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Telling it like it is, the unvarnished truth
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Karma on the Bus
The only way to fight the prevalence of karma all around us is to enlist the help of sentient beings. In my travel across the country on Greyhound bus this is what I have learned. This is not the first time I've done this, but each time, it has been an onerous spiritual challenge. I dare anyone who believes her/himself a true Christian or Buddhist practitioner to do this.
This is not an indictment on Greyhound bus lines. During my travel, the views of the surrounding country, its small towns, rural farms, mountains, deserts, and sparkling cities at night are breathtaking. One can receive a better sense of the state from the ground whether it's the health of the economy, resources, changes in farming methods, transportation improvements, and so on. Of course being on the bus, the perspective does tend to heighten one's sensibility about social ills.
Expect lots of karma whether at the bus station, the premises, or on the bus. I will start with the bus. As various commentators have noted, many buses smell bad and are not regularly cleaned. Bus drivers hardly ever pick up the trash (probably not part of their work contract). They do not help passengers load or unload their luggages. However my experience is its actually safer to do your own loading and unloading of one's luggage. This is because the porters only prioritize shipping packages. Passenger luggages may be deliberately stacked in ways that circumvent your being able to locate it. When I finally arrived in DC, the porter seemed more in a hurry to go on break than help me find my luggage. He closed the hatches on the other side even after I finally spotted what seemed to be my luggage from that side. He yelled at me repeatedly for removing luggages in order to reach mine. Then he yelled at me to that I had to put them back inside myself, even before I had pulled my luggage out. He had made no attempt whatsoever to assist me, except for impatiently loading back the luggages. I could see that he intended to load up the luggages just to block mine, so he could slam the hatch shut, yell at me more, and tell me to file a missing luggage claim.
Passengers who complain about their lost luggage probably lose their luggage exactly this way. The luggage is placed in the pile bound for New York City and impossible to find unless that hatch door is open on that side. I suspected the security guard in Charlotte would pull a number on me from his ridiculous behavior the night before and knew which passengers were NYC bound, so I looked there too, even if the DC porter was going to try to prevent me.
You need to be able to be loud, assertive, and energetic when the occasion arises. You have every right to be, irregardless if they yell back at you, call you rude, or whatever. Yes, I was energetically throwing out the other luggages in the way. Yes, I was screaming back at him that he is paid $20 per hour to load and unload not me. Yes, I had to lose my temper because if I didn't, it was very clear that he had very little intention to help me. He had already informed me that I should file a missing luggage claim. He did not move a single luggage out in the pile blocking mine, nor did he make any motion whatsoever to haul my luggage out even after I told him which one it was. His priority was to "allow the driver to go on break." I was justified in what I did, because I got my luggage back, and I would do the same thing again if confronted with such a predatory, arrogant, malicious porter. And just to convey to you that they operate by train, the gal in Charlotte who slyly told me to let the porter there load my luggage was reboarding at DC when she saw the ruckus---and she was smirking.
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Charlotte, NC bus station in the north quadrant of the city
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Big time Karma at the stationIt's really not structural racism in reverse, even if in fact that is what they are trying to institute. This is a moral war, spiritual war, and to transcend the black-white dialectics, one must be able to transcend the manifest hate whoever the party is. That is what my spiritual counselors tell me, and that is part of my New Year Resolution. It doesn't mean I am going to just take it when the porter is trying to steal my luggage; when the security guard pompously claims that he has the right to preach Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and can do so better because he is black; or when the criminal is openly stalking me by deliberately brushing by me repeatedly like a hyena eyeing prey at the station. All of this is not racism: it's karma, and big time because it is Satan who is always so deceitful and full of false comparisons. The devil can easily delude the masses into believing they are following the path of social justice when in fact they are robbing, abusing, and murdering for the false messiah. They will give it a fancy term but it is still unwonted unjustified crime against innocent victims. They will rationalize the law of the jungle, that it is applied train-theory, passing the hot-potato, moving the smart chess piece, but it is still deviant and sociopathic. The pity of it is that so many are being deluded into believing that this is civilized behavior, so they silently participate, even passively rejoice in the tearing down of the edifices of society.
