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.