Okay, now I'm a geezer.
But there are advantages. Such as the Senior Pass that'll get in in free to national parks, national monuments, national recreation areas, national wildlife refuges.
And Medicare, but that's a whole 'nuther story. Plus there are a few others, like small discounts at lots of retailers .... Think hard, and they'll come to you!
Plus, oh yeah, Social Security.
Except getting to Social Security is a surprisingly frustrating process.
For instance, when you apply online, you have to wade through a lot of web pages while dredging up a fair amount of personal information you hadn't used in a long, long time. But finally, you reach a point where you get to choose the month in which you want our benefits to start. So in mid-December, I chose January.
Then, nada. No word from Social Security. And no check from Social Security.
Every day I checked SSA's online application status page. Every day I was informed that no action had been taken.
After several weeks of this, I called their 800 number, and after a wait of almost an hour, I got through. To discover that although although my benefits would start in January, the checks wouldn't start until February. "Why," I asked. "Because the checks don't start arriving until the month after benefits begin."
Hmmmmm. One wonders what benefits applicants seek other than the checks they've earned? No answer was forthcoming.
But the thought is intriguing. What other Social Security benefits might there be? Membership privileges in the Social Security gym? A personalized parking space in the Social Security garage? A 10% discount at Social Security shops? Not being required to remove your shoes at Social Security checkpoints? Non of these seemed terribly likely. I give up - what benefits do Social Security applicants generally seek, other than the checks they've earned?
The not-so-helpful person at the 800 number wouldn't hazard a guess. Nor could she tell me anything about the status of my application I didn't already know. But she did thank me for calling the 800 number.
So I continued to check my application status online every day. Always the same answer. Or non-answer.
Finally I screwed up my courage and drove in to my "local" Social Security office. Understand: my local Social Security office serves an area encompassing thousands of square miles - its easily a drive of several hours and hundreds of miles for many of the people for whom it's the "local" office ... and that's assuming they're even capable of driving several hours and hundreds of miles to get there.
However, that was the right choice. After a wait that was shorter than the wait on the 800 line, I got to talk with a knowledgeable and helpful individual. Who was able to quickly discover that notwithstanding what the online status page was telling me, my application had been approved, and the checks would begin arriving ... in February. He even gave me a direct line telephone number to reach him if they didn't arrive on time. (However, when I asked him what benefits come that month before the first check, he laughed wryly, and admitted it was a good question.)
So the moral of the story is that although the application process is frustrating and is rather opaque, one can find helpful, caring and competent folk at the office. If you can get there.
Oh yes, the online status report on my application is still telling me that no action has been taken on it yet ....
04 February 2015
16 October 2014
Ebola panic
Ebola is a nasty disease and the world needs to mobilize its resources and work to control and prevent it. Worldwide, the fatality figures from this disease are pushing 5,000.
Alarm and even hysteria about it are rife even in the U.S., but we need to put our Ebola panic in perspective. In the U.S. a grand total of one person, who travelled here infected but asymptomatic, has died.
Meanwhile, in 2011 (the latest year I could easily find stats) the CDC reports that in this country alone, 11,068 people were the victims of firearm homicide. Another 19,990 committed suicide by firearm.
Where's the outrage? Where's the panic? Where's the wall-to-wall media coverage? Where's the call for governmental action to stop the slaughter? Where is the finger-pointing in the halls of government and the organs of the mass media? Where's the mass condemnation of the agents pushing this particular disease? If we're concerned about a deadly epidemic, why don't we focus on this one?
26 May 2014
Catholics and climate change
As I drive streets of my area and elsewhere, I often see cars sporting bumper stickers bearing the legend "I'm Catholic and I Vote," and I often wonder not so much about what the cars' owners mean but what they could mean, for the Catholic Church's teachings on disparate political issues can easily carrying very different political messages for voters in the world of American politics.
I sort of assume that for many such drivers, the statement is more than anything else a coded phrase on abortion and abortion rights, which would imply a vote for right-wing Republicans and/or anti-choice conservative Democrats. But it could just as easily signify support for social welfare or economic justice, or against capital punishment or aggressive war, for the Church's teachings on these topics are very clear, and definitely don't favor the electoral interests of those conservatives and right-wingers.
