How I fell in love with Greyhound

[As you may surmise, this isn’t technically an Adventure With Mr. Munchy. But the literal minded among us (I’m looking at you, all you ancient Romans) can deal. It’s an adventure worth telling. Plus, the Munch man picked me up, so there!]

I haven’t ridden the Greyhound in two years, since I regularly traveled home every month or so. Yesterday I was rather dreading my trip, smelling people, loud music blaring and dudes who would ask me if I had ever fornicated were not something I was looking forward to. But, I was happily proven wrong and it reaffirmed my faith in the awesomeness of humanity and how the right people can make even the most tedious and uncomfortable of experiences vastly entertaining.

It all started with myself standing in the line for the Detroit-bound Greyhound, hearing that the bus was going to be delayed and sending the boy-who-makes-me-food away…

“This would NEVER happen in Europe!” The lady behind me loudly exclaimed, and the proceeded to go around the line and to let everyone else know this charming fact (more on her in the previous post). We finally get on the bus and Everyone’s Favorite E-2 Roommate  told me that I should sit next to this European Lady. Which I did. She wasn’t really European, just travels a lot and told me that I should go to some arts festival in GR.

In front of me was an older gentleman who was lecturing a goth-punk girl with a combination of life stories, anecdotes about how he was born on the same day as Babe Ruth, how she should go into the military (I think he thought that she was a male to boot) get stationed in Hawaii and call up Oldies stations to request her favorite song, and talking just to hear himself talk.

Then, in Lansing lots of other people get on. Two of them sit across the aisle from me and the man starts loudly talking about how he had been in jail since May 25, for simply having tinted windows on his car [insert a roll-eyes here). He was calling his lawyer and cussing up a storm with the lady next to him, not caring about the nine-year old girl sitting in the seat in front of them.

An Amish family also walk on, in full costume. The women and her two children sit in the front two seats and, because space is limited, her husband goes to an open seat at the back. This starts the two cussers off that all Amish are hypocrites and should drive buggies everywhere and they don’t really like them there. I was just amazed that there are Amish in Michigan.

The older gentleman was napping so a man in a white knitted hat (the kind with visors) starts loudly lecturing the goth-punk girl about spiritual warfare and that demons are everywhere. She doesn’t respond as much to him as she did to the old man (people will generally humor the old more than they will the certifiably insane). At one point she attempts to escape to the bathroom, and the man in the white hat proceeds to loudly interrogate the Amish women because she is, he believes, a Mormon. The poor woman cannot understand him, and even I can only pick out one word out of five, her son tries to help her translate but he’s only five has has no clue who the hell the Latter-day saints are (although they did perk up at the word “Jesus”). He then gives up when goth-punk girl returns.

I only wish the older gentleman would have been awake during this point, so that he could provide commentary on how Ike would have viewed spiritual warfare, or the European Lady, so that she could teach us about minority religious groups in Europe.

Mind you now, this is only an account of what was happening in the first third of the bus. I can only hope that the second two-thirds of the bus had people and interactions this awesome.

Who wants to join me in traveling the country via Greyhound this summer, with the purpose of having such similar awesome experiences?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s