Why Greyhound Bus Lines Can Go Fuck Themselves

I had a lovely time at home over the Thanksgiving holiday, despite the less than promising adventure in getting down south. It was a very typical Synge story; the type where upon hearing of the perilous journey my friends all shook their collective heads and sighed, "Only Synge. Of course this happened to Synge..."

I was forced by circumstance and wallet to take a bus down; an all nighter at that. I had wanted to leave enough time to pick up my sick friend from the hospital and get him situated before abandoning him for the long weekend, thus I chose to take a Greyhound bus, departing at 11:30pm, as opposed to the Chinatown bus, which leaves at 5pm. I also erroneously thought that Greyhound would be a little nicer than the often sketchy-as-hell Chinatown bus; had I only known exactly how very wrong I was.

The bus left promptly at 11:30pm and we were off to an excellent beginning of our trip, when all of a sudden the engine cuts off just past the entrance to the NJ Turnpike. The driver prayed to the gods and goddesses of bus engines and must have offerred up his first born because miraculously the engine starts again, and we are on our shaky way.

For about a mile or two, at most.

Evidently his first born was an inadequate offer, as the bus then breaks down again...on a bridge...with no shoulder...and its very windy.

This is the point where I begin laughing hysterically, much to the chagrin of my fellow passengers. This is also the point where, of course, my cell phone battery dies.

After much waiting and many threats from self described ex-cons currently violating their parole, the bus was finally towed off the bridge, where it was perilously perched and holding up traffic, to a very spooky isolated junkyard somewhere near the illustrous vacation destination of the world...Newark, NJ! Luckily, my seat mate, a very sweet cabbie from the Bronx, came equipped with a travel emergency kit, conveniently rolled into two mid sized cigars. We exited the bus into the freezing air of the junkyard, and proceeded to alleviate the stress stemming from our unknown fate. I, myself had also brought 3 mini airline bottles of cheap vodka, hoping to knock myself out for the voyage; little did I know how thankful I would be for this. After our little junkyard impromptu party, which was quite comical given the circumstances, we shuffled into the tiny trailer offices of the junkyard, where people were packed wall to wall with a standing room only house most theatres dream of. While this was nowhere near a dream, it was slightly warmer than the freezing exterior or the heatless bus; probably due more in part to the closely packed bodies than anything else.

After about 20 minutes of very uncomfortable standing and with the after-effects of our supplies really beginning to take hold, I decided that it would be better to brave the cold but comfy (yes, at that point they qualified as comfy) bus seats than to stay standing for an indefinite amount of time. My seat partner/angel and I made our way back onto the frigid but comparatively spacious bus, where I then proceeded to invent a new game of who can hit their head hardest when suddenly awakening with a jolt due to extreme cold. Had I not been passed out, it would have been unbearable; as it was, it was certainly no picnic and for someone as fucked up as I was at that point. I woke up apporximately every 3.5932 seconds shivering; at one point I remember one of the many passengers coming ion and out of the bus informing us taht it was snowing outside. Lovely. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and decided to go stand in the slightly warmer trailor and forgo any attempt at sleep.

This is when I discovered that it had been about 5 hours of waiting already, and the passengers who had been ruthlessly hounding (bad pun intended, I'm ashamed to say) the bus company telephonnically were still getting the run around and empty promises with no bus in sight. I waited my turn to get to charge my cell phone in one of their outlets and stood waiting. Finally, after a very long hour, at about 6am, another bus arrived to pick us up.

I understand completely and do not fault Greyhound at all, seeing as how Newark is so incredibly far from New York City, a virtual hub for bus travel. Naturally it would take anyone 6 hours to collect a bus full of freezing and starving passengers about 10 miles away!

I think the new bus driver was expecting a pack of rabid wolves by that time, but we were all so tired that we promptly fell asleep in silent warmth.

I arrived in my hometown, usually a mere 6 to 7 hours away, at 1pm; a total of 13.5 hours after departure, with only a phone number to call as any hope of compensation.

Happy Fucking Thanksgiving, Y'all!

My father proceeded to tell everyone we came in contact with (much to my embarassment at times) the whole weekend that Greyhound Bus Lines may leave you stranded for 6 hours, but at least they provided free pot (which was also not true, it certainly wasn't thanks to Greyhound). I'm certainly glad he found it entertaining.

I will never ever take Greyhound again; thankfully the train home was only 25 minutes late, as opposed to 6.5 hours late.