It was snowing tonight, on top of what we had here in northern Ill. It looked like sugar on top of white frosting when the sun went down and the light in our yard went on.
I can't believe another year has come and gone already. 2008 will be my 20th anniversary with same man. We've come a long way. Lots of ups and downs, deaths and births.
But I'm not going to get sentimental here. Just wondering where to go from here. Since this is out there, and I'm thinking of trying to get Not Far Enough published, I think I'll just back off on posting it here for now. I've actually got a tremendous amount of material in my journals, I don't really need to do that one.
I drive a bus for a university. It gets interesting from time to time. But I get sick of it--the cleavages, the butt cracks, the idiot drivers out there. Because it's a college run bus system, there isn't a whole lot going on during the summer. Only three buses run, instead of 14. I've seniority, so I get a run. I hate summer runs. Seems the weirdos and drunks come out of the woodwork.
I had one get on with a whole bunch of people, and I didn't know it. I thought someone was being overly loud, and after about half the people got off, I saw him. He started bugging the women on board.
I asked him where he was going. "Student Center," he said.
I groaned inwardly. He's going right back to where he got on!
After everyone got off, I'm all by myself with The Drunk, and I call into base, telling them what's going on. Meanwhile, I get a teenager on, a very nice kid, and he tells me to wait for a wheelchair guy--oh great! Now I'll have a kid, a wheelchair and a drunk on my bus. Could the run get any worse?
Well, it did. I looked back, after everyone is on, and I see The Drunk crawling around on the dirty floor of the bus, trying to retrieve his cigarette. And once he does he offers it to the kid, who wisely refuses it with "I don't smoke."
Meanwhile, my supervisor, John, tells me to hang on. He's calling the police, and I tell him where I'm at--I'm still driving down the road--a country road, and I'm turning back toward town.
I'm bumping along, and I see The Drunk Flick his Bic. I yell, "Don't you dare light that up!" in my harshest voice. And he stops and looks at me like I just hit him with a newspaper.
John tells me to not move another inch from where I am. I'm presently coming up to my next stop. And there's someone waiting for the bus. Oh, no. It's the homeless guy. He had a big gut on him, heavy build. My husband dubbed him "Caveman" because he rather resembles one.
Now I have a drunk, a kid, a wheelchair and the homeless guy on my bus. Sounds like the beginning of a lame joke. But it's not.
When Caveman gets on, and takes his seat quietly, like always--I've never had a problem with Caveman--The Drunk says, "Hey, Richard."
Caveman swings his dark head his way and glares at him. "I don't know you, and I don't know how you know my name."
Okay . . . this is getting way too interesting.
Wheelchair guy says, "You'd better get your ass off this bus, or the police are going to come and do it for you." That's telling him.
The Drunk just ignores this, has a Been-there-done-that sort of attitude. He says to Caveman. "Hey, Richard, you're crazy."
Okay, I have confirmation that police are on their way. I secure the bus, and grab the kid and I'm off the frigging bus before they go at each other.
Enter Policeman. The Policeman comes around from his car, looks into my bus after I tell him what's going on, and says, "Oh! Chris! I just had to take care of him!" Goodie. Maybe you should take him to the tank and keep him locked up a while????
It took about 45 minutes for my blood pressure to go back down. I really needed my vacation, and was happy it was in less than two weeks!
The above was from my journal entry of June of 2007.
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