Huh? I've heard my share of
Greyhound horror stories, none of which came true for me when I rode from
Seattle to
Corvallis after
Amtrak fucked me over.
Dirty old men are a
bad thing; I don't know any (but would probably worry about)
prostitutes. There was one
crying baby on the bus, but you know, I once was a
crying baby myself, and
I turned out OK (for the most part).
Mostly, I shared it with
students, who, like myself, were trying to do something
cheap and entertaining with the
long weekend.
Having grown up and worked alongside several
Mexicans (many good, many creepy; kind of like
white people), I leave it to
NCgirlinTX to explain
why I should be afraid of them.