Don't Get On The Bus

One of the best parts of having a blog is that not only do you come across interesting people, but when you encounter something that pisses you off, you have the perfect outlet to vent your frustrations. Well, that's what I'm about to do right now. Please forgive me, but I am about to go there.

There's a certain bus company, and to avoid potential legal ramifications, let's just call them Hound Dog, that I absolutely hate with a passion. I believe that you would be hard pressed to find a more unprofessional company in American history. Yes, with our recent economic turmoil, we've come across companies such as Tyco, Enron, and Adelphia, but even those companies didn't screw as many people as Hound Dog has. My earliest memory of Hound Dog has to do with the birth of my brother. When my brother was born, I was only 19 months old, but I swear that I remember my parents leaving me with my Grandmother, and I was playing with a toy bus. And that bus just happened to be a replica of a Hound Dog bus. Little did I know that Hound Dog would be a thorn in my ass the next 30 years.

My next significant memory of Hound Dog revolved around a bus trip that my mother, brother, and I took from Chicago to Los Angeles. We were moving there to be with my father. (Long story for another blog). Well, we left pretty close to Christmas. The trip was relatively uneventful, until we reached a little shit hole town called Green River, Utah. For those of you who are geographically savvy, Green River is about 100 or so west of Grand Junction, Colorado. If you're unfamiliar with Grand Junction, then you're beginning to understand just how much in BFE Green River is. But I digress. So the moral of the Green River story is that Hound Dog had us stuck there for let's call it 12 hours. That may not seem like much, but to a 9 year old, it was an eternity. I don't know what they eventually did to get us on our way, but what I do remember is that we made it to Los Angeles on Christmas day. I don't believe that was the original plan. But when it comes to Hound Dog, the only plan you should make it to have them piss you off at some point.

Over the course of the next 21 years, I've had many Hound Dog tales. There's the time that I lost my entire CD collection in Pittsburgh, the time I was on a Hound Dog bus that broke down in the middle of the expressway in Atlanta (and we sat in the middle of traffic for more than an hour with cars speeding past us on both sides), and the time that I got left in Walcott, Iowa at a truck stop while all my possessions were on a bus heading towards Chicago.

The moral of what I want to say is that in this kind of economy, its no wonder how many of these companies are losing money. Companies that treat their customers like crap deserve to be teetering on the brink of collapse. Other companies that fit that mold in my opinion are:

I've been a customer with them for 7-8 years. And to this day, I still don't know why I'm with them. Their customer "no" service is horrible. When it comes to them, I feel like I'm in a bad marriage, but for some reason I just can't leave. (Right now, it the $200 divorce cost that keeping me with them. Lol)




With my job, I spend way too much time in this place. My biggest problem with them is that there never seems to be anyone around when you need them. There prices are a little high to me as well. And I swear that if my company didn't have an account with them, and they weren't open 24 hours, I wouldn't have to have them.





Yes this is my bank. Why? Once again, I have no idea. Probably because they are one of the few banks that I have found everywhere around the country. Which makes it convenient given my constant travel. If you're not a customer, I don't recommend them. They are the bank that introduced $3 ATM fees. Their customer service is average at best.



For those of you who don't live in Chicago, count yourself blessed that you've never had to deal with these people. Jewel is a grocery store, and I hate going to the ones in the city. (Suburban Jewel's seem to be ok). When you go to this place, you might as well expect a serious attitude to be sold to you along with your milk and eggs.



Any mechanic fits this category. There aren't too many places that I dread going, but the local mechanic is definitely one of them. When you go, you already know that you're gonna get screwed. They do it with a smile on their faces which actually makes it much worse. I hope that someone will soon open up a repair shop that's not a pain to go to.



I know that its up to us to spend our money with companies that provide the best service possible. And while that's usually our goal, we sometime find ourselves caught in a bad set of circumstances. Its just then that we wish the old adage of "The customer is always right" were still the prevailing wisdom. Unfortunately, the desire of "customer service" has too fallen victim to the almighty dollar.


-DrizaDre-

Black to the Future

It's late afternoon on March 23, 2050.

"Grandaddy. I need some help with my homework". Jesse, a cute little girl of 9 snuggles up to her grandfather.

