One of the few cool aspects of the Greyhound experience was the ability to roll into a city, get off the bus, spend the day walking around, get back on another bus late in the evening, and sleep as best you can until the next stop. With only a few exceptions, Greyhound drivers are some of the most hostile, bitter people I've ever encountered in the service sector. They're not overtly rude, but their deepest wish in life is for you to get on and sit down and shut up and then get the hell off their damn bus. If you've got a real problem with something, call it to their attention, but otherwise it's not in your best interest to hassle them about anything. As with ticket clerks, I don't get the impression that driving a Greyhound bus is either lucrative or spiritually fulfilling.
Greyhound buses have a backwards American flag on the side near the door.
However, it's been explained that since the bus is generally moving, the flag is supposed to be flying in the wind, and since it's facing the same way on the other side it's printed the way it's supposed to be. I've seen more Amish families in Greyhound stations than anywhere else. It's possible to ride a bus from Los Angeles to San Francisco and not hear a word of English spoken. I once made that relatively short trip listening to a quiet murmur of Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, and a Scandinavian language I couldn't quite identify. It was such a blessed relief because I had just traveled two thousand miles in the general company of this guy who babbled incessantly about cars, stereos, and girls the whole way.