Never Mind

Never Mind

These two very young espanic ladies just got off the bus. But wait, we’re in Phoenix, by the time we got to Phoenix our bus was so old and fucked up it no longer held California licensing, so we debussed for a supposed 10 minute lightning round. NOT

Whoever spaced the replacement bus so we hurried up and waited for half an hour in the terminal, just enough to get me some coco puffs ‘n milk. Because I had the preboard gimmick in El Paso, I had front seat priveleges which translated into first in line privileges because I made damn sure I got my kit slung on and hit de do’ like mos’ rickey-tick.

But this asshole driver is one of those territory-poor drivers who sling their inevitable shoddy two overnighters in the front seat, my seat, and get shirty about it, Christ, that weird chick back in Pendleton, Miss Duckface, had suitcases in all four front seats. She, however picked out a handsome and self absorbed truck driver with an ego big as all outdoors to move a bag for so she could yammer with him for six straight hours. Neither of them had a thought worth repeating. I know, I was right in the battle zone. The bombs bursting ion hot air.

At length they found us a nearly equally fucked up coach. We boarded. 38 of us on a 60-passenger coach. Then a dozen more startees, originators they call them, and then a trickle more. We were damn near full.

Me, I am utterly cold about it. I done got burned twice, which is “shame-on-me” territory, so I plop my humongous black pemmican purse and laptop bag and stare out the window. One chick tried, and I was so slow, and radiated so much bitterness she gave up. Fine by me.

Then these two young women came up the stairs, and there was only me, the older black guy across the aisle, and the driver’s pissmarked front seat. The girls didn’t get it, but I decided what the hey, don’t look too crazy, so I invited the older one, and the younger one went across the aisle. Good to go. Not really. Mine didn’t think it was fair. I egged her on, explaining about the priority boarding. She waxed indignant, went down and got right up in the driver’s shit, politely, much hand wringing and appeals to cuteness, no avail. She called for the supervisor.

Evidently he offered them a better deal, so the both of them got their handbags, their checked luggage, and followed the supervisor into the bowels of the depot for a blowjob and a cab ride or something. I don’t care. I got mine.

Got a bit of a PS here.

Back when I assidently wet the guru’s panties, after he moved this one tall skinny older frizz-haired guy I had a bad vibe from leaped into his seat. Either the guru dried it out or the new guy was oblivious. The latter, I’m thinking.

Anyway that’s the guy the Migra took off of here last night at the AZ border crossing. Nobody that knows will tell me what happened. I assume. Since they were checking ID, he didn’t come up with something they liked.

He’s gone. I saw the driver dragging the giant plastic lawn and leaf bag that constituted his luggage across the parking lot to a little locked garden type corrugated shed. Apparently this kind of shit happens.