Alright everyone, gather 'round. It's story time. Yes, time again for Uncle Steve to regail you with his tails of triumph - and woe. Let me tell you about the time I took the bus to Phoenix. I remember It well, mainly because it just happened. I journeyed to Phoenix for one thing, and one thing only. To go to court... (This is the part where it fades to a B&W flashblack.) And get ready, cus this is a long one.
At 9 am on Monday, I walked the block and a half to the Greyhound station, purchased my ticket, and waited for the bus. At this point, I think I'll skip past the boring shit, and go directly to the somewhat less boring shit. It's now about 1 in the afternoon. I've already transfered in LA, and have been asleep on the bus for 2 hours. I've just been awoken by the the sound of someones voice, asking if he could have a seat. I slide over on the chair, and drop the armrest, thereby setting a definate barrier between myself and this new traveler. A dirty looking older man in jogging pants and a generic jersey sits down next to me, and I close my eyes again, more to prevent any interaction with this stranger than to actually sleep. Now, this guy saw me sleeping when he arrived, and I'm clearly trying to return to that happy state, so what does he do? He strikes up a conversation. Did I say conversation? Let me be a little more specific. He began to make random comments directed towards me. As we drove through town, he'd point out hotels and explain which was the best, using cockroach and rat counts as his means of comparison. He told me about the crime in his area, and how it differed from the varieties of crime you'd find in his home town. He talked about his 3 ex-wives, and which one was the most atractive. I would just nod and make small, barely audible noises in responce. I somehow doubt that this man really had some of the stunning spouses he was describing... In great, and very personal detail. This communication lasted the remaining six hours of the trip. While this was going on, their was a spanish speaking gentleman behind me, talking nonstop to the man next him. But his nieghbor hardly spoke. The only comment out of the second man, "I'm sorry, no hablo espanol." This did not, however, prevent his newfound companion from continuing on. I don't think that the ability to speak spanish would have been very usefull though. Because I speak it pretty well, and nothing coming out of that mans mouth made any sense whatsoever. At one point, the clearly inebriated man leaned over the chair and directed his unintelligable rambling towards myself. I attempted to communicate my disinterest by staring at him and giving him the 'you're friggin crazy' look. This was far more affective than "No hablo Espanol", because he quickly turned back towards his unhappy seatmate. The man to my right had not yet given up talking to me, and seemed quite happy with the one way communication. In fact, any time I attempted a true response to him, he would cut me off and take the quasiconversation onto a different tangent. At one point, he pulled two well worn porn mags from his back pocket, and was kind enough to offer me one. I politely declined, and he proceded to flip through them, commenting on how this was what a woman should look like. Apparently, he was a huge fan of silicone and saline. A point that I don't really agree on. As he read... I mean, looked through his magazine, I could hear the distinct sound of pages unsticking. I noticed a very attractive girl, a seat up and across, staring at me. I smiled, but recieved no response. I did a quick booger check. Nothing. I searched my shirt for any coffee stains, possibly in the shape of the virgin mary. All clear there as well. But she was still staring. The drunk man behind me was still rambling. The man next to me was still ogling fake women. Apparently someone to the rear of the bus sensed that I was having a sureal experience, because they cranked up their music of chimes and bells to contribute.
When we hit Blythe, we stopped for lunch. I saw the quite kid from the seat behind me having a cigarette, he had a look of fear on him. I talk with him while we waited, but we were soon joined by wierdo porn guy. I noticed the hot chick staring at me again, and searched her face for any familiarity. Nothing. I had never met her before, but she kept staring. I smiled again, but to no avail. She stared blankly for another minute or so, and I just stared back until she turned away. Back on the bus again, the scared kid was relieved to find the crazy man gone. He had left his ticket and bag on the bus. The driver shouted back to see if anyone was missing. Scared kid said nothing. And off we went. Porn guy talked for the rest of the trip. Occasionaly pulling out his magazines when he ran out of things to say. And eventually we arrived in Phoenix. As I was getting in my dads car, porn guy aproached me once more. He leaned uncomfortably close to me, and spouted off 3 racist jokes, rapid fire. Joke isn't really the right word for them. More just a quick setup, and a racist comment where the punchline should have been. Then he laughed and walked away. I was filled with the sudden urge to chase him down and crack his skull with a piece of steel re-bar, just to make it clear that we weren't friends. Instead, I got in the car, and drove off.