With that in mind I read with great interest recent comments by Pope Francis that "We are the Custodians of Creation," a point expanded upon by a Vatican statement* that
The perspective given by this spiritual gift leads us to respect God’s gift of creation and to exercise wise stewardship of its resources for the benefit of the whole human family.
A recent editorial in the National Catholic Reporter on climate change expands upon that point.
I sort of assume that for many such drivers, the statement is more than anything else a coded phrase on abortion and abortion rights, which would imply a vote for right-wing Republicans and/or anti-choice conservative Democrats. But it could just as easily signify support for social welfare or economic justice, or against capital punishment or aggressive war, for the Church's teachings on these topics are very clear, and definitely don't favor the electoral interests of those conservatives and right-wingers.
With that in mind I read with great interest recent comments by Pope Francis that "We are the Custodians of Creation," a point expanded upon by a Vatican statement* that
The perspective given by this spiritual gift leads us to respect God’s gift of creation and to exercise wise stewardship of its resources for the benefit of the whole human family.
A recent editorial in the National Catholic Reporter on climate change expands upon that point.
The problem is enormous, but so is the opportunity for the church to use its resources, its access to some of the best experts in its academies and the attention of those in its parochial structures to begin to educate. This is a human life issue of enormous proportions, and one in which the young should be fully engaged.
Finding a fix for climate change and its potentially disastrous consequences, particularly for the global poor, is not the work of a single discipline or a single group or a single political strategy. Its solution lies as much in people of faith as in scientific data, as much or more in a love for God's creation as it does in our instinct for self-preservation.
I tend to look at public policy and environmental issues from a secular persepctive, but this line of reasoning is extremely apt. For better or for worse, we are the stewards of our planet, and the message for those of us who see a divine purpose in that stewardship, the message is very, very clear.
If those bumper-sticker Catholic voters mean to say that they are "Pro-Life," there should no bigger issue than the stewardship of our planet. For them, or for anybody else.
------------------------------------------
11 May 2014
Marco Rubio and faith-based denial
Sen Marco Rubio (R-Fla) came close enough to underhand his hat into the ring today, and in so doing took the expected potshots at Secretary Hillary Clinton and President Barack Obama.
But what is really striking is his strong assertion of the primacy of faith in determining environmental policy. “I do not believe that human activity is causing these dramatic changes to our climate the way these scientists are portraying it,” he said.
"I do not believe."
What an inspiring approach for addressing a complex problem subject to empirical research; what a noble disdain for the scientific method.
"I do not believe."
Ignore the nearly unanimous voice of the scientific community finding that human activity is responsible for global climate change. Ignore the mountain of data and the flood of scientific papers supporting this understanding (see, for example, the 2011 repot of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change and the third National Climate Assessment of 2014.
It is enough that Sen. Rubio believes otherwise. And that he can do so without even giving lip service to any need to cite evidence refuting anthropogenic climate change,
Faith-based denial. Faith-based stupidity. Faith-based suicide.
And this is perhaps the best candidate the Republican Party can offer for the White House?
The special irony, of course, is that his state will be at the leading edge for testing the efficacy of establishing environmental policy on the basis of faith, and in the face of all evidence. I would say that it would take a miracle for him to retain the support of a Floridian majority ... except that I know his preference for faith over evidence is probably shared by a distressingly large chunk of Florida's electorate.
09 October 2013
Fortune for naught, in the face of tragedy
Last week, a locally important two-lane highway was closed for several hours, due to a two-car collision which killed an 86 year old woman. It caused a lot of congestion, being the only east-west highway in the area.
Apparently, the accident occurred when the driver of a west-bound SUV inexplicably crossed the center line and smashed head-on into a minivan. The elderly victim was a passenger in the van; she was not wearing a seat belt.
The driver apparently at fault, according to Forbes magazine, is the seventh richest woman in the world, a former corporate president and a noted philanthropist.
One hears this story and must invariably reflect on the nature of our existence, on how the tiny choices we make can have enormous consequences, of how little importance so much of what we measure counts when facing mortality.
Had whatever caused the millionaire to swerve across the road - a moment's distraction, a moment's inattention, an error in judgement that on another occasion might have been of seemingly no consequence - not occurred, a tragedy would have been averted, the lives forever changed would have continued unchanged instead., enduring senses of loss and guilt would never have been engendered.
