Oh yeah, now I remember why I swore I’d never take the bus again. The delays, the screaming kids and (some of) the bus station staff.
The delays started immediately with a one hour delay in Pueblo, before we ever got on the bus. Not a good way to begin a two-day bus trip.
Landing in Amarillo, TX only degenerated the situation. When we stepped off the bus, we found out the scheduled bus would be over an hour late. Over two and a half hours later, it finally arrived.
While waiting, I witnessed one busdriver telling his patrons to form a single line or no one would be getting on the bus, those who did not present the proper ticket in the proper order, were jerked from line and everyone else went on the bus first. Then, he turned to those he had pulled from line and told them that if they didn’t have their tickets right this time, they would not be getting on his bus at all. I was shocked. These people had paid their fare the same as I had, and they were being treated like cattle. Stupid cattle by a verbally abusive, condecending busdriver. I was appalled that this would be the case, but assumed it was an isolated incident, and didn’t discover until later that it was not.
Amarillo, TX must be the armpit of the entire Greyhound bus system. The staff and the drivers were disappointing almost without exception.
These pictures give you an idea of how this ONE room in the depot looked when I arrived, people became even less happy by the time the two and a half hour delay was at an end.
When our bus finally did arrive, not the one we were supposed to board, but one that had been called in to cover, we had another little bus Nazi.
His name was Mike and he drove the bus to Dallas. As we were boarding, he was doing the same “Get in a single line, or no one is getting on” thing. And when he said that he’d already seated everyone that had been on the second bus from Denver, one of my travel mates said, “I think we were on the first bus from Denver.” Mike, charming as always, looked at his ticket and then asked if the driver had been male or female. Our driver, Don, had been wonderful. Since he was my first driver, I didn’t properly appreciate that fact at the time.
When my travel mate said “Male” he was told that the male drove the second bus in and was asked to stand down. Little bus-nazi man was quite confrontational. Since there was only one bus to Dallas, and we obviously had more people than we had bus seats, the crowd was getting a bit concerned.
After loading one person first, apparently just to show that he was the one in control, he loaded my travel mate, but not his teenage son. He then called me. I said, “I believe he’s next, nodding to the boy.” Mike said, “No, you are next.” And I looked on the steps where the man was waiting for his son in the nearly full bus. I said, “He needs to be loaded with his father” and the nazi told me that he would load him when he was ready to do so, and did I want to get on the bus or not. I asked “So you are separating children from parents now?” grasping my own daughter’s shoulders, and beginning to get irritated. He grabbed my tickets and said “that’s not a child” and waved me on. He did let the boy on after accepting a couple more passengers. His father was much more laid-back about the situation than I would have been. Mike continued yelling at patrons and barking orders until the bus was full.