America is a classed society, regardless of naive beliefs of deluded egalitarians, the frenzied efforts of misguided liberals, the grand pronouncements of brain damaged politicians. If you doubt it consider the sanitary facilities employed in America's three modes of public long-distance transportation.

America's bus stations tend to lurk in the section of town in which pornographic materials are most easily obtained. Like airports, they are built of plastic, but it is plastic of a decidedly flimsier sort. They are reached most easily by public transportation or “gypsy” cab; except in the largest cities and the smallest towns, ordinary taxis shun them. The facilities for traveler convenience are virtually nonexistent; in lieu of a bar there is a lunch counter, which (if one can attract the wandering attention of the attendant, who is usually of gender of an airline hostess and the appearance of a train conductor) will offer up a buffet of hot dog au grease and sugar-water on the rocks. The busses are at times in good repair, at times not, but always uncomfortable. There is a single class of accommodation—fourth. Nothing is served on board; a sign in the on-board restroom cautions against drinking the water. The sanitary accommodations are much in keeping with the rest of the scene. Inside the station, the rest rooms are of a most doubtful nature; usually they are wholly or partially closed for repairs that are so long delayed and so temporary in effect that they seem mythical. The on-board accommodation is hardly better. The john, which is not even supposed to flush, is merely a seat atop a square metal holding tank; below it the curious—or perhaps “sick” is a better adjective—traveler may observe wastes of previous users swimming blissfully about like so many tropical fish.