Imaginary Responses.
I drove block three today. (Worst introduction ever.–Ed.) During the 1100h. class change, a number of idiotic dumbshits decided that they would try to jump on the back doors of the bus. This, for those of you who don’t know, is a big no-no. It’s dangerous, and it will get you a sizable fine if you do it on a bus you have to actually pay for.
The standard solution to this problem is for the bus driver to yell out, “Don’t get on the back doors!” Usually a few people will snicker, and everyone else will get on the front like they’re supposed to.
Not today. Not only do I have to deal with three separate people who do this at the same stop, one of them gets on the front of the bus even though I said there was no more room. He pushed himself back behind the line and I stopped caring.
When he gets off, though, he tells me that, “Just because you wear that blue jacket doesn’t mean you have the right to yell at people.” So I said,
“You’re right. But my Irish walking hat does.”
“And just because you’re wearing an ugly grey sweatsuit doesn’t give you the right to ignore the rules.”
“I’m sorry that your head is a such a desolate, fucked-up place.”
“And you just cost me eight-thousand dollars. What are you going to do about it . . . asshole?”
“Frat-tastic!”
“No, it gives me the right to enforce the rules and Federal law on this bus. If you disobey the rules, like getting on the back doors or not staying behind the line, I can kick you off. I wanted to kick your dumb, ‘I’m above everyone’ ass off my bus, but instead I decided to let you ride. You don’t like it? Don’t ride the bus again. I’m sure we’ll miss your superior intellectualism, impeccable logic and dry wit, but somehow, eventually, we’ll get by. . . asshole.”
“Are you on the crack? Of course I can yell!”
“I WASN’T YELLING. I JUST HAVE TROUBLE MODULATING THE VOLUME AND TONE OF MY VOICE.”
“I fucking! unfortunately have donkey-raping shit eater tourettes.”
“Always fucking naysaying! Why don’t you invent something like inward singing? Fuck you! Fucking…cockass!”
“Can I see your CDL? No? Well, then here, take these two transfer tickets. The next bus to Shut-the-hell-up street will be by in three minutes.”
“I didn’t watch my buddies die face down in the muck so that you can–sorry, I thought I was John Goodman for a minute there.”
“[Obligatory Big Lebowski quote goes here]. . . . Asshole.”
“Does she dress like a tart?” (Dude, no one’s going to get that. We shouldn’t use it. By the way, this whole idea is terrible.–Ed.)
“You ever get the feeling that Ari Fleischer is a total douche?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see what my Glock has to say about that, shall we? What’s that, Glock, you say shoot ‘im? Okay. Wahoowa, mothuhfucker!”
“No, but I do have the right to make sure that I get my ungrateful, full-of-themselves passengers to class and back on time, safely, and without incident. The only reason I yell is because otherwise people won’t hear me. Imagine if everyone was like you: trying to get on the back doors, talking smack to the drivers, ignoring safety rules that are there for a fucking reason, let me tell you, this isn’t the sort of shit that Congress just passes for shits and giggles, there were a lot of accidents back in the day. But I’ll tell you what: next time you ride, I won’t enforce the rules, and when we crash, I hope the last thing you see is your hands holding your own steaming entrails. Good day.”
“Have a good day, sir. Thanks for riding UTS.”