Roughly four hours into a five-hour trip from New Orleans to Beaumont, the bus pulled into the Lake Charles Greyhound station. After we stretched our legs a bit, the re-boarding passengers got on, followed by new passengers.
I was a little miffed that someone sat next to me. He smelled of sweat and pickles, and had little understanding of personal space or cell-phone-on-public-transport etiquette. But the only empty seats were singles on the aisle, and not many of them at that. The driver was firing up the engine when there was a loud pounding on the door, then a collective groan as we all realized our departure was about to be delayed by someone who was going to insist on getting onto the already crowded bus.