A moment's pause to fasten her seatbelt may well have saved the elderly victim. Who was she? The mother of the driver? The grandmother? Almost certainly somebody important to him or her, for they were all assembled to attend a wedding. One suspects the driver of that minivan will forever regret not having required that special passenger to buckle up.
What of the driver who crossed the line? Most of us would probably envy her riches - the seventh wealthiest woman in the world! - but all those riches will do nothing to extinguish the sense of guilt that momentary mistake must surely have engendered within her.
In the end, we are frail beings; in the end, we are all slaves to the caprice of chance, and we live, feel and die as the frail beings we are. Our material possessions are of little effect in comparison.
Apparently, the accident occurred when the driver of a west-bound SUV inexplicably crossed the center line and smashed head-on into a minivan. The elderly victim was a passenger in the van; she was not wearing a seat belt.
The driver apparently at fault, according to Forbes magazine, is the seventh richest woman in the world, a former corporate president and a noted philanthropist.
One hears this story and must invariably reflect on the nature of our existence, on how the tiny choices we make can have enormous consequences, of how little importance so much of what we measure counts when facing mortality.
Had whatever caused the millionaire to swerve across the road - a moment's distraction, a moment's inattention, an error in judgement that on another occasion might have been of seemingly no consequence - not occurred, a tragedy would have been averted, the lives forever changed would have continued unchanged instead., enduring senses of loss and guilt would never have been engendered.
A moment's pause to fasten her seatbelt may well have saved the elderly victim. Who was she? The mother of the driver? The grandmother? Almost certainly somebody important to him or her, for they were all assembled to attend a wedding. One suspects the driver of that minivan will forever regret not having required that special passenger to buckle up.
What of the driver who crossed the line? Most of us would probably envy her riches - the seventh wealthiest woman in the world! - but all those riches will do nothing to extinguish the sense of guilt that momentary mistake must surely have engendered within her.
In the end, we are frail beings; in the end, we are all slaves to the caprice of chance, and we live, feel and die as the frail beings we are. Our material possessions are of little effect in comparison.
02 September 2013
Reflections on an international tragedy
The New York Times yesterday published an article describing an "international adoption" of a Russian child by an American family which went horribly wrong, "World of Grief and Doubt after an Adoptee's Death," and the paper asked families with their own international adoption stories to comment.
As an adoptive parent, the article hit hard, and I have mixed feelings about the article and, more broadly, about the process.
Don't get me wrong: adopting my daughter was the best decision of my life, and I have never regretted bringing her into my life, not even during those darker moments of adolescence which bring angst to nearly every parent. She has enriched and enlarged my life in ways I could never have imagined; the journey has been - and continues to be - a wonderful journey.
When I met her twenty years ago she was 18 months of age, living in an orphanage in northeast Moscow; she's now starting her senior year at a good, small liberal arts college in the mid-Atlantic region. It's been a long road with more than a few potholes along the way, but it's been a good journey. There were thirteen years of ballet and several years of softball - oddly, the love of baseball endures the more. There was an assortment of the other sorts of activities typical of a bourgeois American child, too, from gymnastics to scouting to horses; you name it. She was a high school cheerleader who earned praiseworthy academic awards. Her social life was probably a little cloistered but not terribly unusual for her day and age. All in all, a childhood seemingly typical of her community. Through it all, she's always known - and been proud - that she is Russian.
Some of those potholes along the way were my fault. There really is no school or standard text for parenting; for such an essential task one is remarkably dependent on extemporized, seat-of-the-pants learning, and I certainly made my mistakes along the way. Still, I think the worst of the potholes stemmed from those first eighteen months. The staff at the orphanage were clearly loving care-givers, but they were overwhelmed by the numbers and she naturally didn't get the sort of parental care and nurturing that every infant deserves, and that has echoed down through the years as she's dealt with feelings of rejection, abandonment and loneliness, as well as delayed intellectual, emotional and even physical development. Her road has been the harder for that, and she has had to work hard and continues to work diligently to overcome those shortcomings. Perhaps she never ill, although I am optimistic that she's been developing the coping skills to manage the problems she can't overcome. Still, by this point in her life, I do believe that she's on a par with her "biological" peers, and she (rightfully!) feels loved by her parents.