The hellish night at the bus station began early in the morning when the bus arrived from Atlanta and the driver curtly told everyone to take their belongings off the bus because it will be going no further. Later on we were told that a snowstorm made it impossible to travel to Richmond. This is what we found out from other passengers doing research on the internet. Charlotte is a nightmare because the staff are disorganized and completely arbitrary. Of course this was how I arrived from Atlanta in the first place, since my original ticket was from Dallas to Richmond via Memphis. I would have been at least four hours ahead, but now thanks also to a broken down bus between Tucson and El Paso, I was additionally at least three hours behind and had missed the original connection from Dallas to Richmond. The ticket agent claimed there were no more seats on the bus to Richmond even though the passenger immediately ahead of me was able to travel on the Richmond bound bus. Again at the Dallas station there was much rudeness and mayhem. The driver delayed our departure about one-half hour and made us change buses because the seat belt light was broken.
Rather than operate a TV that broadcast the weather, news, or other useful information, this bus station manager in Charlotte plays horror movies, especially at night. This is to signal that they want you to be disconnected from reality. They are inciting tension, unrest, bad vibes, and stoking conflict on purpose. Apparently one night manager thinks she is running a circus show. Most of them think they are directing a live play, and each passenger is something to toy with. The TV is a vital causal agent in beckoning evil spirits into the station from the streets at night, as well as emerging from the various low-life passengers themselves, as I will further elaborate later.
What particularly infuriorated me was the visible targeted maltreatment of particular customers. Again these karma-laden beings sincerely believe that they are exerting social justice when in fact these are customers who paid, often extra such as I did for priority boarding, and have already suffered days of delay riding the Greyhound bus. The joke on the customer was that some thought that they would escape the delays at the airport. The extra demands on the system are from National Guard soldiers being sent on training all across the country. At every bus station, these soldiers were present, and they are given priority boarding and their seats are guaranteed. If this were Operation Snowstorm, one might surmise that they are also becoming indoctrinated into becoming future arbiters of the authoritarian democracy underneath the dictates of martial law. To understand that this might have been part of their assignment, every so often there were non-commissioned officers also present in the shipping process as if deliberately observing the soldiers' deportment.
Since I took the opportunity to spend the day in Charlotte to do some sight-seeing, such as riding the Lynx light-rail train, relax in the metro center area, and explore the UNC, the only thing I appeared to miss coming back was listening to some passengers moaning and groaning incessantly to real or imaginary lovers on their smartphone about the delays. The horror movies were still playing, the deranged staff was still barking at some passenger or other, and there were more want-to-be bus boarders shiftlessly wandering about. The one nice thing that GH did manage to do was one of the night managers ordered us pizzas. There was enough pizza for everyone who wanted some, and there were all-cheese options too. They know how to do barbeque-flavored pizza down South, and so it was not just Domino's.
All night the creepy crescendo increased and some of the staff laughed and joked about us not being able to afford a hotel. Actually, the problem is that the area has many criminally leaning homeless men, and so it's not safe to wander outside alone after 10pm. A walk outside to the parking lot around midnight and I saw a creature descend from a running car, and enter the station, no luggage, no intention to travel, but with a wicked gleam in his eye. He appeared to want to use the john but possibly as a prelude to instigate a disturbance. Another car was parked behind and marked as a taxi but the word was obviously scratched onto the paint; it was an unofficial taxicab at best, with the driver also appearing suspicious.
The only thing the staff did was to repeatedly throughout the night ask all visitors to have their tickets in their hand ready to show the security guard. The one security guard, a buffoon in the Don Knotts style of Mayberry, N.C. deputy, only worse, appeared to have a multifunctionary status as guard, errand boy, customer service, porter, and as we will demonstrate, later on, impromptu roadside minister. He turned as blind an eye as possible to the foulsome characters, the late-night demons emerging from angry restless men. For myself, what saved me and offered a measure of comfort for the sitters was that I held an open private prayer session that lasted several hours as I read from The Time of Your Life by William Saroyan, Three Ways to Pure Land by Master Shih Chen Yen, conducted meditative exercises doing Dafa, and also prayed some Rosary and from my St. Rita prayer card. Of course the staff regarded me as a freak, but I was no more loud than the volume of passengers rap music, the TV horror movie, the wailing of children, or incessant talkers.
