Mutiny on The Hound

I thought I was an experienced Greyhound Bus rider. I thought I knew the Greyhound experience. I'd taken trips from Sacramento to Berkely, San Francisco, Santa Cruz even as far as Riverside. When we signed up for the three day trip from Syracuse New York to Sacramento California I thought 'No Problem. It'll be fun.'

We climbed on board, grabbing seats toward the back. The deluxe seats were the very last row, which extended a little further since there was no need to make room for an aisle. We kept an eye open and at about one in the morning, at a stop in some small town the seat opened up and I jumped on it. I moved poor sleeping Bryna back there, failed to convince her that having sex on the bus would be exciting in a dangerous, 'Oh my god, I can't believe we did that' sort of way, and then I tried getting to sleep myself. Failure again, so... hours of watching the highway go by. The American highway realy is one of the more beautiful things I've experienced, and seeing it through a large tinted bus window at night is a great vantage point.

In the morning we stopped at Carl's Junior. For vegeterians Carl's Junior offers... salad, ice berg lettuce and dyed red tomatoe salad, maybe fries, if you're willing to adopt an 'Ignorance is bliss/fuck it, what else am I gonna eat?' attitude. No problem, I was sure we'd hit a little grocery store, or even a convenience store where I could score some mixed nuts, maybe some fresh fruit. Hell, even canned fruit tastes wonderful on the road. We downed our salads and poorly mixed Cokes or Pepsi's, it didn't matter what they had, it always tastes like shit from their taps, and we were rollin' again, ready to make friends with our fellow passsengers.

We fell quickly into a conversation with Badhar, a Pakistani Arab who was attending school in Canada and now was heading to Riverside to work with his uncle.

"So what does your uncle do?" I asked.

"He works for 7-11, what the fuck else do us people do?" I cracked up. "American's always think it's so funny that we know about that stereotype. You think we all work at 7-11 and somehow we never noticed?" To further prove his point he played me some amazing Pakistani hip hop. I couldn't understand a word but the music, with fast break beats soaked in samples of traditional arabic music sped up and warped was awesome. And then the beats come to a sudden jarring stop. "Welcome to 7-11, can I help you?" comes across the headphones. The beats crash back in. Badhar, seeing me laugh knew exactly where in the song I was.

We talked about the Kuwait war and the anit-Arab feelings that rose out of that. "Even people who assume I'm one of the 'good arabs' also assume that I praise America for that war." he tells us. He also shared with us that this tip from New York to Northern California, and on to Riverside is about as close to the American South as he ever plans to get. I want to tell him how beautiful the south is, but I remember the KKK family in the restaurant and I wonder how different that experience might have been for Badhar.

With good company the trip was not too bad, though my stomach was flip floppin' from the grease laden breakfast and a touch of motion sickness. I had to visit the tiny bathroom frequently. Getting access to the facillities involved knocking on the door to let Princess Zsa Zsa know that someone else request temporary use of her private room.

One can get away with smoking on the 'hound by blowing the smoke down the toilet. The large gaudily over dressed black woman who we named Princess Zsa ZSa decided to spend the entire trip blowing smoke down the toilet. A knock on the door would bring her scowl peeking out at you. "Yes?"

"Um, I need to get in there." Of course I needed to get in there. Why the fuck else am I knocking? Did you think I was delivering a pizza? She clutch the door with her fake fingernailed, heavily jeweled claws and she made it apear an enormous effort to maneuver her way out of the john. Bryna was getting a little pissed that I was smoking in there, but at least half of my visits were legitimate, and a couple more were just for the joy of upsetting Zsa Zsa with smoking just an added benefit.

We hit a Carl's Junior for lunch and I asked the driver if we could maybe hit a Taco Bell anytime soon. No chance; It seems the bus company has a contract with Carl's. Not only do they always stop at Carl's Junior, at least on this route, they won't stop at places with multiple restaurants, even if one of them is a Carl's Junior. There will be one exception. That night for dinner, we'll have a 30 minute stop at a 'family style' restaurant. So, when I spotted a small grocery store across the street from the next Greyhound station we visited, I asked for time to grab a few things.

Badhar and I jogged over to the store along with an older man who had been joking with us from across the aisle. Bryna stayed and watched our stuff. I grabbed a bit of food, and several bottles. Beer for now, tequila for later, a couple of ice cold cans of Coca-Cola and back on the bus.

Now things were lightening up. The older man's name is Earl and he was happy to share his bottle of fairly decent vodka with us. He even bought a big ass soda cup full of ice to help keep the booze cold. Vodka's antiseptic qualities makes it a great drink for sharing with new friends, however toothless they may be. Bryna was really starting to worry about the drinking, and the smoking. This trip hadn't been pleasant for some time and she wanted very badly to get home without anymore unplanned adventures. "Relax sweetie. We have someone to drive. Nothing can go wrong. We may as well enjoy the ride right?" I slurred at her as I had another shot of Vodka with a Coca Cola chaser.

