Bull Sheet two
15/08/06 22:19
We have just returned from another triumphal tour of the Great Southwest. The Old Greyhound Bus glides to a gentle landing at the downtown Banker Smith, Texas Bus Depot. The door swings open and the cargo of bedraggled, road weary musicians stumble down the steps.
As I turn off the switch and look back through the aisle, I find it rather difficult to remember that just five short days ago this same group of zombie-like beings had boarded the bus all freshly scrubbed and beaming with excitement. I am amazed to see that in less than a week this sparkling interior of the pride of B.S. Bus Lines has been transformed from ship shape bunks and neatly stowed baggage to wrinkled, smelly piles of dirty, dusty clothes, half empty potatoe chip bags, and approximately forty dollars worth of aluminum cans. The contents of suitcases have mysteriously swollen to the point that what came on board in one bag must go out in the and a bundle under the arm from which at least one sock must invariably escape.
I reach across the seats to retrieve my hat. My arm becomes bonded to the arm rest due to a liberal coating of Peanut Butter and jelly. My hat, of course, is full of peanut shells, cigarette butts, and beer cans. While sleepily shuffling throgh the assortment of broken microphone cords, tire gauges, and sunglasses on the dash in search of my house keys, I inadvertently knock over a seemingly empty can. Bad mistake. The drummer dips snuff.
I finally manage to make it to the front door. The place is a mess. The office desk is piled high with work that should have been done a week ago.
"What's going on around here? I go away for a week and absolutely nothing gets done." I shouted in dismay. (Actually I am in Banker Smith. I was in Dismay once in 1959. It's about 47 miles south of Cognito.) "Is this any way to run a business?"
"Maybe not dear," Sandie says in her sweet concilliatory tone, "but it's a liitle hard for us to get anything done here when you take everyone on the road with you."
"Oh, I forgot."
"Good night dear."
"But it's only eight o'clock in the morning," I protested.
"That's true. But you've been driving all night and you really should get some sleep. We all put in a hard week's work and it was lots of fun, but you really need your........."
"Z z z z z z z z z z z z z z"
B.S.
As I turn off the switch and look back through the aisle, I find it rather difficult to remember that just five short days ago this same group of zombie-like beings had boarded the bus all freshly scrubbed and beaming with excitement. I am amazed to see that in less than a week this sparkling interior of the pride of B.S. Bus Lines has been transformed from ship shape bunks and neatly stowed baggage to wrinkled, smelly piles of dirty, dusty clothes, half empty potatoe chip bags, and approximately forty dollars worth of aluminum cans. The contents of suitcases have mysteriously swollen to the point that what came on board in one bag must go out in the and a bundle under the arm from which at least one sock must invariably escape.
I reach across the seats to retrieve my hat. My arm becomes bonded to the arm rest due to a liberal coating of Peanut Butter and jelly. My hat, of course, is full of peanut shells, cigarette butts, and beer cans. While sleepily shuffling throgh the assortment of broken microphone cords, tire gauges, and sunglasses on the dash in search of my house keys, I inadvertently knock over a seemingly empty can. Bad mistake. The drummer dips snuff.
I finally manage to make it to the front door. The place is a mess. The office desk is piled high with work that should have been done a week ago.
"What's going on around here? I go away for a week and absolutely nothing gets done." I shouted in dismay. (Actually I am in Banker Smith. I was in Dismay once in 1959. It's about 47 miles south of Cognito.) "Is this any way to run a business?"
"Maybe not dear," Sandie says in her sweet concilliatory tone, "but it's a liitle hard for us to get anything done here when you take everyone on the road with you."
"Oh, I forgot."
"Good night dear."
"But it's only eight o'clock in the morning," I protested.
"That's true. But you've been driving all night and you really should get some sleep. We all put in a hard week's work and it was lots of fun, but you really need your........."
"Z z z z z z z z z z z z z z"
B.S.