Greyhound Song

Published April 22, 2008

By Bridget Treco

“Love thy neighbor”— arguably the most important Commandment. No, I’m not trying to preach about Christianity here, I’m just saying it’s certainly something to think about: loving your neighbor like you love yourself.

I’ve had to take my fair share of Greyhound buses. Let me get something straight first: Greyhound sucks. Its terrible service is overpriced, slow, and its routes are completely illogical. But I’ve had no other choice, and I’ve still taken the bus. I am not proud of the long hours I’ve spent on them, nor would I ever look back on those times fondly. However, there is one element to Greyhounding that is strangely appealing — talking to the person you sit next to.

Weird concept, I know, it makes no logical sense that I would ever talk to a stranger. Actually, before I started taking the bus, I had really never entertained the concept.

Sure, say one or two things to them, like “do you mind if I turn on the overhead light?” or “Sorry, am I hogging the armrest?” and you’re set, but more than that? Come on, that’s just painfully awkward. Still, there are a few times I’m happy I spoke up and chatted with my neighbor.

My bus ride to New York City had all the potential of sucking and, I guess ultimately, it really did: I left at dinnertime and got into Brooklyn at 5am. But the crazy thing is, talking to people on the bus was actually entertaining and redeemed the bus a little bit. I met this awesome guy in his early thirties traveling with his young daughter. I don’t know why he talked to me, but he didn’t seem creepy. He even liked Chris Brown. He was helpful during our transfers and overall, super cool. The greatest thing was, he’s from Burlington, so now I see him everywhere on Church Street. We’re little friends now and even hug!

Not all those you speak to though are just normal Joes. Take the other guy I spoke to for instance. He was a Brazilian man who claimed he was 22 although he was definitely in his late thirties. He claimed he had just learned English even though he spoke it perfectly and that he was training to become a teacher in the US. He was an air traffic controller in Brazil. I was pretty sure that everything he was telling me about his life was complete bullshit, but he was still amusing. Then I fell asleep. Oh well.

Saratoga Springs is about 2 hours south of us. Yet the bus ride was infinitely longer and instead went north first to Montreal. Thanks, Greyhound. At 6am, I hated Montreal. It smelled like old people. I had to go through customs twice within the span of 2 hours. The customs officer eyed me suspiciously when I told him of my “intentions” in Montreal. Finally, on my way from Plattsburgh to Saratoga Springs, we hit a huge snowstorm.

An obese man sat down next to me. Clearly, I had some quick judgments in my head that I tried to suppress. The guy was very kind though, and helped me figure out how long it’d take to get there with the snow. He told me stories and asked me about myself…at one point he did offer me candy but I politely declined. All in all, he was probably harmless. I had to accept that fellow bus-riders are generally innocuous, and I had to try not to judge people at first glance.

Other characters skim my mind— an overzealous redheaded forty-something in White River Junction who kept obsessing over his Chinese food, a kind, middle-aged alum of UVM who chatted with me about Clinton and Obama.

On the one hand, these people are seemingly meaningless in my life,and sort of just remind me about how long Greyhound rides are, but this riding on the bus can give you time to reflect and “be emo.” Neighbors are oftentimes strangers, people you see on the street and judge instantly; unsure of how you should treat them. Freud was more likely to tell people to “hate thy neighbor,” he certainly admitted he didn’t trust anyone but himself. Freud believed that you shouldn’t trust anyone because man is inherently aggressive in nature, and what men really want to do is just kill each other. Gee, I’m glad he had so much faith in the human race.

But who can expect him to? I’ve been taught since kindergarten not to trust strangers and to run away if they ever offer me candy. Okay, I’ve certainly learned to decline the candy, but do I have to runaway whenever a stranger talks to me? No, obviously not. Yet there is a lingering doubt within me that does not entirely trust these “others.” I used to assume when they talked to me about their lives they were eccentric or socially awkward— I would never volunteer such information. But when I think about it, I have that fear solely regarding people significantly older than I— otherwise, they’re just my peers, and they’re okay. Why is this? I guess Freud would answer it’s because everyone over thirty is just out to attack and kill me.

Not true, obviously, from my experience. Sure, there are dangerous people out there, and you should be careful up to a point about divulging personal information— but there are also kind, friendly people out there too, just looking for someone to talk to. Buddhism teaches me that displaying acts of kindness to strangers is something essential for good karma, and that snap-judgments are almost never accurate. We should treat strangers as well as we treat our loved ones and ourselves, because in this wacky thing called life, we are all on the same bus. Take that, Freud.

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