I only speak the Truth

Except that everything I tell you is a lie. Come learn why I am the way I am, and how that state of am-ness contributes to my daily life.

I only speak the Truth
and everything i tell you is a lie.

Welcome to my memoirical, autobiographic piece of something-or-other. Please note the title and subtitle. I very much wanted the subtitle to be "Tum nah tum nah, hey tum nah tum nah," but I didn't know how well versed in popular musical parodies of the French persuasion everyone is. That, and I feared that the copywrite police would come looking for me for using a lyric from a song with rights reserved. Whatever.

Anyways, this space shall become a story of my life and me living my life, if that makes any sense. If it does, good. If it doesn't, better. That just means you have a head start on everyone else. So, without further ado, the first story!

Public Shame
or, how to escape a moving bus.

Sunday, sometime in the late morning, AM (but that goes without saying, right?). I have just disembarked in Tsawwassen (sa-WAH-sen) and am ready to take my first bus of the day. Thankfully, this bus will only be a scant half hour long, opposed to the six-and-a-half hour ride that will come later. But that's another story.

To board this bus I must stand in a line, and a long line it was. Thankfully, this was no ordinary bus, but a bendy-bus! And just what is a bendy-bus you ask? Well, think of it this way: take two buses, and chop the front bit of the second one and the back bit off the first one. Now, line them up so that the dismembered bits are facing each other. Next, attach the formerly whole buses using a giant accordion, inside which there is a rotating disc with precisely six seats. You now have a bendy-bus, which, as the name suggests, bends. Ta-dah!

Just as I am about to board the bendy-bus, the bendy-bus driver points and me and says, "This is the last one! There will be another bus for the rest of you." Look at that first sentence again. He identified me using gender-neutral terms. I was very confused. Very confused. Which I probably shouldn't have been, since he was being so inclusive to all possible sex/gender combinations.

Well, I get on the bendy-bus and the doors close behind me. We are on our way to Richmond! But something falls. The bendy-bus driver exclaims, "What fell!" and looks about the front of the bendy-bus frantically. Luckily it was only a bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce. Why he has a bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce with him on the bendy-bus, I'm not sure. This hot sauce must have made him, well, hot, for he speaks to me again:

"Can you pop that window on the top?"

For those of you unfamiliar with British Columbian (not to be confused with British-Columbian) buses, in two or three places on the roof there is an emergency exit, in case the bus does some sort of mad flip and we have to clamber out the roof. Well, this exit can also be popped out to allow air flow into the bus, but prevent people from escaping. This is useful when you're playing the sardine game on a sunny day and drinking Louisiana Hot Sauce.

It isn't easy to pop out, though.

Now, I'm tall. Six foot two. Or three. Depends who I'm standing beside, really. After attempting to jump up and down to hit the thing open, the bendy-bus driver instructed me to stand on the edge of his seat while going down the highway and open it. Right. I climbed, tried, and failed to open the emergency hatch. Note to self: if I am ever on a bus that is doing mad flips, don't volunteer to open the emergency exit.

Seeing my blatant failure (remember, I'm standing on a chair at the front of a bus), a lady comes to my aid. She commandeers the chair and pretty much Falcon Punches the hatch open. The bendy-bus driver then remarks something along the lines of, "Too much fast food, eh?"

That better not've been directed at me.

And so for the rest of the bus ride I attempted to look small, 'cause I was the guy who couldn't get the emergency hatch open while standing on a chair.

End.

The End

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