What Happens When You Chase a Shuttle Bus for an Hour Because Some Bitch Fucked Up
IT WAS DECIDED THAT THIS WHOLE POST IS TO BE WRITTEN IN CAPSLOCK; BECAUSE IT’S JUST THAT EPIC.
MY DAY STARTED WHEN MY FRIEND VAL CALLED ME AND ASKED MY FRIEND JACQUIE AND I TO PICK HER MOTHER UP AT THE AIRPORT. THIS SEEMS MUNDANE, BUT IT WASN’T. AS WE WERE DRIVING TO THE AIRPORT WE REALIZED HOW MUCH WE LOVED 90’S BOY BANDS. N*SYNC AND BACKSTREET BOYS MUSIC COMMENCED, AND IT WAS GLORIOUS. WE SANG ALONG BECAUSE “THAT MAKES US LARGER THAN LIFE”. IF YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THAT INFERENCE STOP READING. SERIOUSLY. LIKE, IF YOU DON’T GET THAT, FUCK YOU.
WHEN WE GOT TO THE CURBSIDE PICK UP AREA AT THE AIRPORT WE REALIZED THAT HER MOTHER WAS NOT THERE YET AND IT WAS NOT GLORIOUS. WE HAD TO TAKE 5 LAPS AROUND THE AIRPORT BEFORE WE DECIDED TO KICK VAL OUT AND MAKE HER FIND HER OWN DAMN MOTHER. THIS WAS TO NO AVAIL AND THE FUCKING UP OF BITCHES COMMENCED. WE TOOK ANOTHER LAP AND JACQUIE DROVE PAST HER, LIKE AN ASSHOLE. I EXPLAINED TO HER THAT SHE WAS AN ASSHOLE AND SHE ACCEPTED IT; BECAUSE I’M ALWAYS RIGHT. WHEN WE REAPPEARED AT THE CURBSIDE PICK UP, VAL INFORMED US THAT HER MOTHER WAS A DUMB BITCH AND DESPITE ACKNOWLEDGING ON SOME LEVEL THAT VAL WAS CALLING TO HER, BOARDED A SHUTTLE BUS LIKE A DUMBASS. THIS PARTICULAR SHUTTLE WAS WHITE WITH AN “AVIS CAR RENTAL” ADVERTISEMENT ON IT AND THE NUMBER “8” ADORNING THE BACK. WE DID WHAT ANY NORMAL PEOPLE WOULD DO, AND CHASED THE FUCK OUT OF IT FOR AN HOUR. WE FAILED TO FIND HER MOTHER, BECAUSE SHE FUCKED UP; BITCHES WERE FUCKING UP ALL OVER THE PLACE.
WE THOUGHT FOR A SECOND THAT SHE MAY HAVE DISAPPEARED AND WONDERED IF THERE HAD BEEN A BRIGHT FLASH OF LIGHT WHEN SHE GOT ON THE BUS. IF SHE HAD, WE THOUGHT WE WOULD HAVE TO CALL JOHN BARROWMAN TO HELP US FIND HER. THIS THEORY WAS QUICKLY DISCARDED (UNFORTUNATELY).
WE SPOKE WITH TWO SECURITY GUARDS WHO WE HOPED COULD HELP. TO THE CONTRARY THEY TOLD US THAT:
1. THE BUSES WERE NOT ONLY CODED BY NUMBER, BUT BY COLOR AND COMPANY. (WHICH IS AN ABSOLUTELY SUPERFLUOUS AMOUNT OF CODING FOR A FUCKING SHUTTLE BUS).
2. THERE WAS NOTHING THEY COULD DO TO HELP US; SHOCKING.
WE DROVE TO THE “AVIS” CAR RENTAL PLACE AND ASKED THE INDIVIDUAL BEHIND THE COUNTER IF HER MOTHER HAD RENTED A CAR (LIKE A LESS DUMB-DUMBASS WOULD HAVE DONE IF SHE IGNORED HER DAUGHTER’S PLAN TO PICK HER UP AT THE AIRPORT AND BOARDED A SHUTTLE INSTEAD, LIKE A BITCH). UPON HEARING OUR DILEMMA A CONVERSATION ENSUED:
ATTENDANT: “IS SHE OKAY?”
VAL: “LIKE, MENTALLY?”
ATTENDANT: “YEAH, WHO BOARDS A SHUTTLE WHEN THEY ARE GOING TO BE PICKED UP?”
ANSWER: A FUCKING STUPID BITCH WHO WAS FUCKING DECIDING TO FUCK UP
WE PROMPTLY SPOKE WITH ALL THREE “AVIS” DRIVERS, NONE OF WHOM HAD EXPERIENCED ANY BITCHES FUCKING UP ON THEIR SHUTTLES; LUCKY THEM.
WE DECIDED TO RETURN HOME, CHECK VOICEMAIL MESSAGES AND FIND A BATHROOM BECAUSE JACQUIE HAD TO PEE, REALLY BAD. IT WAS SERIOUSLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN FINDING VAL’S MOM.
POST-BATHROOM USAGE WE RETURNED TO VAL’S PLACE OF RESIDENCE TO FIND SOME BITCH IN THE BACK YARD FUCKING UP. WORLD WAR III WILL SOON ENSUE.
