I Hate Greyhound ~~LadyPhoenix~~

Recently, I took the bus from Texas to Pennsylvania.

I'm convinced they should come up with some sort of suspended animation for these long trips. They are arduous, and that's an understatement.

But an arduous trip is made more pleasant by the smiling, helpful people of the company, right?

Wrong.

The trip going wasn't so bad; until I arrived in Columbus, Ohio. The bus was running late. I do give the driver credit, though. He called ahead, and told them, "I have people on this bus; hold the bus they're to transfer on till we get there." Ten minutes late.

We arrive. The connecting bus was gone. It left ten minutes earlier. That's not so bad, right? Wrong. The bus being ten minutes late caused a FIVE hour layover in Ohio. Stretching a 34 hour trip into 39 hours. I was not happy.

I finally arrive, and there is much love and joy and happiness. Robert waiting for me washed away the nastiness of a long bus trip. And yes, when all is said and done, he's worth it.

And then comes the time to leave, two weeks later. All is fine. Until...Dayton. Ohio.

I had a transfer in Dayton. And for those of you not familiar with the ways of Greyhound, you are respoonsible for your own luggage during a transfer. You get off the bus you're on, retrieve your luggage, and make sure it gets on the new bus. If all goes well and the gods are smiling on you, your luggage gets on the correct bus. All did not go well and apparently the gods were out to lunch.

It started with a young man in Dayton who refused to search for my bag. There's nothing special about my bag. And it was lost in the sea of other bags beneath the bus.

"Your bag isn't here."

"Yes, it is. I personally saw it loaded. And I've had no transfers since Pittsburgh."

"It's not here."

"Yes, it certainly is. Please look for it."

"Don't yell at me."

Yell? At this point, I hadn't even raised my voice. His, however, was most definitely raised. And my patience was wearing thin.

"Young man, I didn't yell. But I do want my luggage, and I am not leaving here until I have it."

"You may not leave, but this bus will, you <expletive deleted, referring to a canine of the female persuasion>.

And I stood stunned. I live in a place where I call my elders Sir and Ma'am; where I myself amd called Ma'am by younger people. And I had just been called this vile name. Simply for wanting something that rightfully belonged to me.

My temper flared as I visualised everything in that luggage. A small fortune of beautiful clothes Robert had bought me. Two lovely antique shawls his mother had given me. And pictures of us. So many priceless things. All those memories.

And at this point, I did raise my voice. I can't continue the conversation because of the G rating. Suffice it to say, the young...man...found my luggage and threw it at me.

"Take your <expletive deleted> bag!!" And I most certainly did. Directly to the customer service office.

And the nightmare should be over, right? Again, wrong. My next transfer was Birmingham, Alabama. And upon looking for my luggage, this time, it really was gone.

They assured me it would arrive in Texas, possibly before I did. This was after accusing me of forgetting to transfer my luggage. That was impossible though because the last transfer I'd had was in Dayton.

So I began plotting on how to get my valued possessions back. Making lists of what was in my suitcase. And the one gigantic hissy fit I was going to have if it was not returned.

Luckily, I did get my bag. But the already existent dislike I had for Greyhound turned into a seething hatred.

Some bus drivers can be horrid. (Not all. I give props to those who actually treat their passengers with respect and dignity deserving of any human being.) Some will drive off and leave a passenger. They don't care.

Some employees at the terminal are horrid as well. You ask a question at your own risk. (Again, props tothe employess who deal with the thousands of questions per day and still manage to extend courtesy.) Some will intentionally mislead a passenger by giving incorrect information. They don't care.

The buses are cramped and dirty. On my trip going to PA, there were actually people standing in the aisle; at one time six people stood for 75 miles. The reality of the danger we were all in hit me. Should an accident happen, unbelievable injuries would occur.

How does Greyhound get away with treating paying consumers this way, you might wonder? They are a monopoly. They keep costs down. (My roundtrip ticket cost $158) There are people who don't like to fly. So being the only mass transit bus company, they're the only game in town.

So now, I'm in the middle of dealing with customer service at the corporate level. Robert bought my ticket; but he certainly didn't pay for me to be treated this way. We're doing the only thing we can. We're protesting that treatment. Maybe if more people did, Greyhound would get their act together.

:)

LP

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