Page 12 - the NOISE September 2014

OUR GREYHOUND ODYSSEY ACROSS AMERICA:
PART1
STORY AND PHOTO BY CINDY COLE
You’ve seen the commercials, right? “Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us!” Well, I decided that the signifi- cant financial savings over flying was worth the lengthy cross country trip to get me and my daughter from Arizona to Flor- ida to see her gramma. Well, have you also heard the saying “you get what you pay for?”
Our trip started out with a fun afternoon courtesy of a friend who offered to set us up in a hotel for a few hours be- fore taking us to the Flagstaff Greyhound station in the mid- dle of the night. He and his girlfriend and daughter and me and my girl hung out together by the pool and solved the world’s problems over a couple of hard ciders (the grownups only, of course!) on a cool Flagstaff summer evening.
After catching a few zzz’s my daughter and I got our lift to the bus station and prepared to begin our 48-hour journey across the country. Though I had done a lot of Internet read- ing on the safety and efficiency of Greyhound’s service, not all of which was positive, I thought I was prepared to suck up the discomforts in favor of a lot more spending money once we reached our destination. In spite of my research, I definitely did not know what we were getting into.
The Greyhound station in Flagstaff is fairly small. It is long and narrow with a ticket counter at one end and bathrooms at the other. There is a narrow hallway to the right of the bath- rooms which leads to a single glass door at the end that is the only boarding gate at the station. The bathroom doors are located at opposite ends of the hall with the women’s being closest to the boarding gate. It was 1AM when we arrived so my friend made a quick departure after I assured him we were all set. I was envious that he would be returning to the com- fortable hotel bed to sleep for the rest of the night.
I approached the ticket counter and let the man behind it know that I had tickets waiting at “will call” and that this was my first time travelling by bus. He greeted me with a smile and, after checking my ID, proceeded to print out our tickets which seemingly took forever. The tickets turned out to each be a quarter-inch thick packet of accordion folded thermal paper that contained our schedule and all of our boarding passes for the entire round trip. As an extra help to me, the ticket man went through our trip schedule with a pink high- lighter and marked all the places we would have to transfer from one bus to another. There were three such transfers on our route: the first in Oklahoma City, then Memphis, and final- ly in Atlanta. Last stop - Orlando.
“I see you’re on the 2:40AM bus to Albuquerque,” the man said with a grin. “That bus will be here on time but” - and there it was, our first ‘but’ -“but it’s full,” he finished.
“Full?” I asked. How could that be possible seeing as I had
this freshly printed ticket in my hand that was clearly for the 2:40AM departure he was referring to. Hmmm. “It’s okay though,” he continued. “They’re sending another bus that will run the exact same route.” I sighed with relief that we would still be getting on a bus. “But,” he said again, “that bus is run- ning about an hour and a half late.” Hmmm again.
The kind man behind the counter instructed me to place our bags near the glass door at the end of the hallway holding our place at the head of the line for boarding the bus. He as- sured me that if there was any possible way of getting me and my daughter on the first bus, he would find it. But, if not, the second bus would be along soon after and would not make as many stops as the first. He figured we would end up no more than 15 or so minutes behind the earlier bus by the time we hit Albuquerque. So my daughter and I settled in with the half dozen or so other people who were currently in the sta- tion to wait and see what our bus fate would be.
Two other buses came and went as we waited in the sta- tion. People came and went. I watched the counter guy make his rounds: checking people in, getting them on their buses, alerting temporary station visitors when it was time to re-board their waiting vehicles, making sure the baggage carrier - the only other Greyhound employee apparently in the station - got the necessary luggage loaded and unload- ed. He was energetic, efficient, professional and friendly. My confidence that we had made the right travel choice went up a notch just watching him, in spite of the bad news he had delivered upon our arrival.
After waiting for a bit, I thought it would be a good idea for my daughter and me to use the bathroom just in case we got on that 2:40AM bus after all. Just as I lifted my gaze from my child to the bathroom door, I heard the door latch lock into place - alas, we were too late. Someone had just entered the women’s restroom. I kept an eye on the door but nobody emerged in the next several minutes so I went back to trying to keep my daughter occupied and happy and keeping an eye on the happenings around the station. I noticed anoth- er woman try the knob on the bathroom door to no avail. It registered somewhere in my subconscious that it had already been a while since the first woman went in. Hmmm.
As the second bus was getting ready for old passengers to disembark and new ones to board, the guy from behind the counter breezed through the little hallway and asked if I had seen the baggage carrier. He hadn’t been on my radar as I had been watching another guy who was pretty tough look- ing and had gotten a little agitated when he heard the news about the full bus.
A few minutes later, the counter guy came by again and asked if anyone was in the ladies room. “Yes,” I said, “some-
one’s been in there for a while.” He turned and knocked on the door and, surprisingly, called for the baggage carrier. To my astonishment, a man’s voice responded from inside the women’s bathroom. Instantly the door opened and out walked the uniformed baggage carrier followed by a thin woman with long dark hair in a short, tight skirt. She was gin- gerly wiping the corner of her mouth and looking down at the floor as she walked through the station to take a seat just a few down from where my daughter sat. We instantly moved a few seats closer to the gate door. “Hmmm,” I thought again, “this is going to be interesting.”
The 2:40AM bus came and went. The counter guy apolo- gized for not being able to get us on it. I pondered the logic behind holding a ticket for a ride that had no seats on it. I allayed my confusion by getting my daughter snuggled up next to me so she could sleep for a bit while we waited for the replacement bus. It arrived as anticipated at about 4AM and we boarded from the front place in line we had secured by following the counter guy’s earlier advice.
When I booked my tickets, I had been partially enticed by the promise of WiFi on board for most, if not all, of the trip and the possibility of even having A/C outlets for charging electronic devices. I called Greyhound and a customer ser- vice representative confirmed that we would have WiFi at least through our first transfer stop in Oklahoma City. We pre- pared by bringing my computer and our Nook tablet both of which have access to our Netflix account. Armed with plenty of mindless entertainment I figured the 48-hour trip would be bearable. Then we saw Greyhound’s replacement bus.
The bus we boarded at 4AM was not the typical bus Grey- hound is running these days. The first clue was that it was white. All of the other buses we had seen thus far were blue. When we boarded I immediately took in the dilapidated look and feel of our coach. Everything was old and faded. We chose our seats - fourth row back on the right side. I had read a six- year old review online that commented the seats were built for people with hunchbacks. Sitting down in my selected seat and feeling the strange shape of the seat back cut into my body un- comfortably, I knew immediately what that author was talking about. I reached up and found the little fan controlling the flow of air conditioning in my personal direction was an empty hull with no adjustable parts. There were no A/C outlets and I quickly surmised there would be no WiFi either.
>>To be continued>>
| Cindy Cole is a highway ridin’ mama.
cindycole@live.com
12 • SEPTEMBER 2014 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us
TRAVELFEATURE