I long ago wrote two posts about my experiences on the famed ‘Gambler’s Express’ bus and promised one more to make the report a true trilogy. After covering the most important riders, though – bored octogenarians and douchetastic junior analysts at Charles Schwab – I realized there wasn’t much more to say. Sure, young couples ride the GE. White trash families. Both are fun to observe, but in the end, there are only so many words for “Don’t Bother Me, I’m Crabby” t-shirts and Looney Tunes jean jackets. With one Greyhound model clearly exhausted, the time seems right to take aim at a more dressed-up relative: the commuter bus. Suits pressed? Coffee in hand? Grab the window seats, people, and hold on to your butts.
Mornings are tough. Whether hopping out of bed at 7:30 AM or noon (it’s morning somewhere), there are few people for whom the process of kick-starting another day is anything but a necessary evil. But they do exist. And magically, each one of these people finds his or her way every weekday morning to the Mount Laurel, NJ Greyhound bus terminal. At 5:45. Looking to avoid Thanksgiving weekend traffic, I decided to head back to NYC Monday morning at the same time. Crazies cleared from the road, I figured the Turnpike trip would be quick and painless.
Lifting Fog 