Skip ahead to Tuesday, 8:30 AM. I'm in a small courtroom in Tempe. Every chair is filled with people, waiting to be judged. I have a feeling that when I die, I'll find myself in that same room. So the Judge gets their, and calls us up one by one to go over the charges. As I sat there listening, I noticed how my case pailed in comparison to all the others. Although there was this one kid who had been busted for underaged drinking and public urination. I sympathised with the poor kid.
I remember one time when I was 20. Me and my buddy Able had been drinking heavily with a group of strangers we'd met at the beach. I was in the process of emptying my bladder on the bus station wall, when I heard a voice behind me say, "Have you been drinking son." As hard as I tried to stop peeing, my body wouldn't let me. I turned my head to see the blurry image of a cop car. The voice had come from somewhere inside that thing. My eyes moved over to Able. He was passed out on a concrete bench. Body curled into a little ball, like a pillbug avoiding danger. A bottle of rum was clenched tightly to his body in a loving embrace. Still pissing, I turned back to the taliking car. "Ummmm.... No."
Back to present day. I went before the judge and plead guilty. Then sat back down and awaited my punishment. As I sat there, a young woman was called up next. She was wearing an ugly little dress that looked like she'd stolen it from a candy-striper 5 sizes smaller than her. The judge went over her case. No registration. Well, at least one person was in for the same thing as me. But then the judge went on. Apparently, she had been arrested for speeding through a bicycle lane while on some form of illegal substance, and had then run through a stop light. Oh, and the lack of registration. She plead guilty. That was when the prosecutor came in and called my name. I went back to her office, and she explained how strict the judge was. She told me I should request a continuance while I got my car registered and obtained a copy of my proof of insurance, this way, the judge would be more leniant. When I told her I already had, she got all excited, and dismissed the charges. That prosecutor kicked ass.
The busride back home was uneventful. I sat alone and sleapt the whole way. It was bliss. Or as close as you can get to bliss while sleeping on a Greyhound bus. Which I can imagine is probably not very close at all. When I got to LA at 4 this morning, I had a 2 and a half hour layover. So I stepped outside for some air. As soon as I walked out, a man asked if I needed a ride. Cabs here are expensive as hell, so I asked how much. The guy said twenty bucks to go to North Hollywood. This was obviously not a cab driver. This guy is going to rob you. That's what my brain said to me. I looked him up and down, and then accepted his offer. I had no weapons to defend myself with, but my belt buckle is rather large, so took the risk. He lead me to a beat up old station wagon, with three large impact cracks in the windshield. I got in, and noticed the guy starting the car with a screwdriver. Now, I'm not saying that I was present during a car theft. From the looks of it, the car had been stolen a while ago. So we headed off. When we got to my apartment, I tipped him an extra ten bucks. He had been a really nice guy for a car thief.
So, as my story draws to a close, I find myself watching 'MR. Show' and writing an execively long journal page. If you gave up long ago, I don't blame you at all. If you made it this far, then I congradulate you on your persistance. I hope you weren't expecting a wonderful and exciting conclusion though, because all I have to offer you is this chicken.
Enjoy.
EDIT: As if this journal entry wasn't long enough... Fuck Hallmark, they haven't called me back, and I just got a job starting tommorrow. Its on a lower budget flick starring Chris Katan and Parker Posey. It's PA work, which isn't my area of interest, but I'll tear it up anyway. Hell, they're paying me to work on a movie. I'd do that shit for free. In fact, I have done it for free. Damn internships, I'll never do those again. Wait, did I just contradict myself? Oh well, fuck it.
