I Found Out About This Thing Called “The Bus” And It’s Wild!
So, here’s the story of how I stumbled upon this cool thing called “the bus:” it all started last week when I had to get my private plane and BMWs serviced at the same time. Ugh! Everyone’s worst nightmare! Even worse, my chauffeur was on “leave” for “emergency heart surgery.” Such an unreliable man. I had to find a new way to travel. That’s when I discovered “the bus.”
I felt like Columbus discovering America when I first laid eyes on this exotic, mysterious, dangerous vehicle full of people already inside it. Inspired by my many friends’ travel blogs I took a walk on the wild side and walked into one of these so-called “buses.” Reckless, I know. But as the saying goes, “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” So like Neil Armstrong taking that first step onto the moon, I lifted my foot and stepped into the unknown as a groundbreaking hero.
My wondrous discoveries only continued once I stepped into “the bus.” People were using tiny units of currency to fuel “the bus” somehow. Every time a new person stepped into the vehicle, they would feed one dollar bills into a little slot and “the bus” would start up again onto its next destination. Here’s another mystery: how did the bus magically know where its patrons needed to go? I didn’t see them talking to the Bus Chauffeur. In fact, I didn’t hear the Bus Chauffeur talk to any of the other patrons! (To be fair, not talking is the mark of an excellent chauffeur.) Also, why were so many bus patrons going to the same street corners? It’s possible I used “the bus” on the same day as a street corner convention, I guess? I don’t know. Either way, these “bus people” clearly know something I don’t.
In fact, I still don’t know a lot of things about this “bus.” As I rode, my mind continued to flood with questions. Why are there people standing up inside “the bus?” Do they not have fold-up pocket thrones? Why are children running around, unsupervised by their nanny teams? And what happens when these people need to travel to their underwater crystal mansions? Does “the bus” become “the boat?” It’s like there’s this whole unexplored “bus culture” out there, waiting for us to explore it and turn it into kitschy theme bars. “The bus” isn’t all beautiful exotica, of course. There are bus hardships. I saw a person eating on “the bus” and I did not like it.
As I sat on my weird plastic bus seat contemplating these questions, I finally heard the Bus Chauffeur speak. She shouted:
“END OF THE LINE!”
What did this mean? What line? She shouted again.
“END OF THE LINE!”
I was so confused. I still am. The Bus Chauffeur then shrugged, got up, and exited the bus. She locked the doors. What a weird lady. I looked out the now-locked doors to see that we were inside some sort of “bus field” full of buses.
I am still locked inside “the bus.” It’s been three days. Please help me.
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