I know what you're thinking: Greyhound isn't an airline, its a bus company. However, you're wrong. If you're a big fan of Greyhound, and just can't imagine your life without it, trying flying Southwest this holiday season! I swore of the bus years ago, and was none too pleased to learn that I was back on it again, this time in the air.
The similarities are really quite astounding. Let's start with the boarding process. You see, Southwest thinks they're on to something, and has abandoned the traditional boarding process of giving you an assigned seat and boarding passengers in relevant groups. On Southwest, you get a lovely little primary letter on the corner of your boarding pass, and when the trashy flight attendant calls your letter, you get to rush to the door, shove a fat midwestern guy aside, trample a girl with bad highlights and Uggs, and rush on the plane to try to find a seat. Lots of fun, I tell you. I actually had a connection in Baltimore on my way home for Christmas, so I got to do this twice in one day! Both times, I handed the stewardess my boarding pass, and waited for her to give it back to me before I boarded. That is, until the person in the Hell's Angels jacket behind me told me to "hurry up", and I realized that I didn't need my boarding pass, because on Greyhound, you don't have an assigned seat.
Then there is the crowd. Honestly, it was embarrassing to sit in the Southwest section. All the Delta, US Air and American Airlines passengers were walking by, holding their noses, and telling their kids not to stare. There I was, with Leroy from down-the-way, with his hood-clean sneakers, Philly beard and big white T-shirt. Leroy was REALLY excited to have a laptop, and kept yelling at Yolanda about how convenient his life was with it. Yolanda was too busy telling anyone that would listen that she just didn't understand how to board the plane in these little letter groups. They looked at me for a little racial solidarity, but I just went back to my book and pretended I didn't see them. Leroy and Yolanda were next to Gary and Sharon, who seemed just a step above the trailer park. Sharon kept playing with her anorexic ponytail, adjusting the dirty pink eighties scrunchie in her head, reinforcing her red Lee press-on nails, and complaining about all the security at the airport. Gary would roll his eyes, and mumble something about "those security people" who had the audacity (he clearly didn't use 'audacity' though) to ask him to take off his shoes.
Fast-forward to the plane. Southwest employees really don't take the whole safety business of flying very seriously. They're laughing and joking during the presentation about how to buckle your safety belt and what to do in the event of an emergency. Not so funny, Southwest. Please keep in mind that the majority of your passengers haven't flown before, so maybe you should spell out the rules a little more seriously.
But alas, I made it home, and for that I'm thankful. Special shout out to my rowmates, Ticia and Mark, who argued over who got to watch 45 minutes of Antwone Fisher on their portable dvd player, and had me smelling like hot sauce and fried chicken by the end of the flight. At the end of a particularly disturbing landing, during which I said my final prayers, the flight attendants recommended that we "give the pilots a hand." Umm, for what? For almost killing us? Do better, Greyhound.
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