OK baby, what do you need help with.

"You know that President that just died? Well we need to do a report on him. Our teacher told us to interview someone who was alive when he was President. So I figured I would interview you".
You mean President Obama baby?

"I guess" the little girl shrugs.

OK, well what do you want to know?

"I don't know. Tell me about when you voted for him and stuff like that".

OK. Well, it's actually a very funny story. See, I was in Chicago on that Saturday before the election. I was absolutely determined to get back to Los Angeles to vote. I mean, this was going to be historic, and I didn't want to be sitting on the sidelines for this moment in history. So I left Chicago on Saturday evening. I was supposed to go bowling with my brother Cory and my nephew Cory, but they wouldn't let us. Some snake league was bowling. In hind sight, its probably best that I didn't get the chance. You'll understand why later.

Anyway. I left Chicago that evening, and back in the day I actually drove cars. Not how you guys have flying cars now, I actually had to steer and drive myself. So I drove all the way to Denver, Colorado. I made it there on Sunday evening. From there, I had to drive to Salt Lake City, Utah. I didn't make it to Salt Lake City until Monday afternoon. I would have caught a flight from Salt Lake to Los Angeles, but your grandfather isn't the flying type. So I bought a ticket to ride the bus. Well, the company the ran the buses back then was called Greyhound, and let me tell you that they were the absolute worst. I got on the bus, and the bus was supposed to leave at 6:30 p.m. Well, at 7 p.m., the bus was still sitting in Salt Lake. And as a matter of fact, the driver put me off the bus so that they could put on some other passengers.

I was so upset. It really was beginning to look like I wasn't gonna be able to make it home in time to vote. But I got a bright idea. I called someone from my job, and I figured out that if I took the bus to San Francisco, I could pickup a car and drive myself to Los Angeles. So I went for it. I made it to San Francisco around 2:30 p.m. that Tuesday afternoon. Greyhound was supposed to get me there earlier, but again, they were the absolute worst company back then. Probably the reason they are no longer operating this many years late.

So I left San Francisco at 3 p.m. Well unlike today, we had a such thing as traffic back in my day. And San Francisco was notorious for having some of the worst traffic in the country. I can't deny, I was weaving in and out of the car pool lanes trying to pass up some people. Eventually I made some headway, and I was flying. I mean, going so fast that I could have given these flying cars of today a run for their money. I had to drive 344 miles, and I needed to get to my polling place by 8 p.m. It was hectic for sure. I pulled up to my polling place at 7:58 p.m. (Pacific Time) I ran inside. Out of breath, I asked the lady for a ballot. She said "you barely made it". I told her that after all that I had been through, I was happy that I made it at all. She handed me my ballot, and I went to do my civic duty. I finished voting, got my stub and my "I voted sticker" and I went back out to the car.
As soon as I got back in the car, they made the announcement that Barack Obama would be our 44th President. I was ecstatic. I mean, after traveling all that great distance, I had cast the ballot that sealed the deal for Barack Obama.

"No you didn't Grandaddy. You just voted, that's all"

Hey, I'm telling the story not you. Were you there in 2008?

With a big grin on her face, Jesse shakes her head no.

Alright then. Anyway. The most important thing that I want you to take from this story is this; too often our people, back then, believed that their vote was insignificant. And unfortunately, that's exactly what certain segment of our population wanted them to believe. But President Obama reminded people that it was not only a privilege to vote in this country, but a responsibility. And plenty of our ancestors died for us to have just this very privilege. That's why I tried to move Heaven and Earth to get myself home in time to vote. I mean, I knew one day that you and you brothers and sisters would need to hear this story. And most importantly, you one day would tell your own children and grandchildren. Your Grandaddy voted for the first Black President of the United States. I know that it doesn't seem like much now considering that we've had other Black Presidents, including Barack's daughter Malia, but you need to know that on November 4th, 2008, the world did change. President Obama did make it to where we as black people understood that we were important in this country. And yes, we could make a change.
So when you do your report, you make sure you let your class know that though I never thought I'd ever see a black President, I give glory to God that I was absolutely wrong.

"I will grandaddy, I will!!"


-DrizaDre-