Today I was at the Greyhound station in Richmond, Virginia. As I've mentioned many times, I dislike riding Greyhound intensely due to many bad experiences in the past. But I had dropped a car in Richmond, and the bus was the quickest, cheapest, most convenient way to get to Washington, D.C. I figured I could tolerate a two hour ride.
As I sat in the station, I saw the usual suspects, all manner of odd folks who looked right at home in the bus station. There was one woman who talked extremely loudly on the phone, broadcasting her personal life to everyone there. And there was one gentleman having a very animated conversation with the wall.
Most of the passengers seem to use Hefty trash bags as luggage. Very chic. And the majority of them do not know the meaning of the word soap. I have no idea why this is, but I can say unequivocally that it's true.
I tried hard to read the latest JACK REACHER novel, because I find them endlessly fascinating. Yet I kept on getting interrupted by people coming up to me and asking for money. Some wanted cash to get a soda, some needed their potato chip fix. There are times that I feel generous, but this was not one of those days. I had not been paid in full for the last three car deliveries, and was trying hard to conserve funds. Which is exactly why I was riding Greyhound.
Some state troopers came into the station. I was worried that there might be trouble, so after a few minutes I walked over and asked them what was up. They said they were there for a training exercise and there was nothing to worry about. I went back and sat down, then watched a man enter the station and walk up to the officers to engage in conversation. Then he pulled out a gun and the shooting began, and I hit the floor and prayed. Several people including a cop were shot and badly wounded, and the man who started it all was killed.
Now I have another good reason not to ride Greyhound. Maybe I should start carrying a gun myself.