Too Much Cold!

Joe and I waddled off the bus in Breezewood, Pennsylvania.  This was about the halfway point on the Baltimore-Pittsburgh leg of our voyage west.  The bus emptied out and 40 or so weary passengers headed through the puddly parking lot of the truck stop on our way to the bathroom and to buy some food.
Shedrick, our burly bus driver was in a bad mood.  He had picked up our bus in Baltimore and got the Pittsburgh run even though it's out of his district. 

Joe explained it to me this way: "when the bus is full or if they need to get moving instead of waiting for a bus that's trying to get a connection, they'll just set up another bus with another driver to make the same run.  We lucked out with Shedrick.  We got the express route.  We don't have to stop in Frederick or Hagerstown.  That will save us over a half hour.  That's just more time for us to eat and smoke in Breezewood."

At the beginning of the ride, Shedrick, upon realizing that the PA was broken (not the first bus that's had that problem), walked toward the middle of the bus for his "no smoking, do drinking, no profanity speech.  "For the next few hours, why don't you make some new friends?", he encouraged us.  "I'M MIKE", I blurted out at the top of my lungs.  "Mike, we're not in an A.A. meeting", he said, shaking his head as he went back up to fire up the bus.

Shedrick stood guard at the foot of the stairs leading off the bus, counting heads as we stopped in Breezewood.  An Asian woman, in broken English, asked Shedrick: "Is there a bathroom here?".  Shedrick took a step back, shook his head in a cartoonish way and said, "Is there a bathroom here?  Lady, this is a f-ing truck stop.  What do you mean is there a bathroom here?"  She didn't understand him, and just kept walking toward the truck stop, falling into place in the procession.

I made a big mistake.  This particular truck plaza/gift shop/diner/night school had several food options.  We didn't have time to sit down and order off a menu, waiting for our waitress to bring us some pie.  Instead, we had to file into line at the counter which featured "Blimpie, Tex-Mex, and New York Style Pizza".  I ordered the grande burrito combo meal.  For reasons I don't fully understand, the burrito was served with a wax sleeve full of hash browns.  The grande burrito had mushy meat, cold refried beans, sour cream and a bunch of olives.  But I was starving and the picture of combo meal #8 looked really appetizing.  Wrong move.

I went up to Shedrick, who was standing by a rack of grey sweatshirts that read: "Pennsylvania: the Keystone State".  I told him what I was doing, riding around the country and writing a book about the people I meet.  "You're out of your damn  mind", he told me.

I followed him out to the parking lot.  He pulled a Newport from his pack, lit it and took a long, slow drag, exhaling through his nose.  "Man, I've seen it all.  I've kicked people off the bus for drinking, smoking in the bathroom.  You got fights.  Boyfriend/girlfriend fights, girl on girl fights.  But, it's a pain in the ass to call the cops.  You gotta stop and wait for 'em to come.  It slows up my whole ride.  I like to get there.  I like my hotel time."

About this time, the two Indian passengers slowly approached.  These men were on their way back to Chicago after a few days of gambling in Atlantic City.  One of the men got really close to Shedrick and said, "the bus too much cold".  Shedrick, imitating his accent, said, "what do you mean too much cold?  It's fine".  As the Indian  men walked away, shaking their heads, Shedrick said to me, "This is what drives me nuts.  These (expletive) guys are from Pakistan or some (expletive) where it's a hundred and (expletive) ten degrees.  I'm a black guy from Philadelphia.  I like it cold."

The Indian guys bundled up on the bus, ate their candy and made the best of it...

From left to right: Mr. Too Much Cold, Joe, Shedrick