Christmas Travel: Greyhound Bus

“Where is that bus?” asked a young mother, holding an irritable, young child. “My little girl is teething. Is Christmas always like this?”

“It gets worse,” replied the frustrated, ticket agent. “Please be patient.”

Everyone in the terminal was restless. 

Finally, the Greyhound bus pulled in, but an hour late.

“You’re late,” an elderly man said to the bus driver, as he slowly gathered his belongings together. “Have to get to my daughter’s for Christmas.” 

“Sorry sir. Ran into rough winter weather and almost did not make it,” the driver responded. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Where’s your ticket?”    

The old man foraged in his backpack, but could not find it. “Think I left it in the washroom. I found it!” he said excitedly, a few moments later.

“If you smoke on the bus, you will be asked to leave,” the bus driver cautioned a young man with long, shaggy looking hair.

It was three days before Christmas and the weather was cold, dark and damp. Icicles hung from the ice-coated trees. The interior of the bus was cold too, as the driver had just aired out the bus. Thousands of Christmas lights on nearby houses, lit up the night.   

“I should have brought a warm blanket,” said an elderly woman, stuffing a pillow behind her head, and unbuttoning her coat.

“Leave your coat on, dear. Put your scarf over your knees,” the woman beside her, suggested. “Wearing warm boots?”

“My feet are nice and warm, dear. Would you like a cookie? I made those for my son.”   

“Driver, turn the heat on, please. We're freezing to death back here!” a booming, male voice, yelled from the back of the bus.

“Noisy bunch of passengers,” thought the bus driver, turning up the heat and turning on the Christmas music. Gradually, the chatter diminished.

“Your next stop will be in fifty minutes. You will be able to purchase snacks and coffee. Take your valuables with you, but leave something on your seat. This bus stops at every town to drop off packages too, so please be patient.”