Wednesday, May 23, 2007

More Bus Stop Tales

From the files of my favorite humor writers comes Mick. Check out his latest adventures and try not to laugh!

It was with customary lack of trepidation that I boarded the bus the other morning. A trepidation that I should have most definitely observed. I'll tell you what happened.

The bus was particularly crowded that day, so, being that my usual seat that nestled me safely in the back right corner was taken, I sat down in one of the outside seats in the middle section of the bus. This was a very disagreeable concept for me; this journey would be a long one and, as I was accustomed to napping during this time, my bus mates would have to endure one hell of a grumpy Mick due to this unexpected lack of proper sleep time. Cursing my lot quietly to myself, I settled in and prepared myself for an intensely unpleasant passage. And I planned on being disgruntled all the way.

Grand as my plans may have been, they were not to be. Humor, having been absent from my day thus far, decided to make a guest appearance. This was done by the sudden appearance of a young child, two seats ahead of mine, picking his nose with desperate urgency. Oh, how seeing that took me back! Such innocence and freedom in such a simple act as picking one's own nose. Before I could continue to reminisce on these matters, however, my attention was quickly pulled back to the child as he suddenly extricated the nuisance. Proud of his success, which he held high atop the tip of his finger, he attempted to get the attention of his mother. Wisely, she had fallen asleep long ago and it was unlikely that she would allow herself to be disturbed from her slumber by his meek attempts. Her loud snoring indicated as much.

The priorities of children are fickle things at best. Upon noticing that his mother was beyond interest, the little boy decided that his prize was no longer worthy of attention. And with that, he carefully curled his thumb under the crusty nose gremlin and flicked. I at once clinched, not knowing where the projectile would land. With amusement, and a good measure of relief, I noticed that the pesky thing was now attached resolutely to the tip of his thumb. I could not resist a grin. But my amusement turned to mounting horror as I watched what happened next. The child, bent on disentangling himself from the responsibility of this monstrosity, stepped up the fervency of his efforts. I cringed each time he would use an alternate finger, then the thumb again, another finger then back to thumb. My clinched hands went instinctively to my mouth and I recoiled as he alternated hands. The wicked dance continued. Just then, when I thought that I could stand no more, the thing flew from his fingertips. The menace was over. Or was it?

With his goal accomplished, the little boy extracted himself neatly from this account. But I, having witnessed all of it, knew that this tale would need a proper ending. There was one chapter left. This chapter could only begin, and hopefully end, with the discovery of where the booger alit. As if on cue, the mother released a mighty bellow of a snore. My attention snapped to her and the horrific sight that was attached to the bottom of her upper lip. In my mind I was screaming as I watched it flap into her mouth as she inhaled, and flap outwardly as she exhaled. I knew at that precise moment that my need for closure was a misguided concept. I pulled the bell, opting to exit the bus early and catch a cab to my destination. I was mortified at the thought of beholding this situation when it came to fruition. As the bus came to a stop, I exited from the rear door. As I stepped onto the ground I heard the mother snort loudly. I shuddered as that was followed by the sound of her smacking lips. The door closed as the story ended. I called a cab.

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