I hate Richmond

My second bus trip down to Nashville isn't going as well as planned so far. I'm writing this from a roach-infested depot I have gotten to know all too well over the course of several hours just now and several more hours a few weeks ago. It's in Richmond. I am really beginning to despise this damn city.

But I can't blame my troubles on Richmond, and I shouldn't, given it was from this city that an unexpected package was sent to my doorstep around noon yesterday. It was a mug sent by my fraternity's headquarters, in Richmond, to all the volunteers who are currently active in any capacity. I was happy to receive this pleasant surprise.

So that alone should make me feel less tense about Richmond than I do. But I can't help it. The fact that within a few miles lies my fraternity's national headquarters, with all its well-intentioned people and its focus on core principles to develop balance in life, provides no solace to me at this sleepless moment when the sun will soon rise.

I just looked. The dark blue night sky is already dissipating, giving way to a lighter hue of cyan. And behind this bus I can faintly see shades of yellow and orange. That isn't going to help me sleep. I've been up since the chiming of yesterday morning's "The Price is Right" theme song, which has become a ritual for me since I found myself unemployed. Just like in the summers between levels of grade school and high school, and even throughout much of college.

But now I'm off track. And so was the first bus I boarded on this trip that is already taking several more hours than I had anticipated. We first got off track when the driver couldn't find his way to an impromptu drop-off point in Springfield, VA, for one passenger. A passenger who drives a truck in the area for a living went up front and helped guide the driver to the one woman's destination. Then the bus driver couldn't find his way back onto I-95 South. The same helpful passenger returned up front to guide us back onto the East Coast's main north-south highway. Thank goodness for this guy, but he responded both times hesitantly, so it was only after we had been going for several minutes in the wrong direction that he leapt to our collective rescue.

But the worst was yet to come. It was at mile marker 89.4 that our bus was forced to pull over. And every one of us on board knew immediately the reason why. We could all feel it when we blew a tire. It was my first public-transportation flat, my first bus breakdown. Good lord, I hope it was my last.

I've heard horror stories about bus trips gone terribly wrong. While my new experience certainly wasn't the worst possible scenario, it was because this bus went out of service, and because it took another two hours for another bus to come to our aid, that I missed the 1 a.m. departure from Richmond that would have imprisoned me with the roaches for only one hour instead of four and a half. Further, the 1 a.m. departure would have gotten me into Nashville around noon; this later bus won't get me there until after 8 p.m., for a total of about 23 hours of travel time.

And there's nothing plush or relaxing about this style of transportation either. Even without the breakdowns and delays, taking the Greyhound bus has so many built-in inconveniences. Mostly, it's the layovers. I can sleep through a stop, one of those stops where all they do is drop off a couple of people and pick up a few others and leave within a couple of minutes. Those stops don't bother me. The ones that do are the lengthy and frequent layovers. The ones where you know there will be noise, there will be movement, and they may even make you get off the bus for an hour or so -- for "cleaning," they tell you. When I come back on, the place still looks like my messy apartment: They didn't clean a damn thing.

Now that sun is up. Wait, what's it doing to the right? If we're heading south, shouldn't it be on my left? Don't tell me this bus driver is lost too!

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