Apparently, it’s hard for me to go anywhere without something . . . unusual happening.
God thinks He has a sense of humor. Sometimes I think He just enjoys seeing us squirm. It started with the very first bus. Which was late. Forty-five minutes late at 3:30 in the morning in 20 degree weather. The good news is my parent’s car has a very good heater in it.
I boarded the bus, wide-awake and cheery-eyed (Ha.), and discovered that there is something more uncomfortable than the seats on a transpacific flight. It is the half of a chair on the aisle end when the man next to you is asleep and taking up rather a lot of room.
Other than that, I was pretty comfortable.
Until we pulled into St. Louis.
I have decided I don’t particularly like St. Louis.
It started with our bus driver’s bland announcement that we would kindly take all our bags off the bus with us, and if he were us, he wouldn’t accept any help carrying them, if we knew what he meant. I dutifully grabbed my book bag, purse, computer, guitar case, and no-wheels-included suitcase, squeezed myself sideways through the door, and tried not to drop anything.
Visiting the restroom was going to be difficult.
I was trying to figure out which bus I was supposed to be boarding next when a strange man came up to me. He and his 6-year old daughter (in tow) needed money to buy two tickets to get from where they were to someplace else. At least that’s what he said the money was for. I’m not sure if I believed him or not.
I got on the bus, hoping for some peace and quiet. I had been on buses for 18 hours at this point. They were definitely not on my top ten list of favorite relaxation spots. Then the bus driver got on. “May I have your attention please,” he said over the intercom. “There will be no smoking - I repeat, no smoking - on board this bus. No alcohol, no drugs, no profanity. I repeat, no profanity. This is a zero tolerance bus. Let me say that again . . .”
He got his point across.
To most of us anyhow. All but the little man a ways towards the back who decided he couldn’t hold off that long and smoked a cigarette in the bathroom. At least that’s what the bus driver said he did. And then he pulled into a police station. Little town named Nashville, Illinois. I didn’t even know Illinois had a Nashville.
Apparently, it does.
Apparently, Nashville, Illinois’s police department doesn’t stay open till 9:30 at night. We waited for the cops to arrive. And then we waited for them to ask their questions. And then we waited for them to handcuff the distraught offender. And then we waited some more, for I don’t know why. All in all, it was about 45 minutes.
Flashing lights and everything.
And two guys at the front of the bus giving us a running commentary on the whole event. “Oh, man, he’s done for. They’re going to put him in jail - jail! - for smoking a cigarette. What? They will! I bet they got all sorts of charges on him - disturbing the peace and drinking and all kinds of other stuff. I bet he’ll be sitting in jail over Thanksgiving, yes, he will. That’s what they do in these sorts of places . . .”
Like that.
The bus driver finally remembered he had a bus to drive, got back in, and away we went. I thought all the abnormalcy was over. I certainly hoped it was. And that’s when the man sitting next to me tried to fall asleep with his head on my shoulder. He apologized the first time but then tried it again. This time, he also tried to hold my hand. I would have slugged him, but I didn’t want to stop at the police station again. Instead, I coldly told the man that if he was going to bother apologizing, he shouldn’t dare repeat the mistake. Then I moved seats.
It was a very long bus ride.
All I have to say at the end of it is, no, God, thank You very much, but that was not funny. And, well, at least I’m not the only one. Gladys Aylward had it lots worse . . .
