A few important words about this post. The following is an excerpt from Don't Drink It 'Til It's Black, the (in development) true memoir of Josh Corman's and my 2007 trip to Britain. The memoir is co-written by the two of us. Roughly half is written by me, in my first person voice, the other half by Josh, in his voice.
Unlike past Real Life Series entries, what you are about to read is not, in any way, a fully formed short story with a clear beginning, middle, and end. This is an excerpt lifted straight out of the middle of a larger story. Also, it should be noted that, as of the time of this writing, we are still on the second draft of the memoir, and further polishing and improving may occur to all sections presented here.
This section of the story finds Corman and me on a bus, racing up the coast of Scotland. We've just gotten off a ferry which brought us over from Ireland. The ferry was late arriving, causing all passengers to miss a train that had been waiting for us. So, the company that owns the ferry has called in an emergency bus to take us all up the coast to a different train station where we can hopefully catch trains to our various destinations before they stop making runs for the night.
Look for another random DDITIB excerpt from Corman on Friday. Enjoy.
Excerpt from Don't Drink It 'Til It's Black
In a matter of minutes we’re lumbering our way up the coast via a precariously high and thin road. More fields of devastating green stretch out to our right, illuminated in patches by the waning sunlight bursting through an occasional hole in the clouds. On the left the coast swings in and out of sight, terribly striking, and a good 150 feet down the cliffs we so speedily traverse.
I’m beginning to feel a Richie-like fear when another phenomenon commands my attention. I realize all at once that we’re embroiled in a classic, childhood, school bus situation. Corman and I, along with a number of other mild mannered or elderly groups, are huddled in the first few rows of the bus. We’re the Good Kids. The back, however, is under the reign of the Bad Kids. The difference now is that they aren’t throwing raisins out the window or rolling apples up the aisle or even puncturing holes in the upholstery seats. They’re piss drunk. All of them. Evidently the boat ride over from Ireland was more of a party cruise for this bunch than the pragmatic mode of transportation it was for the rest of us. Soon, the general revelry is spilling out of their private party in the back and being directed at the front of the bus.
“Hey, driver! We need some more booze back here!”
“Ruddy’ right Charlie! Driver, there was booze on that boat! Why aint’ you got any for us, eh?”
They seem good-natured enough for all of their loud mouthed carousing, but I strongly hope they don’t find any reason to yell at the guy up front in the Notre Dame hoodie. Slightly amused and more than a tad uncomfortable, I force myself to continue enjoying the splendid passing scenery.
Moments later someone hurriedly brushes my arm. I glance up to see Charlie or some other sloppy drunk from the back making his way to the driver carrying what looks like a chili sack lunch without the bowl.
“Driver, my friend gone ‘n hurled in this bag. Where should I put it?”
To my amazement, the driver, who has held a respectable level of stoicism up to this point, straight up stonewalls the drunk. Glances are exchanged among us good kids, all wondering the same thing. How will this play out?
"Driver, didn't you hear me? I've got this vomit here, and the lads all have to piss."
The driver keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't say a word as if this is all business as usual. Hell, maybe this is business as usual. Maybe, like the cheeseburger joint owner in Dublin, this is just another Sunday afternoon in the Scottish bus driving world. Maybe there’s a training program for these guys. I can hear the instructor in my mind, straight out of Full Metal Jacket: “You WILL encounter drunk men on the job. LOTS of them. You must ignore them. You will make them think they don’t exist. Hell, they DON’T exist! That is the ONLY way to deal with a drunk Scotsman!”
His speech is followed by a rigorous training course where inexperienced, soft willed drivers are subjected to the worst drunken taunts imaginable while operating a bus-driving simulator. Only the strongest survive the full course, and none go without at least one lapse into tears. This man before me was clearly the best in class.
The drunk turns unsurely back to his seat, barf bag in hand. Our heroic driver’s eyes flit to the left for only the scantest of split seconds, and I know that I’ve witnessed a master at work. A true genius. This man is unflappable. We are on a course to make up lost time, to get a bus full of eager tourists to a train in the small town of Ayr to make up for his company’s late boat. This is the hour he has been training for. He drives for us, the good kids. He drives for honor. And nothing can derail that. Ignoring a chorus of cries from the back, he drives on.
Ten minutes later the bus is on the side of the road and a line of fifteen shit-faced Scotsmen pee into the bushes. The sight is amusing, but I’m forced to shelf the hope that I’m in the care of one of the last true heroes on the bus-driving circuit. Yes, every man has his price, or his limit, as it were, and fifteen drunken Scotsmen begging for a roadside pee-break proved more than our fallen hero could withstand. My shameless optimism has let me down this time. We roll on a few minutes later, and I go north a wiser man.
Excerpt From a Book by Josh Corman and Jonny Walls. This Section by Jonny Walls
2 comments:
What a great excerpt! I was with you all the way especially good kids/bad kids on a bus. Laughed so hard I was crying. More! More! More!
This is indeed quite hilarious, and charming as well.
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