I’m on a bus… Part 2

I am sitting in the cavernous hall of the Greyhound station across from the Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis. It has the feeling of an older, seedier version of a New York subway.  The people are scattered about, some sleeping, some texting, some… I honestly do not know what they are doing.  Just last week, there was an episode of ANDY GRIFFITH where Barney was heading on a trip.  There was decorum, and class, and from what I gather, pleasure.

A gentleman is sitting next to me.  He reminds me of Dick The Bruiser from the old wrestling programs in Indiana.  Now, this hall/lobby is huge.  There are MANY open seats, but this gentleman felt the need to saunter all the way to the back where I had staked out some hoped-for-privacy, and take a seat next to me. Why?

I am eating a snack of pudding and applesauce when he begins a conversation on his cell. He is sitting so close that I cannot help but hear his side of the conversation, and the faint voice of Beverly with whom he is speaking. The gentleman is very upset over an application being lost and wants his application reinstated. Beverly explains something to him that brings out the agitation. “I’ve been out of prison for six months and you’re telling me I cannot be considered for this position?”  

And he had to sit by me?

I get in line to board the Greyhound bus for Lafayette-Chicago.  There is a sparrow-like little lady who reminds me of the character on THE JEFFERSONS, however, her voice is penetrating with volume as she frantically tries to juggle the moving of about five large pieces of luggage while shouting animatedly into her cell phone.  The lady and I directly behind her are amused.  

This bus, unlike the previous one, is quiet (somewhat) with only six passengers. However, “Florence” is squawking away on her phone talking about how she got into this fight and was ready to “take my knife and slit her throat open.”  Now, in this day and age where traveling with others you don’t know is slightly uncomfortable, hearing a fellow-passenger speak of slitting throats is a bit much.  She went on to explain how those “mutha-effin” [she used the real thing] family members had treated her wrong because she slept with her sister’s husband. (Now it is really getting good!) “He didn’t come on to me. I came on to him. I saw it. I liked it. I wanted it. And I got it.”  

Even after the driver boarded, Florence was still shouting away into her phone. After a minute, the driver came over the speaker with, “Mam, we do not need to hear your conversation.”  She backed off, but within seconds was right back into the shouting into her phone. 

And this is brought to you from your friendly passenger on Greyhound.

About Wright Flyer Guy

Darin is a single adoptive father, a teacher, playwright, and musical theatre director from Kettering, Ohio.
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