For her, I think the "bottom line," such as it can be stated now, is that her future looks good, and she'll be ready to face what it brings. Moreover, it can safely be said that her life to date and her future are immeasurably better than the prospect faced by the scores of children she left behind at that orphanage.
But her and my very positive outcomes should not blind prospective parents to the dangers involved in international adoption, and probably in adoption generally.
Let's face it: babies born into loving families capable and willing to raise them as they should be raised simply are not placed for adoption. No, they become available because their birth parents cannot or will not care for them (think: the pernicious effects of poverty, or nonexistent prenatal care, or simple abandonment), or because their own shortcomings, habits and failings carry consequences that reach far into the children's futures (think: fetal alcohol syndrome or physical abuse).
So the children who do become available for adoption come with onerous baggage that will impede them all along their journey, and their parents will need to reach deeper into themselves - and to develop a larger repertoire of parenting skills, and require greater emotional reserves - than they will ever have imagined. Quite probably, more than most "biological" parents ever need.
That is most definitely not to say that the rewards aren't there, for they are - more than I ever imagined. But would-be parents who in their naivete or ignorance never bother to learn these realties and honestly assess their own ability and willingness to deal with them will do themselves and their children real and lasting harm. The parents will face disappointment, frustration and failure, and their children will suffer for it through the rest of their lives.
As an adoptive parent, the article hit hard, and I have mixed feelings about the article and, more broadly, about the process.
Don't get me wrong: adopting my daughter was the best decision of my life, and I have never regretted bringing her into my life, not even during those darker moments of adolescence which bring angst to nearly every parent. She has enriched and enlarged my life in ways I could never have imagined; the journey has been - and continues to be - a wonderful journey.
When I met her twenty years ago she was 18 months of age, living in an orphanage in northeast Moscow; she's now starting her senior year at a good, small liberal arts college in the mid-Atlantic region. It's been a long road with more than a few potholes along the way, but it's been a good journey. There were thirteen years of ballet and several years of softball - oddly, the love of baseball endures the more. There was an assortment of the other sorts of activities typical of a bourgeois American child, too, from gymnastics to scouting to horses; you name it. She was a high school cheerleader who earned praiseworthy academic awards. Her social life was probably a little cloistered but not terribly unusual for her day and age. All in all, a childhood seemingly typical of her community. Through it all, she's always known - and been proud - that she is Russian.
Some of those potholes along the way were my fault. There really is no school or standard text for parenting; for such an essential task one is remarkably dependent on extemporized, seat-of-the-pants learning, and I certainly made my mistakes along the way. Still, I think the worst of the potholes stemmed from those first eighteen months. The staff at the orphanage were clearly loving care-givers, but they were overwhelmed by the numbers and she naturally didn't get the sort of parental care and nurturing that every infant deserves, and that has echoed down through the years as she's dealt with feelings of rejection, abandonment and loneliness, as well as delayed intellectual, emotional and even physical development. Her road has been the harder for that, and she has had to work hard and continues to work diligently to overcome those shortcomings. Perhaps she never ill, although I am optimistic that she's been developing the coping skills to manage the problems she can't overcome. Still, by this point in her life, I do believe that she's on a par with her "biological" peers, and she (rightfully!) feels loved by her parents.
For her, I think the "bottom line," such as it can be stated now, is that her future looks good, and she'll be ready to face what it brings. Moreover, it can safely be said that her life to date and her future are immeasurably better than the prospect faced by the scores of children she left behind at that orphanage.
But her and my very positive outcomes should not blind prospective parents to the dangers involved in international adoption, and probably in adoption generally.
Let's face it: babies born into loving families capable and willing to raise them as they should be raised simply are not placed for adoption. No, they become available because their birth parents cannot or will not care for them (think: the pernicious effects of poverty, or nonexistent prenatal care, or simple abandonment), or because their own shortcomings, habits and failings carry consequences that reach far into the children's futures (think: fetal alcohol syndrome or physical abuse).
So the children who do become available for adoption come with onerous baggage that will impede them all along their journey, and their parents will need to reach deeper into themselves - and to develop a larger repertoire of parenting skills, and require greater emotional reserves - than they will ever have imagined. Quite probably, more than most "biological" parents ever need.
That is most definitely not to say that the rewards aren't there, for they are - more than I ever imagined. But would-be parents who in their naivete or ignorance never bother to learn these realties and honestly assess their own ability and willingness to deal with them will do themselves and their children real and lasting harm. The parents will face disappointment, frustration and failure, and their children will suffer for it through the rest of their lives.