At 9 am on Monday, I walked the block and a half to the Greyhound station, purchased my ticket, and waited for the bus. At this point, I think I'll skip past the boring shit, and go directly to the somewhat less boring shit. It's now about 1 in the afternoon. I've already transfered in LA, and have been asleep on the bus for 2 hours. I've just been awoken by the the sound of someones voice, asking if he could have a seat. I slide over on the chair, and drop the armrest, thereby setting a definate barrier between myself and this new traveler. A dirty looking older man in jogging pants and a generic jersey sits down next to me, and I close my eyes again, more to prevent any interaction with this stranger than to actually sleep. Now, this guy saw me sleeping when he arrived, and I'm clearly trying to return to that happy state, so what does he do? He strikes up a conversation. Did I say conversation? Let me be a little more specific. He began to make random comments directed towards me. As we drove through town, he'd point out hotels and explain which was the best, using cockroach and rat counts as his means of comparison. He told me about the crime in his area, and how it differed from the varieties of crime you'd find in his home town. He talked about his 3 ex-wives, and which one was the most atractive. I would just nod and make small, barely audible noises in responce. I somehow doubt that this man really had some of the stunning spouses he was describing... In great, and very personal detail. This communication lasted the remaining six hours of the trip. While this was going on, their was a spanish speaking gentleman behind me, talking nonstop to the man next him. But his nieghbor hardly spoke. The only comment out of the second man, "I'm sorry, no hablo espanol." This did not, however, prevent his newfound companion from continuing on. I don't think that the ability to speak spanish would have been very usefull though. Because I speak it pretty well, and nothing coming out of that mans mouth made any sense whatsoever. At one point, the clearly inebriated man leaned over the chair and directed his unintelligable rambling towards myself. I attempted to communicate my disinterest by staring at him and giving him the 'you're friggin crazy' look. This was far more affective than "No hablo Espanol", because he quickly turned back towards his unhappy seatmate. The man to my right had not yet given up talking to me, and seemed quite happy with the one way communication. In fact, any time I attempted a true response to him, he would cut me off and take the quasiconversation onto a different tangent. At one point, he pulled two well worn porn mags from his back pocket, and was kind enough to offer me one. I politely declined, and he proceded to flip through them, commenting on how this was what a woman should look like. Apparently, he was a huge fan of silicone and saline. A point that I don't really agree on. As he read... I mean, looked through his magazine, I could hear the distinct sound of pages unsticking. I noticed a very attractive girl, a seat up and across, staring at me. I smiled, but recieved no response. I did a quick booger check. Nothing. I searched my shirt for any coffee stains, possibly in the shape of the virgin mary. All clear there as well. But she was still staring. The drunk man behind me was still rambling. The man next to me was still ogling fake women. Apparently someone to the rear of the bus sensed that I was having a sureal experience, because they cranked up their music of chimes and bells to contribute.
When we hit Blythe, we stopped for lunch. I saw the quite kid from the seat behind me having a cigarette, he had a look of fear on him. I talk with him while we waited, but we were soon joined by wierdo porn guy. I noticed the hot chick staring at me again, and searched her face for any familiarity. Nothing. I had never met her before, but she kept staring. I smiled again, but to no avail. She stared blankly for another minute or so, and I just stared back until she turned away. Back on the bus again, the scared kid was relieved to find the crazy man gone. He had left his ticket and bag on the bus. The driver shouted back to see if anyone was missing. Scared kid said nothing. And off we went. Porn guy talked for the rest of the trip. Occasionaly pulling out his magazines when he ran out of things to say. And eventually we arrived in Phoenix. As I was getting in my dads car, porn guy aproached me once more. He leaned uncomfortably close to me, and spouted off 3 racist jokes, rapid fire. Joke isn't really the right word for them. More just a quick setup, and a racist comment where the punchline should have been. Then he laughed and walked away. I was filled with the sudden urge to chase him down and crack his skull with a piece of steel re-bar, just to make it clear that we weren't friends. Instead, I got in the car, and drove off.
