." The tsar behind the counter divides the line with no verbal explanation or categorization for the various lines.

9:12 p.m. - Nearing the counter, I overhear the guy two people in front of me, mentioning that he is headed to Ohio. I inform him of our similar destination. Sure enough, the kid lives ten minutes away from me in Sylvania and we share way too many common acquaintances for my comfort level. I prod him for information on the ride as he's made the trip several times. He casually mentions that he tried to get here earlier, but "...we should be early enough to make this bus." "What?!?, I ask confusedly. "Well, this bus is usually pretty full."

9:17 p.m. - "I'll see you at the gate," he says as he picks up his ticket. I check-in, having successfully (and luckily) guessed that the Information line was where you could pick up tickets, already purchased online. "Alright, sir, you're all set. Just go around the corner to check your bag," the woman behind the counter says to me. I turn the corner, anxious to check my bag and get to the gate, only to see a line of about 50 people, snaking between two glass doors, above which a sign hangs, "Baggage Check."

9:41 p.m. - During the interim between the time it has taken me to reach the front of the baggage check line, the number of people behind me has quadrupled and now disappears around the corner towards the ticket counter. I impatiently wait at baggage check, wondering if my tiny suitcase really needs to be checked. After an interminable wait, a guy in a Greyhound sweatshirt asks me where I am headed. "Toledo,Ohio" I say. He offers me a flimsy tag, on which 'Toledo' is scribbled and tells me, "You're all set." As I book it towards the stairwell to Gate 70, I hear and see people pushing to the front of the line, telling the luggage guys, "We're going to miss our bus, waiting in this god damn line." Things are getting ugly. I feel lucky.

9:50 p.m. - FUCK GREYHOUND. After harrowing fifty minute ordeal where chaos was the rule, I manage to get my ticket and check my bag. Now, I find myself in a sea of humanity in some sort of indecipherable order. As I write, 5 seperate but ill-defined lines of people are waiting for Gate 70 and Ohio...300, no 400 people and no clue where the line ends or where it begins. Just a mass of human bodies , no panic though, at least where I am, only good, old-fashioned, agreeable Midwesterners in my line. Two lines form to my left and two to the my right. I already know the names of the people around me, their destinations, and why they're going where they're going. Neal to my front, Greg to my left. The kid from Sylvania is nowhere to be seen. Grandma purchased the tickets for the mother and daughter in the line to my left (affectionately known as line B). The girl four people behind me on her Iphone is sooooooo mad right now that "...she doesn't even want to come home anymore." Cute girl at 11 o'clock high. Depending upon which way these lines move, I may get closer to her shortly. First break of the evening...

10:10 p.m. - (Five minutes from original departure time of the bus that I thought would have fifteen to twenty people on it) A line of people move to my far left. I can only dream of such movement. As that line moves, two other lines meander forward, converging on each other with nobody certain what the legitimate line is. I spot the Sylvania kid in the line to the far left and he spots me. I wish him good luck for getting on the bus. He wishes me luck. Bastard, I mumble to myself. My line slowly starts to curl behind the line to my left. It is paramount I snake into the line to my left before the line to my right tries to or we'll be cut off. And I've sucessfully curled into what the majority recognize as the official line. Suddenly, I see several people coming down the stairs and cutting to their right, my left. Jostling and yelling commences. Moments later, a younger guy stands on the bottom step but above the masses and yells to nobody in particular, "Where the hell does the line end?" Simultaneously, several people shout, "Over there!" pointing in several different directions. Crowd is getting testy.

10:20 p.m. - Cute girl's line heads the other way. Iphone girl, still complaining to her significant other on the line about how awful this is, "I am so tired and pissed right now!" Maybe if you wore normal shoes as opposed to those boots with 6" heels, you'd be less angry, I think to myself.

