Plot to Ambush City Buses
Ah, the open road! Where the asphalt is smoother than a jazz sax solo and the air smells faintly of freedom... and occasionally, breakfast. Today, I've barely shifted into second gear when SPLAT! An egg hits my windshield like a scene from an avant-garde film festival. "Bullseye!" I imagine the mischievous youths shouting, their gleeful cackles a masterpiece of juvenile triumph.
But I’m not perturbed. No, no. I’m behind the wheel of my noble steed, a bus as gallant as any trusty charger, with passengers as cheerful as the best lines in a Still Game episode.
I glance in the rearview mirror. Mrs. Green, in her floral dress that screams “Spring has sprung!” even in July, is sharing shortbread with Mr. Smithers, who nods like he’s just discovered the meaning of life in a sugar crystal. Their laughter is infectious. Who knew gluten could be so jovial?
“Watch out!” Mr. Smithers suddenly exclaims, pointing out the window. My heart races. Is it another egg ambush? A sudden roadblock? No, it’s a rainbow. A glorious arc of colours stretches across the sky, and I laugh out loud. “We’re driving to the end of the rainbow, folks! Who’s up for a pot of gold?” My passengers cheer. They know a good yarn when they hear one.
As I navigate a turn sharper than my mother-in-law’s tongue, I catch sight of the egg-throwing scallywags in my side mirror. They’re hiding behind a bush, thinking they’re invisible. Oh, the folly of youth. “Nice try, Houdinis!” I mutter, shaking my head with a smile.
My passengers are having the time of their lives. Little Johnny’s face is pressed against the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he waves at pedestrians like he’s royalty on a parade float. “Wave like you mean it, Johnny!” I call back. He salutes. A future general, no doubt.
We hit a pothole—well, more like a crater. The bus jumps, and my heart does a pirouette. “Buckle up, everyone! We’re not on a bus; we’re on a rollercoaster!” Laughter echoes through the bus. Who needs Alton Towers when you’ve got city road maintenance?
A red light brings us to a stop. “What do you call a bus that can’t move? Stuck!” I quip, earning a groan from Mrs. Green. She loves my jokes. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The light changes, and we’re off again, cruising down the boulevard of broken car alarms and questionable parking jobs. I feel like the captain of a ship navigating the seven seas, only my sea is tar, and my ship’s horn sounds more like a goose with laryngitis.
My thoughts wander. I wonder what those egg-throwing kids will be when they grow up. Politicians? Entrepreneurs? Professional pranksters? The possibilities are endless.
We pull up to the next stop, and I announce, “Next stop, Joyville! Population: us.” More cheers. Who knew public transportation could be so exhilarating?
As we approach the final stop, I take a deep breath and savour the moment. Another day, another journey filled with laughter, love, and a little bit of egg.
“Thank you for riding with me today, folks,” I say as my passengers disembark, their faces glowing with happiness. “Same time tomorrow? You bring the smiles; I’ll bring the puns.”
They wave and nod, and I know I’ve done my job. The road calls to me, and I answer with a grin. After all, in the grand adventure of life, every day is a bus ride, and I’m the happiest driver on the road.
___ Jamie
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