Greyhound adventures

Don’t take a bus in America they said, especially not the Greyhound. It’s not like the South African version. Oh my heavens and the people on the bus, well just don’t do it.

I did not listen to the advice, it is afterall the cheapest way to get from A-Z in America, I am well travelled and I have to experience things for myself. I almost want to disprove them.

My first trip was short and uneventful. I sat next to a lady, normal appearance, reading an ebook on her phone…Um maybe I was the creepy person in this case, looking secretly to my left out of the corner of my eye. She even blessed me when I sneezed.

Then came the longhaul,  cross-state trip. First stretch I had no neighbours. At the next stop a lovely  African American lady sat next to me. I love that term, it makes me giggle inside. I’m more African than she will ever be. Would I be considered African American if I ever were to emigrate?

We have a good chat about her family, where I am from and her hamburger lunch that has made her hands smell like onions. She works with people that are mentally disabled and we immediately have something in common with my physio background. I want to blow on my fingertips, shine my nails and give myself a noddy badge…I was right, all the naysayers were just telling tall stories.

Until my lovely lady gets off and is replaced by Susan, a rather large white female who smells of smoke and stale washing. Her first words to me…I just got out of prison. Um, you say what?

According to Susan, she hasn’t had good food for 3 years. I offer her a carrot from my packed lunch, the look she gives me clearly means no. I ask her what will be her first good meal, to which she responds Dominoes Pizza. I try to listen to my Audible book, she wants to know what I’m listening to and is my phone the new Samsung S7? I’m relieved that I can tell her it isn’t, she continues to talk, describing to me what she likes to read. Basically anything about the paranormal because she is a pagan witch. She assures me she is of the good kind. She is apparently also a rock singer from Vegas and studying to be a pastry chef. Her rotten front right tooth tells me she eats more of the pastry than makes it to the oven. I quickly diagnose her as delusional but I may be mistaken

Now the air conditioning on the bus stops working, it is a hot day and I’m wedged in next to Susan. I want to ask why she was incarcerated but I think better of it. I quietly start to write a mental letter of apology to the friends that warned me about these bus trips. It is all I can do to remain sane in this heat.

It certainly is entertaining, I never felt threatened and it certainly was an adventure.