Page 8 - the NOISE November 2014

part 3
Shortly after we sat down, the seat in front of me sudden- ly reclined in a rush careening straight toward me. As it turned out, Compton Mama was right in front of me. She
looked behind her expecting to see the man who had given us his seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, “This seat is broken and it does that sometimes.” I replied, “No problem. It didn’t hit me or anything,” and was grateful for the opportunity to bond with her. If a fight did break out on the bus, I definitely wanted to be on her side.
As the last available seat was occupied and the bus driver announced that the bus was full, I looked inside the station and saw at least ten people from our old bus that had not made it aboard. The Vietnam vet who had vowed to protect my honor was still standing in the station, too.
Immediately, a woman standing at the gate began to plead with the driver that she had a 2 month-old baby and must be able to get on the bus. Compton Mama responded with a comment that there were other children who hadn’t been able to board and questioned what made this woman so spe- cial. The exchange threatened to become more heated as the already stressed and tired passengers on board became agi- tated at the further delay. A few others commiserated with Compton Mama’s vocalized dismay.
Eventually, a Greyhound employee boarded the bus and asked if anyone was willing to give up their seat so the moth- er and child could board. He offered a full refund, a new ticket to the volunteer’s chosen destination and accommodations in Amarillo if necessary. A woman across the aisle and in front of me shot her hand up and asked “Does that mean I get my $50 back?” She happily gave up her seat for the proffered deal and disembarked. I swear I saw little dollar signs floating over her head as she left the bus.
A few moments later a woman — not the same one who had made the plea for the seat, by the way — boarded the bus with an infant in a car seat. The bus driver gave a stern look to Compton Mama and asked her not to give the lady a hard time. The Vietnam vet was behind the new mom carry- ing her bag onto the bus — on which he would not have a seat. He placed the bag in the overhead bin and exited the bus without saying a word. I didn’t hear her say thank you so I said it quietly for her as he stepped back into the bus station. It was nice to see such kindness, especially under the circum- stances. My faith in human beings was restored just a little.
Once we departed Amarillo, things went fairly smoothly. Compton Mama’s seat jerked back at me a couple more times. Each time it did, she apologized and tried to adjust it again. The mom and baby across the aisle settled in without fur- ther comment or incident. It was already pretty late for the 2 month-old so she was pretty quiet and soon drifted off to sleep. Skyrah and I both dozed off here and there, too. I knew
we’d be changing buses again in the middle of the night when we finally reached Oklahoma City. It was supposed to have been our first transfer but the Amarillo experience had given us a sense of what was to come. I wanted to be sure we’d get enough rest in case we had to go through the same thing again.
Fortunately, the change in Oklahoma City was much easier than Amarillo had been. It seemed no small miracle that we had even made it in time to catch our next bus. Before disem- barking we had been told our luggage would be transferred for us so I hoped there was no need to worry about our larger bags. Though it was late at night, Skyrah and I felt rested and we quietly played a game of “Eye Spy” together as we waited in line to get on a new bus. Finally, the announcement for our bus number came and it was time to move on.
The new driver took our boarding passes as we made our way onto the bus at about 1:30AM. Looking around I could tell that most of the passengers were tired and just wanted to find a seat and go back to sleep. But I soon learned that each time we got on a different bus, the new driver would have a big spiel to give everyone at the start of the ride. There was information about where the bathrooms were and how there was a no tolerance policy for alcohol or drugs. There were firm requests that people use headphones with their electronic devices and that cell phones be set to vibrate and conversations on them be kept short and quiet. There were even warnings that the bus could be boarded at any time and that passengers might be asked to provide identification and proof of US citizenship. The bus driver that joined us in Okla- homa City had a very particular style for delivering his rules and regulations speech.
Once everyone had boarded, Bill introduced himself over the loudspeaker after doing a quick mic check like a rock star on a stage. As he launched into his opening discourse he spoke in a smooth deep tone that reminded me of soul man Barry White. While it was hard to understand some of what he was saying, his delivery was hypnotizing; but not to everyone apparently because somewhere in the middle of the fourth regulation or so, a couple in the third row of seats behind the driver started a conversation. Bill paused for a moment to see if they would stop. When his silence did not prove powerful enough to shut them up, Bill blurted out for them to be quiet in a voice that had lost all the bass timber and velvet smooth- ness it had had only moments before.
It startled me out of my reverie to hear his sudden harsh vocalization over the loud speaker. And it seemingly was enough for the conversants, too, as they immediately stopped talking. After another short pause, Bill resumed his speech without missing a beat and the Barry White smooth- ness returned to his voice. He made the transition with ease;
story & photos by cindy cole
obviously his style was well rehearsed.
When we changed buses again in Memphis, I realized that
the personalities of the drivers varied so greatly from bus to bus and place to place that it was worth noting their idiosyn- crasies. The driver we had from Memphis to Atlanta was full of enthusiasm and cheer. He introduced himself as Jonathan and noted that he would not answer to John or Johnny or any other truncated version of his given name. It was obvious that he loved his job and he bragged about how he had been with Greyhound for 19 years and had 3 weeks of vacation time. When he hit 20 years, he would get an extra week. He had a great 401K plan and the health benefits were amazing. He went on and on about what a great life he had. It was a refreshing change from some of the more somber drivers I’d seen up until then.
As we pulled into the station in Atlanta, Jonathan was the most helpful and informative of any of the previous drivers we had had. He went through all of the upcoming transfers for everyone on the bus announcing the gate numbers for each. He informed us that in Atlanta we’d need to retrieve our checked bags from under the bus and take them with us to our new bus. But, he said, if there was anyone travelling with small children or needed help with their bags for any other reason they should just let him know. “I’ll talk to them in Atlanta,” he said, “they listen to me there.” I guess nearly 20 years with the company must garner a lot of authority, even for a bus driver.
We already had the routine down and had placed our bag- gage in line by the door through which we would be board- ing. I felt a little uncomfortable leaving our suitcases sitting in the queue but I figured that since everyone else was doing the same thing, they’d probably be fine. Nonetheless, I found myself glancing over at them periodically to make sure. I was grateful this would be our last transfer before we’d reach our final destination of Orlando, Florida.
The biggest surprise I got the entire trip was right after we got on our last new bus in Atlanta. As I settled into my aisle seat up near the front, I noticed a heavy-set woman step onto the bus. She had beautiful curly hair and was wearing an attractive brown and tan blouse with brown capris. As she walked by, she winked at me and said, “I saw you look twice!” It was Compton Mama. She continued down the aisle with a huge grin on her face and a spring to her step. Who knew such a transformation could take place in a bathroom at a Greyhound bus station.
| Cindy Cole makes no bones about bus travel.
cindycole@live.com
8 • november 2014 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us
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