20 July 2013
Running dog, trotting
I had a long ways to go, no need to get there fast, and wanted to save a few bucks. Will admit to some curiosity, too; maybe I just wanted to go looking for America.
So I booked on Greyhound to cross the country. Boarded in Flagstaff, Arizona at 8:00 p.m. on a Tuesday, to arrive in Washington D.C. at 3:50 a.m. on a Friday. Packed a bunch of books and a Nook reader, and brought along a lot of food (though none of Mrs. Wagner's pies), some bottles of tea and a gallon of water.
Downsides
For reasons which escape me, but probably reflect the short-sighted perspectives of the company's bean-counters, Greyhound seems committed to emulating the airlines' seating innovations. As in, ya gotta love your knees. And your neighbor's breadth. I rode on two different designs of buses. The older had a lot more leg room than the newer; the difference was between reasonable comfort and acute pain. At 6'1" I'm taller than most, but shorter than many; I cannot imagine how somebody half a foot taller than me can cope (but, of course, that's true on airliners too, although the agony there is admittedly of far shorter duration). The seat backs on the older model also reclined more, and it seemed to have slightly wider seats. (One little mystery: both types had useless little footrests whose only function seemed to be preventing one from sticking cramped feet into the space beneath the seat ahead.)
The company needs to focus on their customers' needs a lot more attentively. Airports and train stations routinely have informative displays giving arrival and departure times, gates and on-time status. Not so at Greyhound terminals. Nor do they have circulating staff enlightening confused travelers. Result? Crowds of confused passengers milling about, hearing rumors, wondering what's going on, alternating between anger and resignation. Aggravating the problem, many drivers ignore the PA microphone at their elbows, preferring to make important announcements in conversational voices totally unintelligible to passengers rearward of the front few rows.
For a little extra credit, Greyhound could even arrange to have spare drivers and buses available to quickly respond to breakdowns occurring out on the road. I did not particularly appreciate standing on the side of Interstate 376 just outside of Pittsburgh for an hour and a half while our bus leaked coolant into a ditch along the shoulder as semi-trailers roared by scant inches to our left.
My bus arrived too late to make connections in both St. Louis and Pittsburgh. Well, that's a bit of a mis-statement; we arrived in St. Louis three minutes before my connection was due to depart ... but there were 120 ticket-holding passengers trying to board a bus seating just 46. Meaning I couldn't board that bus - first-come, first-served, after all - or the next, so I didn't board a bus bound for my next connection until four hours later. In this day of computerized ticketing, it is impossible to comprehend how that happened. I understand the concept of over-booking, but by a factor of three? Not too surprising, therefore, but after that I missed my connection in Pittsburgh, too ... and then came the joy of the roadside breakdown. Needless to say, I arrived in Washington long after I should have.
Upsides
It's cheap. Far less than airlines, much less than Amtrak. Less than one's own car, too, if one is realistic with assumptions about cost. There's simply no other way to travel long distances for as little. My complaining aside, Greyhound does the job pretty well; at their worst, the buses were reasonably tolerable; the air conditioning always worked; we did arrive where we were heading, and we arrived there safely.
Most important, Greyhound serves a very real need. The proof was in the occupancy: all of the buses I saw were full, or nearly so.
It does that in part by serving a lot of little towns - especially in the west and on the Prairie - that aren't served by any other form of long-distance public conveyance. (I found the same thing to be true of Amtrak even in California, where the train serves as a valuable conduit between the small towns of that state's central coast.)
More than that, the bus offers affordable interstate travel to people who could not afford it otherwise. I've traveled a fair amount by air and train, and the folks on these buses come from a distinctly different public. It's a pretty varied population, but I got the sense that most were employed somewhere but worked near the bottom of the ladder ... or, if not, were riding their hopes to someplace where they might find work. Among my fellow travelers, I met a very personable, generous young truck-driver heading home to Pittsburgh from Phoenix for his first vacation since starting his career. There was a middle-aged couple who obviously fit together like an old pair of gloves, with lots of unspoken tenderness for each other but probably not much money, traveling from Arizona to New York. There were a bunch of early-twenties, bound for distances short and long. No gabardine suits. Or spies, that I could tell. In the west, the ethnic mix was pretty varied, but further east the west's Hispanics seemed to be replaced by African Americans. A substantial proportion of whites the whole way. Always, though, it was quite a mix ethnically. But apparently not economically; these seemed to be people with the same need or urge to travel as their more affluent fellows, but without the means to use the same (more convenient) modalities, so the bus is the only way I suspect they can meet those needs and wishes. To me, that seems pretty important.