Satanic Mass at the Bus Station
The devil preys on unrest and tension, and a common time for humans is the late afternoon, often beginning around 3pm as the gates break forth and the demonic energies of the students pour forth at a fever pitch. It's not the students themselves, but the maestral winds that similarly are conducted from the bodies of other day breakers of all types, all colors, all classes of humans, as well as their helpers such as dogs and mischievous robotic devices. Westerners have no name for this, so it is unacknowledged, since no science has pegged mere shadows as materially existent. And yet sure as a ghost leaves a human body for dead, as a blessed pearl glows with an aura, as walls will voluntarily spout blood spots, the supernatural can manifest. Overnight a blessed bag that I had retained over the last three weeks, spotless and clean in my carryon luggage, sprouted a blood spot and tear on it, and it had not been touched by a human since the inner contents were undisturbed. It was lodged in the compartment above the head of two migrants, a husband and wife team from Senegal, which male kept staring at me hostilely all night long in Charlotte, in Raleigh, all the way to DC. It was not the volume of the noise from my mouth as I read aloud; it was the very fact that I dared to read at all, read aloud, and from treasury books. At one point as he stared, while others stood around and angrily chattered about the boarding time, I told him I had the right to read, and read aloud, as this is a free country. Many people, but especially immigrants, do not want to understand that. Operation Snowstorm is about recruiting as many obliging third-world lackeys as possible whatever the color, class, or creed, as they do not believe in idealism, will do anything to survive, and are indoctrinated that everything is about social justice. The army recruits find them preferable because they will not think for themselves, and put social pressure on the intellectuals and noble-minded to sacrifice themselves.
My experience living in a homeless shelter also demonstrates that the sinister energies also emerge 12 hours later, around 3am. People afflicted with dissociative identity disorder will sit up and start staring at different sleepers in the room as if sending them messages----and indeed they are----you can feel a nightmare pitch in the room. The wise learn to sleep with something like a radio on, or not to sleep at all. So this was exactly the situation at the Charlotte station. There were no more than about ten whites in a room of a hundred, and most of us were parked on hard metal benches, and none of us slept a wink. Especially the white women, some of whom just sat all night long keeping a stony stare about them. One piled up right next to the women's bathroom which I realized later was a safe place against the wall. Another piled up next to the depot departure gates door, another discreet safe area. About six white people, all buddies, piled up around the TV and were lying down on a homemade quilt laid upon the floor. A white dude was just sort of sitting at the back and keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Some whites who are semi-homeless looking just kind of let it all hang out lolling in the benches like it was bedding. The trick as the migrants from Senegal demonstrated is to tuck your legs underneath the open arm rests; or to find two benches that are pushed against one another then the arm rests are four seats apart.
The reason why I could not sleep was because I know that the sinister energies are going to manifest. I should have kept praying, but I was also imagining that the bus would be here soon, since 3am is just an hour from 4am; and the digital board posted that the boarding would be as soon as 4:30am. Plus several times that night there were other boardings and arrivals. So I had to keep an eye out on the arrivals as well. The low-lifes typically wear baggy pants, oversized clown shoes bright red in color, baseball cap on backwards or some hat to that effect, and hands in their pockets as they sullenly take in and surveill the passengers. One guy, presumably deaf, was very restless as he kept looking at me very strangely and kept walking back and forth behind me. I had my backpack on with my wallet on my person, so I could not imagine he would attack me openly, yet I knew that was not the reason. He was waiting, expectant as if. His wife, also deaf had earlier been talking with the buffoon security guard, operating as a distractant. She was also posted on the back bench (the visitor parking side of the station) with a couple of others. For some reason her husband or companion was moving about and then randomly sitting here, then there. I did not want him shadowing me, so I moved from one row of benches to another, and he knew I did this because I was creeped out, so he purposely relocated to another seat where he could continue staring at me. There was definitely a fever pitch of thriller sensation going on because the TV was showing a horror scene with someone hacking away at someone else's body---bloody ritual for sure---but the obese white persons who were sitting beneath the TV were either enjoying the film or oblivious. Other lowlifes at the station also had these goon-staring going on. I cannot for the life of me make out why these people cannot read a book, meditate, do some prayer or reflection, or think about the marvelous night skies above and around Charlotte. They are enslaved by their rap interests and the bad poetry emanates from the marbly angry eyes as they search for who to blame for their life sorrows, who they might victimize for a bit of social justice, who they might do like they are doing on TV. Even the guard and the staff are sort of acting as if in a trance as conductors of the mass sacrifice.
