My joke of 11/25:
Girl 1: If I don't go to the bathroom now I'm going pee right here in my seat!
Girl 2: She's pissed, isn't she?
Me: Not yet!
The bus I ride to school is grossly overfull by the time I board it in the morn, and equally packed by the time it leaves in the afternoon. Typically I find myself atop the lap of some punk due to the scarcity of seating during my daily commute and consequently forced to converse with him for an uncomfortable ten minutes on the details of his musical tastes. As I strain both to hear this poor schmuck and feign interest in his band (which he describes as "a cross between Korn and Chiodos") over the screams of hysterical hispanics in the background and the blasting of Lil Wayne from ipods in the fore, the bus inevitably stops not to relieve itself of its literal piles of school children, but to actually add more. Incredulously, my bus driver opens the gluttonous mouth of the vehicle to allow it to engulf another three students into its bursting belly. By this point in our pilgrimage my only thought is of the expulsion of my body from the pit of this prison-on-wheels like the happy vomit from the stomach of an idiot bulemic.
Quite symbolically, some anonymous fellow rider scratched the phrase "Help Us" into the frost on the window this morning. I smiled at this unknown claustrophobic companion for the duration of our journey, and hoped he or she gasped the cold air of the outside as joyously as I did once free from the repression of the school bus, and that he or she secretly, like me, danced in the spacious, expansive openess of nature, of the outside, of our freedom from confinement in these quick precious moments between leaving the bus and once again entering school.
Girl 1: If I don't go to the bathroom now I'm going pee right here in my seat!
Girl 2: She's pissed, isn't she?
Me: Not yet!
The bus I ride to school is grossly overfull by the time I board it in the morn, and equally packed by the time it leaves in the afternoon. Typically I find myself atop the lap of some punk due to the scarcity of seating during my daily commute and consequently forced to converse with him for an uncomfortable ten minutes on the details of his musical tastes. As I strain both to hear this poor schmuck and feign interest in his band (which he describes as "a cross between Korn and Chiodos") over the screams of hysterical hispanics in the background and the blasting of Lil Wayne from ipods in the fore, the bus inevitably stops not to relieve itself of its literal piles of school children, but to actually add more. Incredulously, my bus driver opens the gluttonous mouth of the vehicle to allow it to engulf another three students into its bursting belly. By this point in our pilgrimage my only thought is of the expulsion of my body from the pit of this prison-on-wheels like the happy vomit from the stomach of an idiot bulemic.
Quite symbolically, some anonymous fellow rider scratched the phrase "Help Us" into the frost on the window this morning. I smiled at this unknown claustrophobic companion for the duration of our journey, and hoped he or she gasped the cold air of the outside as joyously as I did once free from the repression of the school bus, and that he or she secretly, like me, danced in the spacious, expansive openess of nature, of the outside, of our freedom from confinement in these quick precious moments between leaving the bus and once again entering school.
2 comments:
ahaha
don't you just love our bus?
~raghdaa
p.s. i love your blog. i don't know if anyone told you this before, but you sound like a legit journalist. i love they way you write. =]
your voice is so clear. you write excellently. truly.
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