Recommendations to Greyhound:
Treat travelers as customers, not cattle. Emulate Amtrak's practice of providing comfortable amounts of space to compensate for the lengthy time the passenger must spend there. It wouldn't take much - maybe remove one row of seats and boost prices by a compensating 8% if need be - traveling with the running dog would be a lot more comfortable yet still a bargain.
Provide riders with the same sorts of information airlines and railroads routinely offer. The desk clerks have schedule and boarding information at their finger-tips, so it wouldn't be difficult to devise a system of monitors dispersed around the terminal to display it to the traveling public.
The company (and Amtrak, for that matter) could take another page out of the airlines' book (excepting Southwest) by giving folks an opportunity to select seats when they purchase tickets. That shouldn't be difficult; obviously the necessary software has been around for a while.
Greyhound could also teach drivers to use their PA system effectively. Some do, but others don't, and that suggests the problem is one of training. Easy to correct.
Additional lessons:
1. The drivers don't seem to care what size bag of groceries one brings, so I could have - should have - brought a bigger, stronger bag for provisions. And chosen a better, more interesting supply of food.
2. Wish I brought a pillow. A must: the seat backs just aren't formed quite right, and the window glass vibrates too much. Need that pillow.
3. Load more books on the Nook. Easier to carry than a paper library, and the only way to read at night. And trust me: the nights can get long.
The future?
Yes, I would travel by Greyhound again. It is cheap, and it does provide a different view of America than air and rail travelers see. But don't plan on getting there quickly or all that comfortably.
Beyond that, I would like to try the new bus lines serving some of the denser corridors, like MegaBus.
So I booked on Greyhound to cross the country. Boarded in Flagstaff, Arizona at 8:00 p.m. on a Tuesday, to arrive in Washington D.C. at 3:50 a.m. on a Friday. Packed a bunch of books and a Nook reader, and brought along a lot of food (though none of Mrs. Wagner's pies), some bottles of tea and a gallon of water.
Downsides
For reasons which escape me, but probably reflect the short-sighted perspectives of the company's bean-counters, Greyhound seems committed to emulating the airlines' seating innovations. As in, ya gotta love your knees. And your neighbor's breadth. I rode on two different designs of buses. The older had a lot more leg room than the newer; the difference was between reasonable comfort and acute pain. At 6'1" I'm taller than most, but shorter than many; I cannot imagine how somebody half a foot taller than me can cope (but, of course, that's true on airliners too, although the agony there is admittedly of far shorter duration). The seat backs on the older model also reclined more, and it seemed to have slightly wider seats. (One little mystery: both types had useless little footrests whose only function seemed to be preventing one from sticking cramped feet into the space beneath the seat ahead.)
The company needs to focus on their customers' needs a lot more attentively. Airports and train stations routinely have informative displays giving arrival and departure times, gates and on-time status. Not so at Greyhound terminals. Nor do they have circulating staff enlightening confused travelers. Result? Crowds of confused passengers milling about, hearing rumors, wondering what's going on, alternating between anger and resignation. Aggravating the problem, many drivers ignore the PA microphone at their elbows, preferring to make important announcements in conversational voices totally unintelligible to passengers rearward of the front few rows.
For a little extra credit, Greyhound could even arrange to have spare drivers and buses available to quickly respond to breakdowns occurring out on the road. I did not particularly appreciate standing on the side of Interstate 376 just outside of Pittsburgh for an hour and a half while our bus leaked coolant into a ditch along the shoulder as semi-trailers roared by scant inches to our left.
My bus arrived too late to make connections in both St. Louis and Pittsburgh. Well, that's a bit of a mis-statement; we arrived in St. Louis three minutes before my connection was due to depart ... but there were 120 ticket-holding passengers trying to board a bus seating just 46. Meaning I couldn't board that bus - first-come, first-served, after all - or the next, so I didn't board a bus bound for my next connection until four hours later. In this day of computerized ticketing, it is impossible to comprehend how that happened. I understand the concept of over-booking, but by a factor of three? Not too surprising, therefore, but after that I missed my connection in Pittsburgh, too ... and then came the joy of the roadside breakdown. Needless to say, I arrived in Washington long after I should have.
