Walt the Bus Man

Thinking about riding in cars makes me nervous. I don't get nervous while actually in the car, but contemplating car trips makes me feel unpleasant. Especially long trips made in small cars. Buses, on the other hand, make me feel quite safe. They're big. If a bus and a car get into a fistfight, the bus will win every time! I find this thought comforting (at least when I am on the bus. Perhaps not so much when I'm in the car.)

My belief in bus safety has been pretty unshakable until last weekend. And boy oh boy, did it shake.

Here's the thing: I had a three day weekend. Sweet! So, I decided to bus it to Seattle to visit my lovely and highly entertaining Work Friends. Good plan.

It was the first time that I had ever taken Greyhound (actually, it wasn't even Greyhound. It was a knock-off bus company), so I was excited. Partly because I love public transport (it's full of crazies! In a fun way!) and partly because I love not having to drive places myself. But THEN, I found out that the crazies are not the passengers on the bus. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. They are the drivers on the bus. Example:

The first thing that the Spokane to Seattle bus driver (let's call him "Walt") said when he entered the vehicle was, "welcome to my piece of crap," and then he got off and went to harass an innocent looking passenger who was trying to find his way Pasco.

The boy reading "Dune" and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

Walt had some issues. Perhaps Terettes Syndrome? It came out often on the drive. And he did not believe in heat, even when we were driving through the ice-covered mountain on a road surrounded by four-foot high snow walls.

When we got to Everett, he spent a full fifteen minutes digging through his bag and shouting "damn!" after every fourth word. Then he went outside and did it some more.