“You’re not getting luxury air-conditioned service anyway, but if you want to pay the two-zone fare, you’re free to do so.” the Harry Caray Frames bus driver announces over the COM as a result of a long continuance of one-liners.
Some careless pedestrian interrupts the Harry Caray Frames bus driver’s diatribe into the computer/transponder malfunctions for proper fare calculations by passing in front of the bus unexpectedly at a right turn. The Harry Caray Frames bus driver in turn slams down on his brakes, forcing each and every passenger to sway forward from their intrinsic inertial bodies. Finally, the Harry Caray Frames bus driver is able to persist in the route’s progress, but does not simultaneously give up the opportunity to commence anew with some sort of speech therapy concerning oblivious persons of ambulatory slant:
“You know when you decide to pass in front of the bus like that, what you don’t realize is that us drivers have a very narrow range of vision. We just can’t see you! If you think it’s a good idea to act like that, go right ahead. –But just know it’s a good way to get yourself killed…”
He goes on from there, and his preaching voice is eventually swallowed up and fades under the issuance of those customary sounds of the highway: spinning tires, whirring engines, spraying rain, spewing ventilation fans, commuter coughs and sniffles, and other meaningless conversation on board that will typically fall by the wayside of those forgotten and wasted items of this path taken from one time to the next.
Soon, the Harry Caray Frames bus driver forgets himself midsentence and in turn shifts his concentration more so to the operation of the bus rather than those articles that may or may not concern the present populace. His voice halts altogether at last from a gasping murmur, and his head can be observed twisting to-and-fro within the rearview mirror, the bill of his navy blue cap accentuating the constant movement eliciting. The scene becomes almost hypnotic in relative contrast to its beginnings, there being nothing other than the somnolent hum against a backdrop of grayish fogged and droplet streaked windows, and the rather statuesque quality of the silent souls that essentially await the eventual transformation from the working world to that of the home world.
5 comments:
I don't know what it is about your writing, but it's really, really difficult to follow. I understand what you're trying to do though. Maybe you should read more David Sedaris to get a better grasp of amusing anecdotes told through the use of wit.
Sedaris can kiss your bus ;)
Sorry don't have any constructive comments. I've always loved your writing.
Did he yell "Cubs win at any point?"
Everyone's a critic.
Actually, I can sort of empathize with Harry Carray. On top of the limited range of vision, large vehicles (especially articulated ones) have triple the stopping distance of an automobile. I can understand the driver's diatribe. I can also appreciate that he's talking to the ether, knowing that riders have their own concerns to concentrate on.
BTW, if the driver gets drunk and wants to lead you in a chorus of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," get off at the next stop.
Post a Comment