Waiting
- Michael Jay Tucker's explosive-cargo
- 5 hours ago
- 4 min read
Okay, last time, I had gotten us to the Austin-bus station. It was a comfortable and pleasant place to wait, but situated in a little park that was almost entirely inhabited by homeless people. AND our bus was delayed.
I took a quick walk outside the building. There wasn’t much to see, though will try to remember to post some photos of the place. Then, I went back in and chatted with Martha and Judy. They asked me what was outside and I told them. Then I added that I thought the bus station was fascinating in that it was a perfect example of the City Authorities doing their level best to make an urban area more pleasant and livable. They had built this bus station as a charming and comfortable place to access mass-transport, that is, buses.
But, of course, they hadn’t allowed for the reality that the location was going to be soon colonized by the unhoused. I’m not saying anything against homeless. Just that it is a fact. And that fact made middle class people (like us) less likely to use the facility.
Judy went further. It was, she said, a classic case of trying to deal with a smaller problem (i.e., making it pleasant for people to use the bus) while neglecting the larger issue (i.e., the homeless population). Until we’ve dealt with that, all our attempts to make public spaces more attractive will just be bandaids on an open wound.
I suspect she’s right.
About the photos: First, another exterior shot of the bus station. Second, one of the buildings near the station. Third, and finally, Martha outside Judy’s in Winfield once we finally made it. (Yes, we got there...at long last. After much angst. Which I’ll describe in detail as time goes on.)
Anyway, we waited. I had a chat with the pleasant woman who ran the place. I asked what it was like to work there. She said it was okay. The worst part had been getting used to the homeless people. She used to let them into the facility at night so they could stay warm and charge their phones. But, then, two of them “got into a fight,” -- a serious fight -- and after that she couldn’t let them in any longer.
Otherwise, she said, things were fine.
I then spent some time looking at my fellow travelers. Most of them were what I expected. There were a couple of young students clearly going to or from college -- as I used to do, when I was a LOT younger. There were some families. I was surprised how many foreign people I saw--South Asians, a couple that I suspected to be Polish. They seemed a little bewildered by the smallness of the station, and by the lateness of the buses. I wondered if they were tourists from cultures where bus travel is both more common and more comfortable, and the American system was confusing to them.
Most everyone I saw--at first--seemed middle class, or at least working middle. But, gradually, I began to pick up signs that there were exceptions to that happy rule. One woman I noticed came in looking very tired and very sick. Later, when the bus was almost there, and everyone was rushing to board, she was trying to get a ticket from a bank of machines near the side entrance. She was two dollars short. Finally, she turned to the crowd and asked, “Does anyone have two dollars?” I started to go to her, but the attendant slipped her a couple of bucks before I could.
Time passed. We got some more updates from Flixbus. There was a chance, one text said, that we would miss our connecting bus (no sh1t Sherlock), but, if so, not a problem. “Hit this link” and they would re-ticket you. Or we could talk customer service at our connecting station.
Okay...
I never knew for certain what caused the delay. I heard two conflicting stories. One was that the bus had been stopped by ICE at the border on the way up from Mexico. The other was there’d been a traffic snarl-up. But, who knows?
Finally, just about ten o’clock, the bus pulled in. Hooray.
We scrambled to get to the bus. Thankfully, both the driver and the woman who the station were very helpful. One thing I’ll say for the bus company, all their people were very kind. (I gave the station attendant a $5 tip. She wanted to refuse it. “That’s not necessary, sir.” I gave it to her anyway. “It’s for the woman who needed two dollars,” I said. Finally, she agreed to take it.)
Anyway, we stowed our luggage and Judy’s walker under the bus. We made our way on board.
And then...and then...
...my fantasy of the comfortable bus, the alternative to flying, exploded like a soap bubble.
And collapsed into a nasty little puddle on the floor.
More to come.
Copyright©2025 Michael Jay Tucker
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