“Leave the driving to us” used to be the Greyhound bus lines’ signature phrase. Taking a bus to select destinations is, or used to be, a great way to go someplace without the hassles of a car trip (where to park the car, how many gas stations–or soon, how many charging stations–do you need to visit).
The problem I just had was that there wasn’t a place to board the bus.
Before ranting about my misfortune, I’ll preface it by saying that Greyhound has had its share of difficulties over the past few years. Bus travel is convenient, but sometimes has a reputation of being a more casual and working class choice over driving or flying. Bus terminals can be crowded, under-decorated or minimalistic gathering spots, with questionable cleaning standards and vending machines from ancient times holding junk food of uncertain origin or age. Not because they don’t care, but because they can’t keep up with the constant comings and goings of folks riding to new lives or escaping from something (and mixed in with people like me just going on a day trip).
Over the past few years, ridership went down to nearly nothing, and tensions among the passengers who did ride when travel opened up again were high at the best of times. Staying afloat could not have been easy for them.
The company made a decision a few years ago to shut down a station that had been in service for ages. They simply pulled up stakes and shut the doors, leaving potted plants inside to die of starvation and putting desk attendants and maintenance personnel out of work. A simple sign directed passengers to the new location across the turnpike, less than five minutes away.
I say location because it was not even a station; Greyhound never set up there, but the hotel which was accommodating them had a huge parking lot sheltered by countless solar panels, and our queue was designated to form under one such row of panels. No more indoor waiting or seating. If you arrived early, you waited in your vehicle.
That was how I planned my trip. My ticket said the location was there; the address was printed on the ticket.
When I got there, a ton of cars were parked under the solar panels and, since dark windows make it hard to see and it was a rainy morning, I figured people were waiting in their cars until a few minutes before the bus arrived.
The bus didn’t arrive. No queue formed. A couple a fellows arrived five minutes later, but I was starting to get nervous. There is never not a line for this trip at least twenty people deep. I double-checked my address and happened to glance at the bottom of the ticket. The map showed surrounding hotels, but I realized that none of them matched the address on the ticket. This would lead to a logical assumption that the address is wrong and the map was right, but where was this location, and why wasn’t that address on the ticket?
In the time it took to work this out, more than fifteen minutes beyond the scheduled boarding time had passed. So here I was an hour in for a trip for which I had gotten up early and planned in advance, and it was for nothing.
I invoked Eric Cartman from South Park and said, “I’m going home.” The day was shot, and I had a $140 ticket for a performance which was about to become obsolete in a matter of hours. The morning was spent making phone calls and sending emails to Greyhound, which has a customer service form online (thankfully) to help me possibly get my bus fare refunded.
This still doesn’t resolve the issue of where the bus stop actually is. A search turned up a picture of the old terminal, the sight of which brought a nostalgic sigh from me. It also brought up two ground-level pictures of the possible new location. One is behind a manufacturing plant and seems to have a place to queue up as with the hotel, and the other appears to be an actual bus stop with protected benches and a circular drive for the vehicle to pick up and discharge. I could put a bet on either of these, because I have learned how the game of Greyhound appears to no longer have certain guarantees of knowing where you are going to board.
Every time I have gotten into a queue for a bus, the question is asked of those in line, and worded by destination only, to be sure it is the correct line, because signage is a rare blessing, and it could also be wrong. So I don’t know whether I will ever get a bus again or not. They’re playing hide and seek with passengers now. Accuracy, attention to details and courtesy advance notices have gone out the window.
As I checked my stored emails for my ticket receipt during the mad race for cancelation, I saw a notice in my inbox from Greyhound from late in the evening before with a heading I’m used to seeing: “Important Details About Your Upcoming Trip.” The content is always the same: this is the itinerary, this is the size requirements for any luggage, etc. I opened it to check after the fact, and nowhere did it say “Note that your departure location has changed,” so I don’t think it’s just me.
Even when a company is trying to reorganize after a global event which brought down most businesses, attention must be paid to updating online information and keeping customers informed. The two other passengers, I hope, found a solution to their issue. I chalk up the lack of other passengers at the same wrong location to a possible goof on my part which shouldn’t have been. I printed my tickets a few weeks ago, rather than waiting until the last minute, which can bring its own problems (no toner). So somebody may be asking why I didn’t use my phone. If I find somebody patient enough to explain to me the finer details of how to know you will have a ticket ready when you need it on a cellular device, I’ll start relying on that. Right now I don’t have a local ten-year-old to take on the job.
Two things I can say to make this experience seem not as bad: first, it rained all day, so I would’ve been hoofing around with an umbrella going to and from the venue and the departure point at my destination (if that didn’t change, too). Also, the principle performer for the program I was to see bowed out and was replaced. It just wasn’t meant to be.
Destiny, however, compels me to find out, once and for all, where the new bus stop is. Wish me luck with that.
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