Two bad things happened. Right around 3:30am as that weird disciple of the devil was planning his next move on me, the man nearby suddenly let out a loud scream and fell on the floor in an attack of epilepsy. It was a loud yell, and shook me because it seemed as if the very thing, the very portal that the evil spirit had sought to manifest transpired. It reminds me of the deranged physicists conducting their time-space continuum research; enough banging around with the atom and maybe we will break open a wormhole for Satan to descend.
Two good things happened also. One of the white women sitting near the TV, a lovely slim person who had all the eyes of the lowlifes staring at her jeans, and who had got a dressing down for no good reason earlier by the female night manager, immediately came to the rescue of the epileptic. She had experience working as a medic, and got to work immediately helping lay the man down, making sure he did not choke; the white dude from the back also came up and it also appeared he had experience with handling such emergencies. Meanwhile the guard made an emergency phonecall, while the two babysat the epileptic for the next ten minutes. Strangely the stalker who had been focused on my person seemed to visibly look mollified. He shuffled away from nearby the epilectic victim whom he had been sitting only one seat away. The other low-lifes also appear to look appeased: the something bad they wanted to happen just like the rap music agonizes over, had happened. Everyone now had a focal point: relieving the epileptic attack. But the good thing was that in saving the man's life, no talk about color barriers entered the scene. It took too long for the ambulence to arrive considering it was located downtown. From the start of the attack to the arrival took at least 15 minutes, and by the time the 911 team arrived, the man was already sitting up, dazed, and being helped back up from the floor by the two good angels.
The good angels didn't even make a fuss that everyone ignored them after the emergency team arrived. Of course the guard was decent enough to thank them and ask them for information. But when the manager came in for the morning, she was in a super mean, nasty mood, and irregardless of whether she knew what had happened, it was inexcusable. Because boarding time had been advertised as 4:30am, I was near the priority boarding line. But this was not going to be just another normal departure to suit the circus managers. They needed to try to jinx our departure time as well. The guard told me to back away from that area. The manager suddenly announced that our bus would be delayed, announcing that very loudly (they don't use microphones here; all the managers are very good at yelling or shouting). The departing bus 1080, which had been up on the screen as bound for NYC for the whole night, suddenly was off the screen. I could glimpse every so often a brief appearance of that bus as being scheduled now for 5:35am, but because it was mostly not visible, no one could be sure. I was certain that the manager deliberately hid that bus line from public view, but that is beside the point.
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"See that sign? It proves I'm the boss so shut up and go sit down!"
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Several other bus departures were scheduled around that time and the manager made the most of her circus conductor opportunity by announcing only some of the stops the bus would make. She did not announce the bus line number, just a few of the towns the bus would stop at. So various passengers thought that this was the NYC or Atlanta bus they were supposed to board rather than a bus bound for South Carolina. This one white woman, a German from her accent, had apparently been sitting and like a stone from at least one day ago, and she headed out to board the bus. She was somehow given to understand this was the bus she needed to board. Suddenly, and I was standing near the TV around the corner from the ticket agent counter, I could feel a hot heavy monstrous wave rush by me, and the short fat female manager went out the departure door chasing the German woman and began screaming at her at the top of her lungs! She had a temper tantrum yelling senselessly on and on at this passenger for heading out to the wrong bus at the wrong time! This total lack of decorum was shameful for any customer, let alone a foreign guest to America. Again, the only ostensible purpose it served was to mollify the malignant forces of devious social justice lens.
