Hey Team,

It’s no secret that Greyhound is a long boring ride no matter where you’re going. (And mysteriously, I’m relatively sure, every ride takes about twenty-four hours.) But the problem I ran into yesterday was pretty unique and I’m not sure how much of it Greyhound was to blame for but they always make a handy scapegoat so they’re going to get a healthy dose of the blame too.

Since all of the rides are twenty-four hours long it becomes necessary to make food stops along the way occasionally to prevent mutiny. (Or is that just a boat thing? Can you have a bus mutiny? Butiny?) The rest stop couldn’t have come one second sooner yesterday. In true Amtrekker fashion I had gotten distracted by one thing or another all day and kept forgetting to eat.

Now it was coming up on 8pm and I was getting desperate for food. The bus driver pulls into a large parking lot and wakes me up from an uncomfortable half-sleep with the PA.

“Okay, folks. Time for a food stop. You only have fifteen minutes so don’t straggle.”

Bleary eyed, I stumbled out the bus door to the less than welcome sight of the Golden Arches.

“Sonofa–!” I snapped my head around desperately searching for ANYTHING else in the other direction.

Nothing.

Somehow this McDonald’s managed to pop up all by its lonesome in the middle of nowhere with no further “civilization” in sight. (It may be a little known fact but I haven’t purchased food from McDonald’s in almost a decade now. Something about the smell of the place just does me in.)

This time however, I was desperate. I walked in the door and stood in the already ridiculously long line thanks to my fellow passengers. Staring at the menu I started to panic. Thoughts kept running through my head unbidden:

“That looks disgusting.”

“No way I’m eating that.”

“That one looks edible.”

“This one’s cheap…at least it won’t cost much to poison my body.”

Slowly I crept to the front of the line. With only one person in front of me I started to panic. “Maybe just French fries. Everyone always talks about those.”

My turn.

“How can I help you?”

One final whiff.

“Um…I don’t think I’m hungry.”

Back to the bus.

Sleep may be the poor man’s dinner but it turns out it also works for people that can’t handle a place that has to make sure they add meat flavoring to their meat.

I’m done.

Brett.





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