Not Jake Paul

A comedy in three parts

I found hell and it exists in the Greyhound bus station at D.C.’s Union Station. 

Part I: The Ascent

At 5:30am, I arrived half-asleep at D.C.’s wondrous Union Station. I ascended a dysfunctional escalator and another functional escalator to reach the Greyhound bus station with plenty of time to spare for my 6:00am bus ride to Pittsburgh. I took a couple of sips of my coffee trying to wake myself up when suddenly I was startled by a manic woman trying to flag down her departing bus. The bus driver made direct eye contact with her and pulled away, hellbent on his next stop. A guy clad in patterned pajama pants behind me said “Oh shit!! She got left [sic]!!” He paused dramatically for a moment attempting to allow space for laughter from a long line of groggy people. He echoed with gusto, “…she got left!!” Please laugh.

Another 15 minutes passed without a bus or update from customer service. Suspicion started to rise in Greyhound Bus Line A as several other buses had already cycled through. Herd mentality finally kicked in and a moustached man volunteered to investigate the situation. I couldn’t hear the news when he came back so I decided to give up my spot in line to seek the truth.

On my way to the customer service desk, I glanced at the monitors of the upcoming bus departures only to find that there was no indication whatsoever of a delay, let alone that my bus even exists. I confusedly scratched my head and approached the counter to ask the agent about the situation. He said, “we don’t have a driver yet. It could take 1 hour. It could take 2 hours. We don’t know.” Dumbfounded by his answer, I acquiesced and exited the structure to brainstorm alternative travel plans.

At about 7am, I plopped down on a bench to eat a bagel and recharge my patience. After about a half hour, I checked the monitors and the bus tracker app that still said my bus was “scheduled” while other buses had very clear timing expectations. Time to bother the agent again about the situation. There was a changing of the guard since my last visit which raised my hopes for more clarity. The new agent said, “sorry, we don’t have any update. At best, the driver would not get here for another 30 minutes once we find out.” Another non-answer but at least it I felt more comfortable leaving the station to grab a cup of coffee in the main train station.

Part II: The Descent

I descended the escalator to the wondrous Union Station great hall on my mission to caffeinate. With a head full of steam I approached the automatic sliding glass doors I had just come through moments before. They didn’t open. A man on a quest of his own approached the other set right next door seconds later. The other set also refused to open. He tried with all his might to open them with his bare hands, but could not find a good grip. I waved my arms desperately at the sensor once more to try to activate the doors. Again, entry denied. The “automatic” doors remained motionless with all intention to trap our lost souls in the bus station. We waited in limbo for a minute until finally a future lost soul came through the other side to temporarily free us.

I descended the dysfunctional escalator and marched up to the Amtrak ticket counter to inquire about trains to Pittsburgh. The agent told me there were 4 remaining tickets for the Floridian 40 at 4pm which runs regularly between Chicago and Miami. I chuckled to myself because this was an option I had previously dismissed when planning travel for the holidays. It’s about an 8 hour train ride and Google maps doesn’t even recommend it – one has to go directly to the Amtrak website to find it. I rejected the option again and went back to the Greyhound customer service desk to ask about the situation in person. Unfortunately, Greyhound was still incapable of using technology to communicate travel delays and updates. 

I ascended the escalators and nervously waltzed through the “automatic” doors to the bus station hoping I wouldn’t get stuck. I entered the customer service structure yet again. A woman I had recognized from several hours earlier was leaning against the wall and shook her head. She said bluntly, “no update.” Yet again, I took a seat on the bench with a picturesque view of the structure and went back to the drawing board. Meanwhile, a man who was clearly not a customer service agent shouted nearby “8:30am to Baltimore & New York. LET’S GET IT. LET’S GET IT. LET’S RIIIIIIIIDE.” I laughed and looked over to my right at the bus station glass enclosure / waiting room. There was a man struggling to get out because the automatic glass door was not working. He pried the door open by placing both hands flush against the enclosure and sliding with all of his might. Fearing I might somehow get stuck in a glass enclosure, I pushed on to try my luck with securing a one-way rental car. Get me out of this godforsaken place.

The moustached man from before approached me. We exchanged pleasantries and strategized escape plans. We discovered we both had the idea of trying rental cars so we temporarily joined forces. The clock struck 8:00am and the Enterprise and Alamo car rental booths had just opened up. Together, we ascended another set of escalators. Sadly, there were no cars available. My fellow drifter decided to give up on rentals, but I mustered on and ascended to the next level of hell: the Hertz, Avis, and Budget booths. Unsurprisingly, no cars were available. I continued my search online for other rental locations in the area with seemingly no reasonable alternatives remaining during this busy travel weekend.

Running out of options, I decided to spice things up and take the elevator down. I entered the scratchy, foggy plexiglass doors, turned around, and looked for the correct button to take me to the bus station level. I froze. The buttons were labeled “M”, “1”, “2” and “3” which might as well have been hieroglyphics to me at that point. I had ascended and descended so many times over the past several hours that I lost all sense of my elevation above sea level. One would think that the levels would be clearly labeled with various destinations / travel companies. Nope, not in hell. You will be punished.

Part III: The Escape

I narrowed it down to three remaining alternatives: 1) delay travel and pay significantly more for airfare or rental cars, 2) be a masochist and take the 5:30pm Greyhound to Pittsburgh, or 3) be a masochist and ride the 8-hour Floridian 40 at 4:00pm. Either way, there was no need to panic so I went back to the main terminal to take a breather and weigh my options.

At 10:21am, I received an email from Greyhound titled: “Regarding Your Upcoming Greyhound Journey.” It was a foregone conclusion several hours ago, but Greyhound chose to tease their customers instead of putting “Greyhound trip cancelled” in the subject line. On top of it all, they polished off the email with a cold, hard hyphen signature like some colleague from work who doesn’t like you. I suppose this made it official; “Unfortunately,” the long bus ride home was cancelled.

I frustratingly set down my phone and pondered life for a moment while vendors positioned little booths directly in the center of the decadent train station hall. I thought to myself, “should I just cut my losses, continue the bit, and take the Floridian 40?” Yes. And it will hopefully be very amusing. So I walked back up to the Amtrak booth and purchased my one-way ticket out of hell.

Afterword

I arrived in Pittsburgh some 12 hours after my original planned arrival time. But many questions still weigh on my weary soul. Did the driver sleep in or call in sick? Did the bus/route ever exist in the first place? Is this all a metaphor for something bigger? Endless enigmas from my trip through hell. Only fitting for the world’s most alienating bus station.

Thanks for the refund, Greyhound Lines, Inc.