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Driving Miss McCauley

October 7, 2010

Every time-I mean every time I get on the Greyhound out of Kansas City I cannot help but question where the bus is “really going”-as if the four people I asked at the station previously had been lying to me all along.  “Yes, this is the Springfield bus ma’am,” (Ma’am? Is that just because I was acting like an uptight 40-year-old hag?) is what their mouths say-but I am always wary of the lack of focus in their eyes.

I do not drive.  There is no great surprise then, that I know nothing of geography, my immediate surroundings, how the long roads with lots of lanes and few traffic signals work, (highways I think?) let alone the difference of one “exit” and the next.

Somewhere-about an hour in, when billboards no longer seem “normal” and the bus driver is on his 3rd personal cell phone call, a panicky feeling washes over me and I am CERTAIN the man has no idea where he should be going.  I eye him suspiciously, double check my ticket stub and try to figure out who I will call when I end up in St. Louis or Boise because this asshole told me incorrectly that this shit box on wheels was my bus.

When I have at least three people in mind to haul ass to Bumbleturd Iowa with the sole intention to save me from truck stop prostitution and take me home, after I have calculated how long it will be until I run out of money, and when I tally how useful one bag full of mirsh-mashed clothes will be in places like Chattanooga or Cheyenne, (because in my jankety mind this bus goes crazy distances like that) I finally get the nerve to ask the driver where the bus is ACTUALLY GOING.

Before I plan my questioning, I plan how I will react to his disgust at my distrust… I imagine him saying “I drive this bus back and forth to places FOR A LIVING…and you think that I AM WRONG?”  To which I will respectfully explain that we all make mistakes (but I usually average less mistakes than the general population-therefore you can drop the attitude…buddy) and when I am at work I don’t get uppity when someone questions my actions (false.)

By the time my daydream argument with “Gary” the bus driver is getting ugly and unnecessarily personal-just when I am certain I will end up abandoned on the side of the road, in the cold, next to a sex offender-halfway-house-mobile-home-park, somewhere in rural Mississippi…(GASP) – I see the Warrensburg, Missouri stop, the one we make every time I have ever ridden on this fucking bus route. (!)

My heart stops pounding and the creepy vein in my neck burrows its way back into my body.  I see the trashy gum-smacking girl reunite with her hillbilly boyfriend. Happy to resume her part time job at Sonic, I’m sure. So I settle in, heart warmed and reassured that Gary was on the right track from the very beginning.


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5 Responses to “ Driving Miss McCauley ”

  1. Robert on October 7, 2010 at 10:31 am

    You ride the bus? I thought sure the art gallery provided personal limo service across the country. Maybe you need to work at a different art gallery.

  2. Jackson on October 7, 2010 at 5:17 pm

    nice article there Gwynne, so glad Anne directed me here from the Twitter machine!

  3. FlavaMom on October 7, 2010 at 7:31 pm

    Did you inherit that keen sense of direction?

  4. Chuck L on October 8, 2010 at 2:25 am

    This article shows the low level of the customers that ride the buses nowadays. Language as she uses show exactly what bus drivers have to put up with now.

  5. Laura on October 14, 2010 at 11:33 am

    Lot’s of giggling. Love.