10:40 p.m. - Bus is long gone. 3 new lines are formed for 11:15 p.m. bus. One line for Gates 70, 71, and 72. All are hoping to get on the 11:15 p.m. bus. A roll of the dice where this bus parks. Enfant three people behind me, now screaming shrilly. Misery level is triple what it was at luggage check. Never thought it possible. I wish I had brought any sort of booze...bottle of wine, flask, anything! An episode of Wonder Years would do the trick. And there you had it...

10:48 p.m. - WHAT THE FUCK? Who takes the bus? I expected 15 to 20 people on this bus. Seriously, how far off could I have been? I may take a survey, "Why did you choose to take the bus?"

11:05 p.m. - I just boarded a bus to Cleveland. Apparently, Greyhound called for reinforcements. Three buses will now take this mass of humanity to Cleveland. This reminds me of the movie Day After Tomorrow. "You'll probably end up in Cleveland." If only I could be so fortunate. So far, I've put my book and my glasses case on the ground. Clearly a mistake, I pick them up and they are hardly recognizable and disgusting to the touch, with a layer of dirt and grime on each.

11:20 p.m. - The skyline of New York is awe-inspiring. It's so cool to see at night. It reminds me that I live in one of the most unique and cool cities in the world. Stomach is arumblin'.

Sometime near midnight - The girl sitting in front of me starts to feel around my knee which is out in the aisle near her armrest. Unsure of what she is doing, I move it further into the aisle and she finds what she is looking for. She pulls up on a lever and drops the hammer. Her damn seat is now reclined in my lap. My right knee is jammed between the two seats in front of me now. My left leg is splayed out into the aisle. Are you serious?

Sometime near 1 a.m. - Wohhh, we're not the only ones tired on this bus as we ride the rumble strips for several seconds.

Sometimes near 2 a.m. - It is so cold in here. What happened? It's like the damn windows are open. This is ridiculous. My coat is in the luggage bin topside. I don't want to stand up, but I am not sure if I can go much longer like this.

Little while later - Retrieve my coat from storage bin after indiscriminate time period.

2:55 a.m. - "Everybody off the bus, we've reached Milesburg, PA. Hells yeah. Trailways Reststop is blasting Wannabe Your Lover and it seems oddly appropriate for the hour. Hmm... sourdough pretzels.

3:15 a.m. - My mouth is so dry. No water clearly a mistake. Greyhound is the seedy underbelly of American transportation methods. A hearty soul makes his way to the bathroom in the back of the bus. That gets me thinking:
5 Worst Spots/Times for a Restroom Stop (in no particular order)

1. Bus (Such close proximity to strangers who by circumstance are third-party to your bathroom experience)
2. Gas Station in rural South Carolina (Fear level is unparalleled, especially if after dark)
3. Plane (See Bus plus turbulence)
4. Housewarming of Apartment with 1 Bathroom (Basically a bus experience except with people that you either know or are trying to impress)
5. 1st night in a Host Family's House in a Foreign Country (Try explaining in French that the toilet appears to be broken )

7:00 a.m. - Hello Cleveland. What a night. Went by pretty quickly all things considered. Four buses from New York disgorge their passengers all at once, clogging the Cleveland terminal. More ill-defined lines with people unsure where to go and what line they're in. The kid from Sylvania who made the 10:15 p.m. bus is somehow behind me in line. My how the tables have turned.

7:50 a.m. - Security for the bus to Detroit is tight. A handlebar mustachioed man with a pull cart uses a metal detector on each individual in the 100 or so person line for Detroit at Gate 3. People do not receive this intrusion well. Finally past the security guard, I am pulled out of line, just four people from the front and put into another line in front of Gate 5. I am put on a bus and I am off on the final leg of my journey two hours west to Toledo. My parent's mini-van with the vanity plate, "OUR TIME" pulls up and the flash of my mom's camera welcomes me home, inconceivably just one half hour from my anticipated arrival time.

I wouldn't wish the experience upon anyone. Round 2 in four days. I can't express to you the sense of impending doom I feel.