Bus Driver, by Alexandra Strong

 

Bumpety bump . . . hustle, hustle. HURRY!

My fly is open, oh great.

Gotta quick zip that before the next person sees me and laughs. There’s a big bug on the windshield, and it’s blinding my view.

Push, squirt . . . push, squirt is what I hear when I use the wiper fluid to get that thing off my window.

Stop crumbling your nasty dollar bills into the slot. You stink. Take a shower for once in your life.

Clinkety-clank the old soda pop cans roll forward as I stop and backward as I speed up─ kind of fun like I’m directing a marching band.

“Does this bus take me to the mall?” she asked.

“Ma’am you are on specific route; it won’t take you anywhere you want to go. Which mall were you looking for?”  I politely divulge through my clenched teeth.

She just says, “Oh forget it, I’ll just ride for a bit until I make a decision.”

“Ok, then, you do that,” I said.

If that baby doesn’t stop screaming her lungs out, I may just burst.

Look at this guy falling asleep with his gum hangin’ out–hahahhah.

Slluurrppp! Belch, ahhh. The fresh taste of cold Mountain Dew slithering down my throat.

Another day of this, another day . . .  .

 

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