At the 'family style' restaurant my choices were much the same as at Carl's. I ordered a baked potato, pretending that the butter was margarine, another salad and I decided to brave some apple pie. My stomach was killing me and the Cokes and alcohol weren't helping. I backed off a bit on the drinking as we headed toward midnight. I even caught a bit of sleep, but only a little as I was soon waking up to the sound and smell of Earl vomitting in his seat. I snapped into action, grabbing all the paper towels from the bathroom and getting them on the floor. I moved Earl into the little room. Thank god Zsa Zsa had taken a break when too many people interrupted her due to a bad 'family style' experience.

With Earl tucked away I went about fishing out the plastic bag that had held my groceries. I stuffed the puke soaked paper towels in there and tied it up as tight as I could. With Earl's window open the smell began to fade, and I was hoping this was the end of drink related problems. Earl came out a few minutes later and fell fast asleep.

It wasn't clear if the driver had even noticed until we reached a bus station sometime just after midnight. The Richard Nixon looking man behind the wheel stood in the aisle, facing us passengers as the lights came on. "All right. Someone puked on my bus. Now I aint lettin' anyone off the bus until I find out who it was."

Amazingly, nobody said a word. I assumed the majority of the riders knew it was Earl, but nobody would give him up. The driver stood his ground, and so did we; not to say everyone was happy with Earl. He was being poked and prodded to give himself up.

Richard Nixon addressed us again. "Look, whoever it was, you need to let everybody else get on with their trip." I looked at Bryna and she looked away. She knew the drinking was a bad idea and now she wanted nothing to do with the resulting mess. Earl looked ready to cry.

"So, what happens to the person who puked?" I asked. Bryna flashed me a sharp look.

"They're not getting back on my bus." the former President of the United States answered.

"But their ticket will be good for later?"

"They'll keep their ticket. They can catch the next bus in the morning."

Earl got the message. He stood up. I felt bad for the old guy, still stumbling drunk. I stood with him, helping him navigate the aisle. "Don't worry Earl, you can get back on the bus in the morning." The rest of the passengers were now piling off the bus and heading to the bar across the street. Bryna had skipped the drinking on the bus but she was feeling like a cold beer might taste just right about now. It was becoming a longer and longer trip for her.

Earl of course joined us, he even bought the first round. We finsihed our beers and the whole crowd started heading back to the bus. We were in the back of the line and as we attemted to board the driver blocked us, well specifically, he blocked me.

"You're not getting on." Tricky Dick said as he put his hand in front of my chest.

"What? Why not?"

"You've been drinking."

"We all went across the street for a drink. We're allowed to. You're the one driving, remember?"

"You were drinking on my bus."

"Says who?"

"You were with the guy who got sick. I don't want him on my bus and I don't want his friends on my bus."

"Dude, I was doing YOU a favor. You wanted him off your bus and I helped that happen. Are you pissed that I was nice to him? Should I have kicked his ass down the aisle?"

"There was a lot of noise from the back of the bus where you were sitting. I don't want my passengers being bugged. Now you're not getting on my bus."

I looked at Bryna. "I'm going home. I'm sorry, but I have to get back up the hill for work." I was dumb struck. But could I blame her. She had asked me not to smoke on the bus, not to drink on the bus, not to chance this trip getting any worse. As the driver moved aside to let her on I stepped with her. Stopping on the top step I addressed my fellow passengers.

"Hey everybody, the drivers is trying to kick me off because I was friendly to the drunk guy. I helped clean up his mess. I helped get him off of the bus and now the thanks I get is that I have to spend my night in a cold bus depot instead of getting home to my family. Please, don't let him do this. Come off the bus with me, he can't leave with no passengers." To my utter amazement, and to the drivers as well, the passengers all started to stand up, to grab their bags, to prepare to exit the bus. It was a mutiny.

"Everyone sit down. I'll let him on, but first. Is there anyone here who saw this guy drinking?"
And wouldn't you know it; Princess freakin' Zsa Zsa raised her hand. "That's it..." The driver started to say.

I interupted, "Who on this bus thinks this woman is absolutely insane?" Every hand shot up.

"Alright, go ahead." Richard Nixon was pissed at losing control. He needed to reclaim his power, so he kicked the foreigner off the bus.

I jumped to my feet again. "Oh come on. Badhar didn't do anything. Let him on." A few others shouted as well, echoing my protest and Badhar was on. A tall bearded man who was quite drunk was the last to attempt to board that night. He was not permitted despite Badhar and I's protests. We failed to rally the troupes a third time. We bitched about our fellow passengers for letting this guy get booted, but I think we were pissed at ourselves. After all, we were warm and comfortable, well, comparably.

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