Saturday, January 23, 2010

200 Words Earworm

“Oh no,” she thought, as the bus driver banged his hands on the steering wheel. City bus drivers have subtle and not-so-subtle ways of expressing their moods. A crabby bus driver can make a commute range from neutral to downright unpleasant in no time. The banging changed to a beat, though, a rhythm. Then she picked up the patter. Doot-doot-doot-bee-doo-wah-doot-doot doot.

“Is that scat?” she thought. She glanced up, and the rider across from her was wearing a bemused smile. La-did-diddy-wah-doot- dooty-dooty-wah. Oh, it was a melody all right. But what is that tune? Six or seven stops left. He was getting louder.

“It’s going to make me crazy if I don’t figure it out,” she thought, as the driver interrupted himself to let more riders on.

“Good morning!” he said, revealing that he was in a good mood, rather than just distracted. Doot-beedy-beedy-bee, doot-beedy-beedy-bee! Doot-doot-dooby-doo-doot-dooty-dooby-doo. He was really getting into it, and she got slightly embarrassed. It was a little beyond normal bus etiquette.

“Oh, two more stops! What is it? What is that song?” she panicked, when he solved the problem for her, and she could disembark infected by his good mood.

“Oil, that is. Black gold, Texas Tea.”

1 comment:

Chelsea said...

Nice story, and I know what you mean about bus drivers,lol!!!!