A Bit of Fun In Spite of COVID-19

"You smell like..." he sniffed at me as he boarded. "Alcohol," he blurted out after a haughty nostril-flaring investigation.

"Of course!" I responded with enthusiasm. Like a drunkard's pride at having downed a fifth of cheap whiskey in as many minutes, I smiled as crookedly as possible. My passenger's disdain mixed with fear as he boarded my mostly-empty COVID-19 era bus.

"I should report you!" the over-dressed-for-a-pandemic exclaimed. In his expensive suit, complete with a Scottish-plaid bowtie, I was surprised by his condemnation.

"Go ahead!" I replied with a glee which equalled his disdain. "Such is the life of a transit operator serving the public during a worldwide emergency."

"What?" he asked, clearly perplexed by my refusal to cower to his threat. "I clearly smell alcohol on you! Why should I ride a bus whose driver is apparently drunk?"

I chuckled. "Why should you, indeed?" Punctuating this statement with a hearty laugh, I thoroughly enjoyed this exchange.

He was aghast, then enraged. "You should be arrested!"

"Why is zat?" I responded. "I'm shimply doing my j-job." (*burp*) Purposely slurring my words, I was amused at this fussy-britches for taking the bait. Also, I was a bit perturbed at how he so quickly questioned my professionalism.

"You're.. driving... a bus!" he said, speaking slowly so that his emphasis was amplified. "I'm going to call in a complaint to not only your employer, but to the police, if you so much dare to drive this bus an inch further!"

It had already been a horrid week, and the promise of one shot of Scotch beckoned several hours into my future. It steadies my nerves, calms and soothes me whenever a shift has challenged my inner calm. A good friend and fellow bus operator had just died that day. I felt honor-bound to play this arrogant prick to his utmost extension.

"Go ahead," I told him. He almost jumped back a step, but managed to hold his supposed-high ground. "I'm given a bottle of this distillery-grade stuff every week by my employer! In fact, they insist I use it several times each shift. Call away, dear sir!"

Mr. High Horse's mouth dropped open.

"I don't believe..." he stammered.

"Why sure they do!" I said, regaining control of the conversation. "Do you think they'd let us operate without benefit of alcoholic protection, given our current predicament?"

"You... are a... public... servant! Of... all the... nerve!" he exclaimed. In shock, his cell phone in hand, he was unable to dial 238-RIDE.

"Want me to dial the number for you?" I offered, in my most-pleasant, pseudo-drunken Customer Servicey voice. "I'd be ever... zo (hiccup) happy to oblige."

Mr. Horse was aghast, unable to speak. I had to punch his horse a bit harder for it to bite.

"In fact," I said, suppressing a grin, "my employer insists I use this bottle with regularity, as often as possible! Calms my COVID-blasted nerves, it does."

(I added a bit of Irish brogue to my voice for emphasis.)

Once again, his mouth agape, my passenger could not utter a response, except a barely-heard "Wha...ttt?!?"

I couldn't hold it in any longer. I laughed. Long and heartily. It was a great release of all the stress that two days' tensions had built up within me. COVID-19 and my own mortality threatened, coupled with the loss of a dear friend and mentor... it had all been like a steam kettle warming on a hot stove, the whistle insisting I take it off the heat and let it calm. Instead, it sat on high-heat and was ready to explode. This fellow had tested my ability to control every bit of steam my inner kettle possessed.

Sensing we were approaching that point of ultimate battle, I held up my bottle of hand sanitizer.

"April Fool's," I said with an exaggerated wink.

For a good four seconds, Mr. Horse gaped at my hand's innocent version of distiller-grade Ethanol. He snorted. Then he burst into laughter.

"You bastard!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were drunk at the wheel!"

"You know what they say about the word 'assume', eh?"

"Yes," he replied, still laughing, "but I'm afraid you marked me the 'ass' here. Good one, man."

I smiled, having earned another gotcha. My ruse had worked its magic. One ornery moment during a bus operator's roughest time of all, come wondrously together after moments of tense anticipation.

"Longer than that, mate," I replied. "You were ready to call in the cavalry!"

We both laughed, exchanging pleasantries and fun conversation until he exited 10 minutes later.

"Thanks for that bit of fun," he told me, pausing at the front door.

"No," I replied. "Thank you for being such a good sport! Want a spurt of sanitizer, or a wee dram of it at least?"

He winked and shook his head, his wide smile sparkling into a dark good night. I wished him good health and safety, and he bade me the same.

Ahh... my ornery side had once again had a positive response. Sometimes, it's worth a complaint, if only to have just a little fun.

Thanks, Mr. Pax... my horseplay gave us both a much-needed laugh!