As the manager headed back inside and a hush filled the room, the security guard turned preacher on everyone all of a sudden. He apologized not to the passengers but on account of the unimaginable stress the manager deals with due to overbooking at this time. He told us the manager had not slept all night long, all night long she had been working in the back trying to coordinate arrival times, and no wonder she was so stressed out! He furthermore told us that we needed to be more mindful and considerate towards the staff just as we would all be if this were part of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr's "I Have a Dream." Then, he topped it off with saying that of course he had the right to remind us about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. since he was a black man, just like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and this enabled him to especially quote, interpret, and apply it to whatever occasion arose.
So the German woman who was ushered back in continued to sit like a stone as she was now given to understand her bus (which she had been waiting for, for more than a day, possibly two days) would not depart until 9:55am. Of course given the snow-storm warning (but not shown on TV since the horror movie is more important) everyone was on edge who had to go to New York, Boston, New Hampshire or beyond. Meanwhile the manager continued to pretend (now I say pretend because it was impossible that with her experience she could not know) that the bus for Richmond was never going to come. I was so angry about her horrible performance that I took a picture of the station manager. To describe the delusionary grandeur and arrogance of these workers does not do the situation justice. I must repeat what exactly the picture frame says: "Greyhound CARES. If you have comments or suggestions, please contact the City Manager. We Want to Hear from You! City Manager [photo] Nia Lucas 704-371-5057."
I have a photo of this because hey, I might just want to call them up! But of course this probably is a joke because the station is a circus. She is NOT a City Manager. She is a STATION manager. But of course City Manager sounds more officious and that does warrant more pay. It's the morning manager or Nia that is a screaming shrew and needs to be fired for harassing customers for fun. But that will never happen of course because GHB system is pretty much captured by the Power of the People.
Yes, I had a little self-rant after that about Nia or her short fat orderly because she kept telling the Richmond departure group that she would have no idea when they would leave, that it was an indefinite wait, and they must sit and wait for as long as it took. I think I compared the station to Camp Auschwitz with some fascist Nazi wannabees compelling us to believe that this was a wonderful place to bivouac. I think I recall telling myself that I am at least as brave and courageous as a soldier of God, and that the wonderful gal who saved the epileptic man's life had been on the bus just a couple more days than me, coming up from Florida and headed to Maine. I think I secretly told off the security guard for thinking he had apologized for the Station Manager while playing God.
The final insult to injury at Charlotte was at 5:15am the station manager "suddenly realized" that one of the buses at the Gate was bound for Richmond afterall. She just had that mixed up because she named a small town stop, Greensboro, instead of Raleigh or Richmond, or so she claimed. Anyway suddenly we had our Richmond rush to the gate, and per usual this LatinX kept pushing me out of the way. I would get in line, and she would cut in front of me. I said I had priority boarding, and she would turn around and start badmouthing me to a LatinX immigrant peer she had befriended on the bus. No matter where we were going, she would always cut to the first of the line, board first, irregardless of who else needed to board first, just so she would try to have a full two seats for herself. And on the bus she would make loud long phonecalls and smirk at anyone who told her to keep it down.
