What The Hell Was That?

When I take a trip on a Greyhound, I usually have some kind of adventure. Either there’s a goofy driver who thinks I’m too short to ride alone, or there was that time that a woman came into the customer service office crying because her purse had been snatched and then told me *I* was in a down period and proceeded to pet my head, or there was the time I ended up babysitting a passenger who was blind and developmentally delayed so a. she would settle down, and b. the staff would realize that we’re not all in that much need of help.

But this trumps all. Hell, it belongs in a movie.

I can’t even imagine the guy just walking around after, carrying the guy’s head that he just cut off, dropping it, picking it up, maybe he wanted to dribble it like a basketball. Yup, everything’s fine, loo dee doo. I just stabbbed a guy fifty times. Loo dee doo dee doo. Playin’ hot potato with a head, lum dee dum dum dum, pushin’ buttons on the bus, la dee dee.

*shiver* I think about all the quiet passengers I’ve ridden beside. I think about how many of them could have been him. *double shiver* I’m glad I don’t have to ride a greyhound bus anytime soon. Next time I do, I won’t complain about any adventures I have. Well, yeah I probably will, but they have new perspective now.

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