I had a bunch of ministers on the bus today. Don’t know what that was about. They all clump together and talk softly.
I try to keep the bus from lurching when there’s clergy on board. Superstition maybe. Or a challenge, a little game.
You’ve got to have a game going when you drive the same fucking route 15 times a day. Everyday. Every week. Every month.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been leaving the door open a little longer after people get on. It’s nice outside. People are patient when the weather is nice.
I only had to make guys get coffee on their shirts twice this week. You think guys who fly so much would learn, but I don’t think they remember me. I remember them though.
Don’t be a douchebag to me.
There were two families today. One was going to Israel. One was going to Disneyland. They both had funny hats on.
Johnny tried to get me to run into the gate arm coming out of Long-Term C. Cost me nearly six hundred fucking dollars last time. That’s not funny. Not when it happens to me. When it happens to Samir, that’s fucking hilarious.
Samir covered for me last Christmas. Dottie had shingles so we couldn’t go anywhere, but we had a nice time anyway.
Goddamn the terminal. They should have a whole other road for the amateurs. Those taxi fucks can go to hell too. My last day on the job, I’m going to take some gypsy cab’s door off. Swear to God.
These girls that get on the bus with their book bags and carry-ons. Where are they going by themselves? They can’t be more than a year out of school. I never would have had the courage.
If you look down her shirt when she puts that bag away, your going to get coffee on your button down.
She could be Mandy, except that Mandy’s almost 30. And married. How does she explain her bus driver dad to her country club in-laws? She’s always been a sweet kid. Almost 30.
I don’t know what this lady does for a living, but she needs to find something else and get off the road.
3 buses ahead of me? Smoke break.