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280 miles east of Tucson, on the way to El Paso, Texas
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Bus System riddled with KarmaHaving ridden the GHB across the country, I do have a lot of positive memories as well. Some drivers are decent, and they are even given to understand that certain passengers need more bathroom time, have a vegetarian diet, and like to take photos. A nice driver will stop at a local store-restaurant where they serve veggie burritos and hot entrees to go. Some buses will actually have clean windows near the front. They have cut down on cleaning the buses, but they do not steal items on the bus while cleaning. You will meet some credible people riding the bus, but more often than not they are ex-cons, indigent, immigrants, truckers, students, retirees, on rehab, or runaways. If you are actually a credible type person or have an advanced education, it's a good idea to not look anything other than a cleaned up bum. I met only one Asian during the whole ride going east. He actually showed up midway through the epileptic attack in Charlotte station, as part of an arriving group. The medics were still taking his vital signs, but the victim was alert. The Asian actually boarded the bus for Richmond same as me, and I was forced to sit next to him when I gave up my seat to a 500 pound white guy who needed extra space. The Asian had an audio player strapped to his chest that was beaming out very calm soothing music. It wasn't noticeable until I heard it right next to me. Whatever. I told him he needed to listen to Dafa instead. He got off even before we arrived at Raleigh, so it was a very short trip for him. As the only Asian female on most of the bus trips, I am not shy about saying I wear a hat to protect my hair from scabies or lice, and that I always have extra supplies on hand in my bags, and that I carry critical documents on my person. For some reason a few drivers referred to me as a "him." I have a pretty fierce look on my face, and gee, I am not going to apologize for an attitude if it must show itself. No way. It's because I already know about these places; I live in low income housing---am grateful for that---but it abounds with mixed messaging. They will tell you this is permanent housing, yet they always act as if they don't want you around, both staff and residents. The usual divisions exist and are nurtured to provocative gaming incidents by the same sorts of people. The rules are constantly changing and they will ask you to fill out a survey one day, then the next, tell you that you have no right to criticize, question, research anything. They will convince me I have a voice when it is time to have a "life skills meeting" with operative trainees in the covert programs; but then render it as unnecessary to participate in community landlord tenant unions. Of course, what you learn to do is read the underlying motives. If it is bound up in altruism and caring then it may be worthwhile to be respectful, civil, and humane in response.
The implied consent when you board the GHB which I can nickname Black Hound bus system, is that you give up your rights as a human being. Forget the days when school children could throw spitballs at the driver or call them all kinds of funny names. No, you are literally as reviewers at influenster.com describe, which is shipping human cattle. But in the spiritual realm, it's because these drivers, operators, workers, guards, agents, porters, all need extra prayer. They are the ones who are broken and in need. They are rich in the assurance that they have a modicum of power and control over your life, that they rest in the shade of a famous national bus company, that they have a lot to gain materially whether harassing people, enabling crime, stealing their property, and advancing a fake cause based on the shallowness of the human skin. They are resting upon a foundation of delusion, chaos, confusion, and this is why they no longer even hire people who can drive a bus properly or fall asleep at the wheel.
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Mohamed didn't fall asleep at the wheel but he sure can't drive a bus!
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When we left Tucson aboard the same bus as from LA, that bus was working fine. Sure it was making some funny beeping noises, but the other drivers had ignored it. Not Mohamed. He kept stopping on the road. Stopped the bus, turned it off. Four or five times at least till the bus would not turn on anymore. Then he said it was broken and we waited several hours in the bitter cold for another bus. At another stop before this, in Tucson, I had told Mohamed I had a priority boarding ticket, and he told me that was only good for the first boarding. I told him the stamp was for every boarding, but he would not honor it. At half the stations, there is no priority boarding line, and if you stand in line or try to move toward the front of the line for priority boarding, the passengers will start yelling at you. They will not yell if it is a creature who looks like their clone, but they will go on and on if it is someone non-charcoal. This one gal going to Mississippi from LA would not stop talking about me anytime she made one of her long personal phonecalls. Never mind that the bus had broken down, that the man who looked like her brother was arrested for shoplifting in Rustin, Louisiana, that there are a huge variety of roadside distractions or attractions to notice. Nope, just like a typical loon from the shelter, half her conversation would be about me, while she was staring at me with her bug eyes, trying to get under my skin like a giant-sized human pest. I didn't pay any notice for the most part, but it is typical of the mindset of some of the riders, how they obsess for hours over delays, schedule changes, perceived wrongs, discomforts, inconveniences, etc.
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First the young black dude was cussing out the driver for a smoke break; then he needed to go into the convenience store and was swiftly arrested for shoplifting. At least he may get a new start in life in a small farm town...