Upsides
It's cheap. Far less than airlines, much less than Amtrak. Less than one's own car, too, if one is realistic with assumptions about cost. There's simply no other way to travel long distances for as little. My complaining aside, Greyhound does the job pretty well; at their worst, the buses were reasonably tolerable; the air conditioning always worked; we did arrive where we were heading, and we arrived there safely.
Most important, Greyhound serves a very real need. The proof was in the occupancy: all of the buses I saw were full, or nearly so.
It does that in part by serving a lot of little towns - especially in the west and on the Prairie - that aren't served by any other form of long-distance public conveyance. (I found the same thing to be true of Amtrak even in California, where the train serves as a valuable conduit between the small towns of that state's central coast.)
More than that, the bus offers affordable interstate travel to people who could not afford it otherwise. I've traveled a fair amount by air and train, and the folks on these buses come from a distinctly different public. It's a pretty varied population, but I got the sense that most were employed somewhere but worked near the bottom of the ladder ... or, if not, were riding their hopes to someplace where they might find work. Among my fellow travelers, I met a very personable, generous young truck-driver heading home to Pittsburgh from Phoenix for his first vacation since starting his career. There was a middle-aged couple who obviously fit together like an old pair of gloves, with lots of unspoken tenderness for each other but probably not much money, traveling from Arizona to New York. There were a bunch of early-twenties, bound for distances short and long. No gabardine suits. Or spies, that I could tell. In the west, the ethnic mix was pretty varied, but further east the west's Hispanics seemed to be replaced by African Americans. A substantial proportion of whites the whole way. Always, though, it was quite a mix ethnically. But apparently not economically; these seemed to be people with the same need or urge to travel as their more affluent fellows, but without the means to use the same (more convenient) modalities, so the bus is the only way I suspect they can meet those needs and wishes. To me, that seems pretty important.
Recommendations to Greyhound:
Treat travelers as customers, not cattle. Emulate Amtrak's practice of providing comfortable amounts of space to compensate for the lengthy time the passenger must spend there. It wouldn't take much - maybe remove one row of seats and boost prices by a compensating 8% if need be - traveling with the running dog would be a lot more comfortable yet still a bargain.
Provide riders with the same sorts of information airlines and railroads routinely offer. The desk clerks have schedule and boarding information at their finger-tips, so it wouldn't be difficult to devise a system of monitors dispersed around the terminal to display it to the traveling public.
The company (and Amtrak, for that matter) could take another page out of the airlines' book (excepting Southwest) by giving folks an opportunity to select seats when they purchase tickets. That shouldn't be difficult; obviously the necessary software has been around for a while.
Greyhound could also teach drivers to use their PA system effectively. Some do, but others don't, and that suggests the problem is one of training. Easy to correct.
Occupations of the bored
No matter how good or how bad the service and accommodations, bus travel means sitting in one place for a long time. Anticipating that obvious condition, I brought a small library of books, both hardcopy and electronic. I was surprised to see that I was pretty much the only reader ... and after the lights went down at night, the only reader. A lot of passengers had smart phones and small electronic game players. A few had laptops. Some were quietly listening to their MP3 players. But nobody seemed to be reading. Maybe that has something to do with class, or its handmaiden, education; I don't know, nor do I much care. The key was that just about everybody brought along something to while away the hours.
1. The drivers don't seem to care what size bag of groceries one brings, so I could have - should have - brought a bigger, stronger bag for provisions. And chosen a better, more interesting supply of food.
2. Wish I brought a pillow. A must: the seat backs just aren't formed quite right, and the window glass vibrates too much. Need that pillow.
3. Load more books on the Nook. Easier to carry than a paper library, and the only way to read at night. And trust me: the nights can get long.
The future?
Yes, I would travel by Greyhound again. It is cheap, and it does provide a different view of America than air and rail travelers see. But don't plan on getting there quickly or all that comfortably.
Beyond that, I would like to try the new bus lines serving some of the denser corridors, like MegaBus.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
