Bus Stories ...

I decided to take Greyhound bus to Indy to visit "The Parents." The bus/train ride through Amtrak makes it not so bad. I take the bus to Indy and take the train back to Chicago.

While waiting for the bus at Union Station, I receive great satisfaction from watching the art of the hustle. Young men run up on gullible travelers looking to avoid the overwhelming task of grabbing a taxi. "You need a taxi."

"Yes!" (I want to say don't trust them, but I can't stop an entrepreneur at work. Isn't this capitalism, right or wrong?)

And then I watch them being led to a taxi they could simply have walked out and grabbed themselves.

After each conquest, I'd see the guys counting their bills. Tax-free income! Wonder if they know about the stimulus package?

Chicago's finest gave them a group lecture on not hustling the poor tourists at Union Station; they listened and then the moment he finished his missive, they were, yep, right back it again.

I later overheard a guy on the bus talking about how he got the same hustle -- "a fundraiser" -- for something bogus from two different people. He laughed that they didn't have their game together.

Every time I take the bus I think of the Great Migration trips from Indy to Mississippi growing up. The bus was such a drag. You never knew who boarded the bus and if they had thought about refreshing themselves before sitting next to you.

My favorite bus story was when I was traveling with my cousin Diane to Mississippi. I met up with her in St. Louis. We sat near the back and watched people barricade the bus door. They were out of control; they had to get on the bus to see their Southern kin.

This time I have Perry, the bus driver, who provides running commentary the moment we leave the bus station. He blows in the microphone every time he starts up a conversation. The bus was through all the way to Atlanta. Fortunately, the passengers don't have to endure him all the way there. He gets off in Nashville.

He talked about being allergic to fragrances and his wife, the Chicago Skyway and his interpretation on why Daley sold its rights, public housing and on a lighter note, the two swans swimming in water along the skyway, near the dirty industrial plants. And oh, if you need to smoke, don't blow smoke in his face when re-entering the bus after a pit stop. And if you want to indulge in a controlled substance, don't think about it and keep it your pocket.

His final question to me as I disembarked the bus once arriving in Indy: How old are you? huh? What possessed him to even talk to me and let alone ask a question. My response, "Old enough!"

Guess what? That started another conversation. I just smiled and kept on moving away with my roll-away bag.