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That is human karma at work too, since it is the New Year, and by the grace of God we did actually make it back in one piece, albeit with a bit of a cold and dry itchy cough from the dust in the air. I know it was the dirty bus air since once I arrived home, within a day I stopped my hacking cough, and within two days, my cold is almost gone. We are allowing more and more of the Mohamed types into the country. He doesn't like independent women; he sits and complicates any kind of conversation with all kinds of burrs in order to entrap; he loses focus but appears to love to talk and talk about the same thing over and over; he may even have a hidden agenda, as simple as helping smuggle goods under the bus; maybe even with the aid of some corrupted soldier trainees. The bad seeds we have sown overseas does come back to roost, and we must take more responsibility to not be silent, but in fact, collect ourselves in order to speak more truth to power.
Of course GHB or Black Hound Bus would love it if they can silence every single passenger that complained. They wanted to snuff the artist life out of a passenger from Fresno who asked that the bus driver turn the air conditioner down a bit. That bus driver didn't like him because he had carried his guitar onto the bus and looked too much like a community activist. So he called the police in Bakersfield, and that police were there to arrest the young man, a Fresno City College man, for absolutely no good reason except to mollify the dusty ego of the bus driver. Many of the bus drivers have a ridiculous egotistical complex, but unless it shows itself, it is not exceptionally bad karma. The bad karma manifests from day after day of driving some very perverse passengers, from porters who want to make a bit of extra money stealing luggages, from a lack of care of the environment such as showing horror movies on TV when passengers deserve up to date weather information. The bad karma endures when the corporation is trying to cut corners by cutting down cleaning and bus maintenance services allowing the buses to be run down to the bone. Lack of enforcing standards of safety and services tell people all Black Hound cares about is money.
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Not what you think it is---all these Southern towns are sanitized---where have all the homeless gone? Oh where have they all gone? So long time ago...
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The most offensive karma is the neoliberal fantasy projected by Birmingham, Alabama GHB station. Sure, this is a brand-spanking multimodal station with connections to Amtrak, intercity buses, taxis, and all the rest. I kept wondering why so many of these southern cities (Birmingham, Jackson, etc) have no graffiti anywhere. Or why on a freezing winter night (28 degrees) do they have to kick out every bum and not even allow them to sit quietly in some corner. The insult comes from the HDTV broadcasting the wonderful smiling friendly bus drivers in various video casts in a multiview screen. They show the gal spraying disinfectant inside the bus and wiping and then waving a big broad smile at the camera. A hugely friendly GHB driver just ever so eager to greet all his customers waving his big paws at boarding passengers. A weather broadcast showing the weather in nearby cities. A real-time map showing the estimated location of the buses. (For some reason the bus we were on was not shown or listed as a different number). This wonderful wet-dream fantasy of riding Greyhound buses is unfortunately pretty far from the reality of stinky filthy buses, irritable drivers, bossy workers who are given to tirades, restrooms half-filled with broken down toilets, lazy janitors or porters who only do what it says on the union contract, and encouraging all manners of intimidation either directly or by proxy from false social justice representatives on the bus.
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Brave New Black Hound bus---a straggler stuck outside glared at me and asked "What are you staring at?" His pup tent was about half a block down on a freezing night outside...
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As one reviewer writes and it is the same whether the complaint is from complaintsboard.com, or elsewhere, there are better national buses in Mexico. Doing a PR campaign such as hiring shills to post at gotobus.com does not cut it. Only the truth does. If a European traveler has the mistaken notion that they will get a wonderful tour of America riding our Greyhound bus system, tell them they had better watch their purse and their neck. They will be harassed without any admission of guilt ever by the staff, the workers, the lowlifes, the guards, the criminals haunting horrible stations like at Charlotte, North Carolina. They will be delayed and their tickets reprinted and forced to travel roundabout to other destinations before finally arriving to their real destination, several days late. If they complain they will be heckled and especially if they are convenient targets. This is of course a poor reflection of the United States and a national shame, a travesty on a once grand way of seeing the country.
Moral: The truth can never be hidden; the rotten hull will always be exposed eventually.
