Waiting for the Bus

Strictly speaking: why does matter sometimes follow our wishes only to ignore us at other times?  Why will iron and tungsten always make peace but the bus, the ultimate product, will carry on like a lonely man when it is sent into the streets and follow no rules?

It rains and I pull my collar up.  My guide dog shakes the rain off his coat.  Confident traffic slides by on the wet thoroughfare.  I wish I was wearing a hat but I don’t look good in hats because my Finnish face is round and when I put on a ball cap I look like a pumpkin that roots for the Boston Red Sox.  It occurs to me that there are many kinds of fruits and vegetables that cheer for the Boston Red Sox.  I once sat next to a hairy turnip who didn’t much like umpires.  He said some disgusting things right in front of his little turnip children.  Maybe he was a parsnip?  It’s hard to keep things straight.

Why is the bus not coming?  I try to remember what the timetable said.  I think the bus was supposed to come about ten minutes ago.  I am the only one waiting here beside route 23 in Worthington,  Ohio.   I can’t have a salty, colorful conversation with other wet and stranded commuters.  My dog is sniffing the grass.  He has been known to eat stray items that have been dropped by strangers.  In turn he has also been known to vomit wildly at inopportune times.  Once he vomited all over the express bus and in my panic to control him I cradled his head.  In turn he vomited all over my suede jacket and in my hair.  I staggered from the bus at the next stop.  I had no idea where I was.  I was liberally splattered with dog puke and the odor was enough to cause spontaneous wretching.

I called my wife Connie on my cell phone and when she answered I said, “I need help.”

To be continued…

Comments

[Georgia Whitney]

Steve, please give us the next installment soon. Obviously you and Vidal lived to tell the story, but the suspense is killing me.

Translation: this is a very well-paced piece. It also addresses yet more complications of blindness. If I were lost and covered with dog puke I could at least read street signs and find somewhere to clean up.

Georgia

[blue girl]

Steve, I agree with Georgia. Please hurry up and post the next installment. What are you doing? Get on with it!

:)

I've re-read your second paragraph five times now. It's hysterical!

[Connie]

P.S. Take it from me, Steve wasn't kidding when he said "I was liberally splattered with dog puke and the odor was enough to cause spontaneous wretching."

[blue girl]

Connie, I can totally imagine! But, I was focusing on the fat little turnip children. Not that Steve said they were fat -- I just pictured them that way! With little scowls on their faces like their mean, hairy, Red Sox loving, turnip dad.

:)

[Connie]

BG, And here I thought you were laughing at Steve's comment that when he puts on a baseball cap, he looks like a pumpkin rooting for the Red Sox. That's the part that made me laugh the hardest. I guess 'cause I have to agree with him.