Not for Sissies

I found myself in Ft Lauderdale this weekend without my drivers license. Unable to rent a car but needing to get to Orlando my options were to (a) fly the 208 miles, (b) hire a private car and driver or (c) take the Greyhound.

The cheapest flying option was a cool $269 and the private car and accompanying Jeeves was $400. This left me Door C: the Greyhound. However, I've been told that if you want to get mugged, beaten or shanked, riding the Greyhound bus is the fast route there. Believing everything I'm told, I've diligently avoided all buses and bus stations with running greyhounds out front. Unfortunately, my "ox was in the mire" and so I broke my lifelong vow to never ever ever ride the Greyhound and opted for the more affordable yet still vastly overpriced option of busing.

The Greyhound Bus Service would be well-served to re-brand themselves as the "Transport of the Strong of Heart". I soon found myself outside the station with 8 people smoking their last cigs before boarding the Greyhound to Jacksonville. [Wondering still, by the way, why Greyhound stations are always located in the most sketchy part of town?] Once inside, I purchased my (did I mention vastly overpriced) ticket and spent my time waiting by watching a tv interview with Dog the Bounty Hunter. It was altogether too appropriate.

We set out at 10:20pm - after, again, everyone smoked a round. Once on the road, I found myself bedfellows with a mixture of the good, the bad and the ugly. Before long, I was a little of all three, but leaning towards the last and, after two hours of shivering, when we finally stopped. I asked the driver if I could get into my bag to retrieve my sweater. The lady driver responded with a prompt and most firm "no". I didn't ask or argue. I just slept with my arms inside my shirt. One doesn't argue with the kinds of people who are qualified to drive Greyhounds.

Upon arriving in Orlando at 2:45am, dearest great-aunt and uncle were waiting to receive me unshanked, unmugged and unbeaten. Only one crying baby. One yelling lady. One drunk man. It was actually fairly uneventful, hypothermia and seatmate snoring aside. So next time I need to make a trip in 2-3 times the time it should really take, I just might maybe actually consider the Greyhound. Maybe.