Notes from the Atlanta Greyhound Station

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(All these notes were written seven days ago on the bus to Atlanta and at the Atlanta Greyhound station.)

5:01 p.m.

Bus was right on time. I'm probably an hour out of Atlanta where I'll sit for two hours.

Almost to Atlanta, the driver stops for a minute at a McDonald's, tells everyone to stay on the bus and that he's going to see if there's any mail.

If he burp ya'll let me know, that mean he ate somethin'. He ain't checkin' no mail.

-this from the woman who was earlier talkin' about a man named Cadillac who puts money in his mouth and'll

...talk to you all day and you wouldn't know he had seventy-five cents in his mouth...

and, also about another woman in her neighborhood...

...you know that lady had a baby with it's guts on the outside? Yeah, you know everybody, Mr Simms, everybody!

She was talking from the seat behind me to the guy in the seat in front of me. His name might not have been Mr. Simms, but that's what it sounded like when she said it.

Missssimms.

7:08 p.m.

Waiting at the Atlanta Greyhound station.
It's evening and it's busy.
Teeming with tired people.
Casual talkers, everyone's just tryin' to get there. Get it over with.
Get their bags onto the bus, find a seat and move slowly toward the nextstop.

People always talk about how strange it is at a bus station in the middle of the night. Creepy. Weird. Scary.

This, right here, this jam-packed station in the evening, with everyone waiting...
seems more dangerous to me than the midnight solitude. There's more to be wary of, more chance for mishap.

Who knows though. They both have their drawbacks.

Halfway up the walk there was a girl with a lot of bags.
Stopped.
Head down.
She had a look on her face like a deer.
I offered to help her with her bags which is when I noticed she might be about to cry.

"Do you need help?" I asked.
She paused, wary, and said, "yes," with a twinge of relief.
"I can help you," I said, and, "are you alright?"
"Overwhelmed," she said.
"Do you know where you're going?"
"Four."
"It'll be okay."

We carried the bags around, into the crowded station, weaved through the throngs of people and found her a spot at the end of the long line that had formed behind door number 4.

"You okay?" I said again, telling her that she was.
"Yes."
I introduced myself to her and she told me her name.
Amanda.

"Nice to meet you. You're gonna be fine. Let me know if you need any more help. I'm at the front of line 3."

Then I left her there.

You don't want to come on strong at a bus station. Lend a helping hand when there's a girl stuck on an upramp. Help her carry her bags. Walk her to the door. Introduce yourself and leave.

You can only make friends if you're going in the same direction.

Sun's gonna set soon. The heat in here is bearable.
Barely.

7:37 p.m.

All of a sudden there's an uproar, a commotion.

"Hep! Hep!"
"Help! Help!"

Seems someone has passed out in line four, right in front of the girl I gave a hand to earlier. Amanda. It's just too hot in here.
Finally, an employee opens one of the ten gate doors along the wall. (And, someone brings the guy a Snicker's bar.)

A blast of cool air hits the room.

There is a sigh, not audible, but you can feel the room exhale. Opening the door relieves the pressure in the room and the tension in the shoulders.

Every bag in here just got three pounds lighter.

A woman screams at her son.

Trenton Michael! Where are you going?!

The following was added 03/24/2011:

After I posted this, I got an email from someone I know, who imparted this story:

The girl Amanda-first of all you know I have to compliment you on your gentlemanly behavior. Ok back to this. Your story brought me back to my Journey on a Bus. A long long time ago before I had met my husband. Over 30 yrs I suppose. I had just had my heart broken from my first and thought forever love. My sister sent me a bus ticket to come visit her and pick up the pieces of my heart.

I was your Amanda at the bus station. All that many years ago. But the kind gentleman you were to her was in my case, my naive case, a gentleman in disguise. In fact he was basically a well-dressed well-manored... and there is no other word for it: he was a "Pimp"

Here I am today and not in another "world" because.... "you can only make friends when your going in the same direction"

Oh lordy!
Signed: young & dumb

I thought it added a little something to the story.

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