Bad Travel

by pjmcbride

I was on the way home on the bus, and a group of rough-hewn individuals occupied the back seats. One of them yelled to the driver, “Could you bring us the trash can?” “Can I bring you the trash can?” said the driver in disbelief–the bus was in motion, and bus drivers aren’t your personal servants, anyway. “This guy’s got motion sickness, and his stomach’s upset. Maybe nothing’ll happen, but we just want to be safe.” As do we all. A guy sitting up front brought him the trash can. My stop was the next one, and I used the door that wasn’t right in front of the man in question, so I don’t know how this story came out, and it’s just as well. My only personal experience with vomit and travel is one time when a couple of people and I were heading back from some bar on the East Side, and the one not driving said, “Could we pull over?” She pulled the van door open and puked in a matter-of-fact manner, as if unloading excess beer were not at all remarkable, and perhaps for her it wasn’t.

You’re better off for knowing these stories. You know you are.

 

 

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