MichaelBeebe.com

“The floors of bus stations are the same all over the country, always covered with butts and spit and they give a feeling of sadness that only bus stations have.” ― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

 

The more I travel, the more I love this county. Most of my pieces have been about cool places and things I love seeing in my travels, even the piece titled I Hate Texas. From sea to shining sea, I’ve tried to put a positive spin on everything and see the bright side, thus attempting to convey those feelings. This ain’t one of those pieces.

 

I’m writing this in the Dallas Greyhound Bus Terminal in downtown Dallas. My bus out of Abilene was two hours late so I missed my connection to Oklahoma City and subsequently, to Chicago, so my one-hour layover turned into eleven hours. This is my own personal Hell. I was assured by the guy at the counter at the bus station (an outside seating area under a canopy with a ticket counter inside a 7-11 Convenance Store) in Abilene. He straight up lied to my face. I was the fourth person in line to get on the bus. I got on and started walking to the back. The guy in front of me said there were no more seats. I turned around and the driver pointed out two seats at the front. I was asked to take the front seat and he was asked to take the seat behind me. Bus seats are doubles so both seats already had occupants. The woman occupying the seat behind mine grumbled because her bag saw next to her and she didn’t want to move it. The guy offered to move it for her but she grabbed it and put the bag on her lap (where it belonged). My seat mate was about six foot six and sitting with his legs on my side. Though they have an handicapped logo on them, the seats are for anything but. I had to sit side-saddle to accommodate his long legs with the seatbelt receptacle in my hip the whole time and I had to get up every ten minutes of the two hour drive to the next stop so Nate (his name was Nate) could stretch his legs…because they weren’t stretched enough with them being on my side. When we got to the next stop, the guy directly behind me got off. Great! I can take his seat…or not. I went to sit down there and had to ask her to move her bag and she said “no.” Her legs hurt. Finally someone who realized we were at his stop got off and I got his towards the back of the bus. Upon arrival in Dallas, I was told I could not get on the 8:45 bus to Oklahoma City, but I can do the 6:45 AM bus. Mine you, I had a three or four hour layover scheduled in Oklahoma City and I could make my OKC to Chicago bus by ten minutes if the bus from Dallas would be on time. So the question is, where do I want to be homeless for the night? I guess Dallas. With as many homeless people as there are, it must be a good place to do it. I’ve said before, with my job, sometimes there’s a thin line between us what I do and being homeless. Today I may have crossed that line again. 

 

If you’ve never taken the bus, consider yourself lucky. I’m convinced people only choose to take it because they don’t have drug sniffing dogs like Amtrak does. In any town across the country over 30,000 people you have that one gas station on the edge of town by the hotels that make your skin crawl. The people that go into that gas station after 10 PM are the ones who populate the bus terminals of America constantly. You’ll be asked for money to cigarettes anytime you’re outside.

 

While sitting outside in the “smoking lounge,” which’s simply more shitty wire seats outside but under a canopy and surround by fencing, I saw a bum reach in to pull the garbage can closer so he could grab a cigarette butt off of it, then he asked the guy nearest to him, yet inside the fence, for a light. The gentleman was kind enough to oblige. The gentleman didn’t close the gate all the wat when he exited, so three early twenty somethings with sagging pants and wife beaters came in to sell us drugs because…bus station. “I got dabs, tabs, drops, K2…” the list went on, but rapidly. I didn’t catch the rest nor did I care to. I minded my own business and was texting a friend about what a shithole Dallas is and one of them snapped his fingers between my phone screen and my face (it wasn’t that close because I’ve gotten to the age where my arm fully extended is about the right distance to read a text). I politely looked up and asked, “You need something?” He and his homies left.

 

I came back inside after another cigarette in relative peace. The only exception were three different people asking me if I knew what time it was. Back inside there are people sprawled on the floor. Nearly every phone charger is taken up. I sat down at an open charger and chair to hear a Muslim and a Jew yelling in a heated debate as to who’s god is the right god. Security intervened after forty-five minutes. Concurrently, there was a young woman of Hispanic origins, maybe eighteen or nineteen, talking on the phone about smokin’ a roach because her baby daddy smoked the rest of her shit. The front doors opened briefly as someone came or left and the first thing I heard was police sirens. Bus stations are never in the good part of town and in Dallas, they didn’t have to look far to figure out where to put it…right downtown. The guy next to me at this point was bitching about wanting his 40 acres and a mule to the guy next to him with face tattoos that just got out of prison. They bonded over catcalling a couple women that walked past and discussing food options on the inside.

 

I stepped outside shortly after I got here to look at the Best Western app and get a number for their closest hotel. Conditions suck and I strongly considered getting a room. My friend, Rob, reminded me that I’ve dealt with worse, like sleeping on a park bench in Manhattan or the rail system in Atlanta or the back of a truck in Cairo, Illinois during a tornado. Also…I’m cheap. Security yelled at me to go back inside. People being outside the bus station attracts more bums. I yelled back, “I’m making a phone call” and may have sushed him. He then asked me to go back inside once I was finished so I did so. He thanked me. Please don’t kick me off a public street when you don’t have the authority. For future reference, the Best Western in Dallas that’s two miles from the bus station is $105 on a Friday night including tax and I would highly recommend paying that price instead of staying in the bus station, deprived of sleep.

 

The men’s room is so filthy that after taking a leak, not washing my hands seemed like the more sanitary option. Unzip, aim as best you can without touching, and just let it fly. From the puddles on the floor, I’m not the only one who had that idea.

 

After the two convicts moved (one got a call from his girl and the other had to get on his bus), a husband and wife sat down. He was telling me they got kicked off the bus in Phoenix and lost their luggage. They had no clean clothes with them now. You’re wondering why they got kicked off the bus, aren’t you? Phoenix is the end of the line for the bus from LA and his ol’ lady (his words, not mine) was sleeping soundly and didn’t hear the announcement to get off the bus or the other passengers go past them to get off. The driver came up and woke her up, which she woke out swearing…so they were kicked off and their tickets taken. I’ve seen this happen before. Travel tip: Don’t swear at the bus driver or the conductors on the train; the guy who puts the bags under the bus is fine to swear at if he’s being an asshole, so I’ve learned first hand when one pushed my buttons.

 

I’ve seen a great looking woman with a nice rack wearing shorts and a bra (hence how I know the nice rack). There was a transvestite who needs to shave her armpits waking around with a handbag looking thing that has a built in phone charger for sale. It’s only $5 if you’re interested. A guy got accused of intimidating another guy was clipping hair for $5 to $10 a person. Though an inconsiderate jerk, he didn’t intimidate anyone. There was a girl around nineteen years old with a “13” tattooed under her right eye (she’s gonna really regret that when she goes to get a job outside of the strip club) with her mother, aunt, and aunt’s chihuahua. I made friends with the chihuahua. Her name was Puppers. One man had a shaved head and tattoos up his entire neck and on his whole head (I’m pretty sure he has a tax free income source). Another man who called women “girlfriend” and dressed in short shorts with a half tank top who was offering to perform oral sex on other men for half a cigarette. There was a homeless man outside shouting bible verses at us and a man in the smoking area smoking a joint and complaining that he couldn’t afford a bus ticket.

 

Jack Kerouac wrote On the Road during a cross country bus trip from the west coast to New York while high on meth. He used a continuous feed paper and a typewriter to write the first draft. I do not have the luxury of meth tonight since my job drug tests and I am going to go find a place to curl up for a few hours. I am fading fast.

 

Thank you for reading this piece from Michael Beebe. For more about Michael, please visit TheMichaelBeebe.com or VagabondingAmerica.com.