So
yesterday I rode the Greyhound. Now, there’s something you have to
understand about the greyhound in the United states, which is that it is
the sketchiest fuckin’ mode of transportation of all time. Now, I
didn’t realize this for some reason. I’ve been bussing between Montreal
and New York city for years, and I guess maybe because it’s a night
bus, maybe I didn’t notice the people around me as much? I’m not sure.
But this was the sketchiest fuckin’ mode of transportation of all time.
Going in, I didn’t know this. I was calm, but I did get a slight hint
from the slowness of the employees that maybe this wasn’t going to be
the brightest of times. There was an older man with a cane and in front
of me in line was a white girl, who from behind seemed normal, but when
she turned around her eyes were very bloodshot, and she had that weird
smilie-eager thing going on, like Amy Adams’ character in Junebug. But
at this point I’m still calm. I’m thinking, ‘So shit seems a little
weird, big deal, I’ll just keep to myself and sleep on the bus.’ While
getting on the bus I recalled the news report about that guy that got
his head lopped off by a stranger, randomly on a greyhound bus. So my
internal monologue is trying to calm me down about it, saying ‘No one’s
going to hurt you, Rena, that was a random act that could happen
anywhere, there’s nothing especially crazy about greyhound busses.’
I got on the bus late because I had forgotten my cell phone charger, and my friend passed it to me over the glass barrier, separating greyhound bus passengers from the rest of society, a barrier that is no doubt necessary because THESE PEOPLE WERE TERRIFYING. But I didn’t know that yet.
I wandered to the back of the bus seeking refuge in the coveted three seater next to the bathroom, but to my dismay it was taken, so I sat next to what seemed to be a fairly innocent looking younger male, who was half-dozing. I sat down, put my bag under my chair and leaned back, to discover that my chair was already in a reclining pose (which was fine with me because then I don’t seem like as much of an asshole, the chair was already reclining, just existing where I may, etc). Then I start overhearing what sounds like a telephone conversation that the guy behind me is having, but it soon becomes clear by his lack of pausing that there is no telephone, and no one on the other end of that conversation other that the ramblings of his own mind. And what is he rambling about? Well, he’s talking about a fish that had part of his lip lopped off by a piranha, and so the fish killed the piranha. These are codes for human beings. He was saying things like “I knew I was right. that fish was legendary, you understand? Legendary.” and “He’s an O.G. Now you know it. Talk to my sister cuz she was talkin’ the same shit as the piranha” and “He better have no holes in him when he dies”. One thing I liked that he said was “Let go and let God.” He also kept talking obsessively about a guy named Frank. So then I’m like, Fine, so there’s one crazy person on the bus, big deal. Then this wire-y lady who looked starving and hyper starts running up and down the aisle grabbing huge bags of stuff, and smooshing them on to al the seats in the back of the bus. Her eyes are twitching, and I think to myself, okay, two crazies, I guess I hit the jackpot. But whatever, I’ll just keep to myself and it’ll be fine. Then the guy next to me wakes up from his nap, and explains that he is taking the greyhound bus for three days straight from San Francisco, in order to stay incognito. And he has happy sleepy pills. I make a crack about being jealous and he goes back to sleep.
Ten minutes later he wakes up again and asks me rather accusingly if he had given me one of his pills, and where are his ketchup packets. I told him he never gave me a pill, and he was like, are you sure are you sure? I must be hallucinating, it must be the pills. I really thought I gave you a pill. And I was like, NOPE. Then he started going on and on, describing in detail the illegal activities he had pursued in San Francisco, concluding with a boasting about how quick he is with a gun. And how he had gotten rip-roaring drunk on his way to san francisco on the plane, and 4 security guards had followed him all the way to the exit of the airport. He made a comment about how he was pure evil. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be saying all these random details of illegal activity out loud on a bus to a stranger, but then I figured I’d better not reinforce his paranoia.
A man walked on the bus and made a comment about being a navy seal. He also made some crack about how the ‘bus is going to Vegas, right?’ and cocked an eyebrow, clearly finding himself hilarious. A woman shouted at the wiry lady with all the bags that she needed to move them because the man had payed for a seat. The guy next to me immediately hated the marine. He rejoiced when the marine sat in a seat right next to the shitter. He joked about how he hoped someone would take a huge dump and then leave the door open a crack. I told him he should take the dump, and give the marine a romantic look while he was doing it, saying ‘This is for you...”. When lunchtime came we all raced to the Burger King. I thought one of the little kids on the bus was just adorable, and then I looked down and noticed that his pyjamas were printed with skulls. There was a man with a self-made jean jacket that said in what I think was nailpolish ‘Kill, Kill, Kill’ on the back, in pink diagonal, between his shoulders. He was wearing Doc Martins. Everything had this eerie feeling to it. The boy next to me kept regaling me with stories about how tough he was. He also explained that the greyhound bus station was worse than prison (which apparently he had frequented a few times) because at least in prison you got free food. And the chairs were more comfortable.
Arriving in Phoenix, I noticed that the creepy feeling pervading the bus, what I thought was exclusive to greyhound, was actually all just the norm in Phoenix. Phoenix is potentially the biggest shit hole of a town I’ve ever been to. Even when I had telephoned the hostel before coming, the dude said not to come there, to pass it by if I could. A toothless lady gave me directions to the bus. Everyone seemed toothless, friendly, and recently let out of imprisonment. I met a guy wearing lenseless glasses who called clothing ‘garments’. He explained that he was going to start his own empire selling cool clothes and spouting rhymes. He concluded by shouting, “Hey, Oreo!!” and running over to a guy on a bike. I got on the bus.
On the city bus in Phoenix there was a fat couple, the girl had her feet up on the man’s lap, and they both reclined with glazed eyes. Arriving at the hostel, I stepped off the bus to a beautiful sunset over miles of pavement and suburban houses. Everyone at the hostel appeared to be drunk already. They were playing horse shoe. While conversing, people paused for long periods of time between sentences. So just as I would come in to answer them they would interrupt me with a continuation of their first sentence.
I unloaded my things and set off in search of wine. It had been a long day. Returning to the hostel I decided, what the hell, I’ll play some horse-shoe.