WE THEN DECIDED TO GO GET DINNER. WE ATE AT A MEXICAN PLACE AND THE QUESO WAS GODLY. OVER DINNER WE DECIDED THAT OUR DAY PLAYED OUT MUCH LIKE AN EPISODE OF “ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT (aka THE BEST SHOW EVER)” IF YOU ARE NOT FAMILIAR WITH “ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT” STOP READING. SERIOUSLY, YOU SUCK.
BASICALLY, IF IT HAD BEEN AN EPISODE IT WOULD’VE READ LIKE THIS;
HER MOM WAS A DUMB BITCH WHO WAS A HOP-ON ON THE WRONG STAIRCAR. WE WOULD HAVE OUR OWN STAIRCAR AND CHASE THE FUCK OUT OF THE OTHER ONE. FUCKING HOP-ONS WOULD BE A PROBLEM AND BITCHES WOULD CONTINUE TO FUCK UP.
THE END. (OF THE EPISODE NOT THIS HORRIBLY REPETETIVE STORY).
THEN WE WENT TO THE MALL AND DRANK CAFFEINE. JACQUIE WANTED ME TO GO “HALFSIES” ON A “SONIC SCREWDRIVER” PEN-TOY. I REFUSED. SHE CHOSE THE “CHILDREN 5+” OPTION INSTEAD OF THE “CHILDREN 14+” OPTION BECAUSE THE LATTER DIDN’T LIGHT UP. THIS PROOVES THAT SHE IS ACTUALLY A CHILD.
THEN WE REALISED THAT THERE WAS AN ATTACHMENT TO THE TOY THAT WOULD ALLOW US TO WRITE SECRET MESSAGES ON STUFF THAT WOULD SHOW UP IN ULTRAVIOLET LIGHT. AS ADULTS WOULD, WE PROCEEDED TO DRAW DICKS ALL OVER EACHOTHER. WE’RE SO MATURE IT’S SICKENING.
THE AMOUNT OF MATURITY EXPRESSED TODAY WAS INNUMERABLE.
And if you’re sick of the caps lock and my rant please indulge in these pictures:
This is what the vehicle would have looked like.
This is what Jacquie wanted me to go “halfsies” on. I must admit, it’s kind of awesome.
For those of you out there who have had the opportunity to indulge in the late TV series, Arrested Development, you may know exactly what I am talking about. For the rest of you, I guess you could define a “hop-on” as:
someone seeking to attach themselves to an already moving object as to benefit from the efforts of that moving object so that they themselves are exempt from putting forth energy of their own to propel themselves forward.
Now, the “hop-on victim” on the other hand could be defined one of the fundamental laws of physics - as in, an “object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force,” and of course in this case, the outside force would be - the “hop on”.
So how does this all come together?? Ok, well this is how: I have been the victim of the hop-ons multiple times in my life, specifically since I started and completed college. The first memory I have was when my dad and I attended a lovely open-skate at the hometown ice rink. Both of us are pretty decent skaters as in, we don’t need to hold onto something to get around the ice (afterall, my dad is a former hockey player and me a figure skater). ANYways…about half hour into the session, I round the end of the rink and am instantly flat on my face on the ice with some gangly 20-something attached to my back. Apparently, this guy DID need something to hold onto and, of course, logically, he glommed onto the next closest thing which, to my great luck, was me.
The second case occurred a few years later when my sister and I thought it would be a festive idea to go to the annual performance of Handel’s Messiah during my freshman year of college. Well, lets just say that there was a bevy of activity and I am NOT talking about that which was taking place on stage. There was this handicapped woman who seemed to make orgasmic sounds throughout the entire performance, the outta control opera-wannabe singers in front of us during the “Hallelujah” chorus, the guy on the ridiculously loud oxygen machine, and tons of gargantuanly tall people obstructing our view. So, the performance ended and I thought it would be a good idea to try and beat the crowd of old people out. Apparently, they too were feeling energetic after sitting through three hours of a performance spectacle and it was two young people againts a bunch of stale-pillowcase-smelling oldies. Just as I slipped by a few, I was torn to my knees as one of the 85 year olds decidedly saw my quick moves and wanted to partake in the action and fell onto my back in an attempt for a free ride. Instead, we went nowhere fast as I had to shake her off and slip away from the debacle, leaving her in my trail of dust…WTF just happened!?
There was another time at a playoff hockey game that someone fell onto me and pushed a few people down but I am still trying to gather the intricacies of that memory…stay tuned.
And, most recently, I was at an exciting University of Michigan football game where we were behind 19 points until the third quarter where we started scoring crazy points left and right…needless to say, the crowd was a little out of control. Anyways, after one of the final touchdowns, this dude behind me thought that jumping as high as he could up and down in open bleachers when he lost his balance and flew onto my back, my knees buckled, my feet got wedged underneath the seat infront of me, I gumby-ed forward with feet planted, and grabbed for the closest thing I could to stabilize not only myself but this douche who just hopped on. Unfortunately, the poor older man in front of me took the biggest hit as I clawed onto the back of his golf shirt, proceeding to stretch it out into a hand-mark shape. After shaking the idiot off my back, apologizing immensely, and noticing I had just acquired a deep shin bruise, I started laughing so hard that I don’t think it stopped til the end of the game.
So, I am beginning to think that I must have some kind of sign on my back that reads, “free rides, hop on.” I’m happy to know I’m serving my purpose in society.