I'm not saying my bus driver is actually the reincarnation of Mussolini. But Driver is about 60. His english is peppered with little things that let you know he spoke another language before he spoke english. His t's and d's sneak out from between his tongue and the front teeth. And his hand gestures to car drivers is a cross between on opera director and a roman salute.
If your wake involved you hanging upside down in a gas station, would a bus driver on a crowded university run be a quick leap for your soul to take?
Our bus would not truly be considered a police state, but I dare you to ask Driver a question about change.
A young couple visiting us from Asia got on the bus this morning.
Excuse me Mr. Driver. How much for ride?
Driver points to the sticker where the transfer or money go.
-You see my sigh-een?
-Yes. I see. Excuse me Mr. Driver. How much this, please?
As the couple smile nervously Mr. Driver turns to them.
-No change! Off-a my bus.
So, while I am not actually saying Driver is a reincarnation of Mussolini, I always have my transfer ready when I step onto the bus in the morning.
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treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com
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