An ANDREW FOLEY WRITES THINGS Public Service Message
1) Get on the bus as early as possible. I guess Greyhound’s charging extra for the right of first entry these days—I usually settled for getting in line early, because I’m cheap.
2) Buses tend to fill from the front back or the back forward, depending on the age/disposition of the other passengers. Select an aisle seat in the middle of the bus. Don’t just sit in it—consume it, sprawling yourself over as much space as possible.
3) Put all of your stuff on the window seat next to you. The more stuff the better: a jacket’s an absolute must, bookbag’s good, food, a pillow, a laptop case…anything that will give the impression that the seat, if it’s not already occupied, is certainl in active use.
4) Put your walkman/Discman/iPod/whatever the hell kids use to listen to music these days headphones in. Turn music up loud enough that it can be heard by other passengers. This emphasizes the idea that you will be an unpleasant person to sit next to for the next several hours, which is precisely the impression you want to give.
5) Pretend to be asleep. This and the previous step will encourage prospective Nitwits who think they might want to sit next to you to look elsewhere.
6) If someone is rude enough to wake up the sleeping person with the loud headphones, immediately launch into a loud, protracted coughing jag. If you can manage to cough something out of your mouth that requires a Kleenex or other handkerchief-style technology to wipe away, so much the better. If you don’t have a Kleenex and have to wipe away with the palm of your hand, better still. Make sure to wipe your hand on the pantleg that will be closest to the person that sits next to you.
NOTE: Be careful with this one. On occasion I’ve coughed to hard I actually hurt my throat and ended up coughing when I didn’t want to.
In all my years traveling Greyhound, this sequence of actions only once failed to ensure that the seat next to me was the only one available before it got sat in (on a couple of occasions, passengers selected the floor rather than sit next to me.) And in that case, there was only one other seat that could have been chosen. I still wonder what that guy did to keep himself clear. Anyway. This brings us to:
HOW TO MAKE THE BRAINDEAD NITWIT WHO CHOSE TO SIT BESIDE YOU WHEN THEY HAD ANOTHER CHOICE PAY FOR BEING SO STUPID
Because if they don’t suffer, they’ll never learn.
1) First, crank the headphone volume up. If you have a variety of music to choose from, select that which looks most likely to irritate The Nitwit. Something in the speed metal vein is generally a good bet.
2) Seeing as The Nitwit’s already woken you up, REALLY get into the music. Sing quietly along with it, especially the ruder lyrics, while contorting your face in the most disturbing ways possible. Bob your head back and forth to the beat. Or faster than the beat. Air guitar/drumming is not out of the question.
3) Once you get tired of this, pretend to fall asleep (but don’t turn the headphones off.)
4) After you’ve been “asleep” for awhile, slowly and systematically begin to intrude on The Nitwit’s personal space. The leg you wiped your hand on moves onto their side of the seatset. You start listing to the side, eventually putting your head (with headphones blaring) onto their shoulder. It’s vitally important this be a slow, subtle thing, though. Too much too soon, or too deliberate, and they might break the sequence prematurely.
5) When they finally can’t take it anymore and feel they have to wake you up, wake up with a start. If you’ve got a cup of coffee, spill what’s left of it on The Nitwit.
6) If you didn’t spill something on The Nitwit, at first act irritated at being woken up.
If you did spill something on The Nitwit, be terribly apologetic. And by terrible, I mean terribly loud—don’t take off or turn down the earphones.
7) Most people are polite (stupid, but polite) enough not to wake up the sleeping, loud, intrusive jerk next to them until they really can’t take it anymore. By the time The Nitwit’s asked you to stay on your side and turn the music down, they’ll be seething with anger at your many trespasses against them. This is why it’s important that, once you’ve been informed of your impositions, you be graceful. Apologize with as much sincerity as you can muster. Immediately pull back and refrain from doing any of the stuff you’ve been doing for the last hour. That way, The Nitwit’s left with no out—they’re still pissed, but they have no legitimate target for their anger.
The only time I had to resort to this sort of behaviour, I got off the bus ten minutes later, for which I’m sure My Nitwit was very grateful. If your trip still has a ways to go, your read of The Nitwit’s personality will be critical. If they’re talky, put the earphones back in, but quieter. Snore loudly, occasionally breaking into a coughing jag. Don’t cover your mouth—you’re asleep, after all. If they’re clearly consumed with hatred of the person sitting next to them, engage them in conversation. Tell jokes that aren’t funny, screw up their telling, and then laugh uproariously at your own patently unfunny offerings.
The possibilities are endless, which is how the bus trip should seem for The Nitwit.
***
It’s been years since I took a Greyhound bus anywhere. If you live in the Calgary/Red Deer/Edmonton/For MacMurray corridor, you are frankly insane if you even consider taking a Greyhound bus. Red Arrow’s where it’s at, man. Costs a little more, but it’s got big seats (including ones that don’t have any seat next to them), seat reservations for all passengers, plug-ins for laptops, free pop, coffee and cookies in the back…
If I ever have to ride in a Greyhound again, it’ll be too soon.
Now if I can just figure out how to make this work on planes, I'll be onto something...
Foley
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