Skip ahead to Tuesday, 8:30 AM. I'm in a small courtroom in Tempe. Every chair is filled with people, waiting to be judged. I have a feeling that when I die, I'll find myself in that same room. So the Judge gets their, and calls us up one by one to go over the charges. As I sat there listening, I noticed how my case pailed in comparison to all the others. Although there was this one kid who had been busted for underaged drinking and public urination. I sympathised with the poor kid.
I remember one time when I was 20. Me and my buddy Able had been drinking heavily with a group of strangers we'd met at the beach. I was in the process of emptying my bladder on the bus station wall, when I heard a voice behind me say, "Have you been drinking son." As hard as I tried to stop peeing, my body wouldn't let me. I turned my head to see the blurry image of a cop car. The voice had come from somewhere inside that thing. My eyes moved over to Able. He was passed out on a concrete bench. Body curled into a little ball, like a pillbug avoiding danger. A bottle of rum was clenched tightly to his body in a loving embrace. Still pissing, I turned back to the taliking car. "Ummmm.... No."
Back to present day. I went before the judge and plead guilty. Then sat back down and awaited my punishment. As I sat there, a young woman was called up next. She was wearing an ugly little dress that looked like she'd stolen it from a candy-striper 5 sizes smaller than her. The judge went over her case. No registration. Well, at least one person was in for the same thing as me. But then the judge went on. Apparently, she had been arrested for speeding through a bicycle lane while on some form of illegal substance, and had then run through a stop light. Oh, and the lack of registration. She plead guilty. That was when the prosecutor came in and called my name. I went back to her office, and she explained how strict the judge was. She told me I should request a continuance while I got my car registered and obtained a copy of my proof of insurance, this way, the judge would be more leniant. When I told her I already had, she got all excited, and dismissed the charges. That prosecutor kicked ass.
The busride back home was uneventful. I sat alone and sleapt the whole way. It was bliss. Or as close as you can get to bliss while sleeping on a Greyhound bus. Which I can imagine is probably not very close at all. When I got to LA at 4 this morning, I had a 2 and a half hour layover. So I stepped outside for some air. As soon as I walked out, a man asked if I needed a ride. Cabs here are expensive as hell, so I asked how much. The guy said twenty bucks to go to North Hollywood. This was obviously not a cab driver. This guy is going to rob you. That's what my brain said to me. I looked him up and down, and then accepted his offer. I had no weapons to defend myself with, but my belt buckle is rather large, so took the risk. He lead me to a beat up old station wagon, with three large impact cracks in the windshield. I got in, and noticed the guy starting the car with a screwdriver. Now, I'm not saying that I was present during a car theft. From the looks of it, the car had been stolen a while ago. So we headed off. When we got to my apartment, I tipped him an extra ten bucks. He had been a really nice guy for a car thief.
So, as my story draws to a close, I find myself watching 'MR. Show' and writing an execively long journal page. If you gave up long ago, I don't blame you at all. If you made it this far, then I congradulate you on your persistance. I hope you weren't expecting a wonderful and exciting conclusion though, because all I have to offer you is this chicken.
Enjoy.
EDIT: As if this journal entry wasn't long enough... Fuck Hallmark, they haven't called me back, and I just got a job starting tommorrow. Its on a lower budget flick starring Chris Katan and Parker Posey. It's PA work, which isn't my area of interest, but I'll tear it up anyway. Hell, they're paying me to work on a movie. I'd do that shit for free. In fact, I have done it for free. Damn internships, I'll never do those again. Wait, did I just contradict myself? Oh well, fuck it.
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George Carlin DOES indeed rock! Love his shit.