The Midnight Mountain Club

After John's wedding, we decided we would climb the mountain. Greg found his Midnight Mountain Club T-shirt in a box when they moved and he wore it that night. Eric had his buddy draw the design and we had about 10 of them silk screened in 1990. I think Greg's is the only one exists (and still fits.)



Greg scanned the shirt and sent it to me. I was able to clean it up in photoshop and made a shirt at Skreened.



I am so happy.

Columbus, OH - Main Street Bridge - video and fun facts



I've received a few e-mails for details on the bridge:
1.7 miles in length
3200 feet above the river
Only single arch, wire suspension bridge in the tri-county area
First "living" bridge; interior is wheat, grasses and microbes for strength
The bridge lifts 75 feet to allow the heavy boat traffic to pass
Once open, the toll will only be $1.00 heading west and $5.00 east
Bono, from U2, described the bridge as "A 22nd century accomplishment; I dig the dangle."
The bridge can hold over 18 cargo containers of mayonnaise (NOT Miracle Whip.)
The Bridge is named after Sylvia T. Main, a Columbus inventor and markswoman

Birthing Advice to Anne

My good friend Anne is about to have a baby in the next few days. Here was my advice to her:

Have a plan for the stuff you cannot plan for. My experience is that shit happens very quickly and the doctors are going to want you to do what they say. You need to know if you want the epidural and that they need to stick you not too early but not too late. You want pitocin? We didn't know we did with Anne, but they said, we are going to give you this to help with the labor and we said, "Duh, sure." If things go south, you need your husband to be able to side with you on what you'd like to do, like keep trying to push or bail and C section. We had two very good experiences, except with the epidural that freaked miss sally out worse the second time.

It will all go too quickly. Take photos. Not of the event but leading up to and at the hospital. Let both sets of parents know ahead of time if you want them around in the room or whatever. They will understand, but you should lay that crap out now just so everyone knows if they are welcome to stare at your vagina.

Just remember that people have been having babies for a very, very long time and that means absolutely nothing when it's you.

Take care and best of luck.

I think this is a HolyJuan post. Sorry. Love you.

Doug

PS If you are breast feeding, it is the single most frustrating thing in the world. Keep at it. Don't feel bad if it doesn't work out but don't give up too quickly. You should send me a photo of your boobs so that I can see if everything looks right.

Best Birthday Card Ever

Katie got me this card for my birthday. It's just.... perfect.

Ask HolyJuan: Is my Girlfriend a Lesbian?

Hi Holy Juan,

I met someone recently. We dated for about a few months. The other day I asked her if she'd like to go to a Leaf's game. She declined. As I sat at home watching the game alone, my mind got back to the bars we used to hang out at. For sports bars, there sure were a lot of women with crew cuts. Anyway, since we've met the bedroom activity has been near zero, and with the bar thing and all... oh and canceling our last date because "Erica" was coming over.... I'm dating a lesbian, I think, what do I do?

-- male, not a lesbian


BTW, if I'll be in Ohio soon, would you like to get a beer or see a hockey game or something?


Dear –male, not a lesbian,

I’m not sure where to start here. Oh, yes I do: You are a closeted gay. You show all this signs.

1. Instead of just dumping this girl, you are lamenting and probably masturbating yourself to sleep at night. Straight guys use this as an opportunity to find other chicks to bang. Gay dudes would use this opportunity to finally break free of societal norms. You, on the other hand, are looking to blame some chick for your yearnings of man meat. Get some balls, get out of the closet and, well, get some balls.

2. Any straight guy can tell a straight sports bar from a gay sports bar, usually from 8 blocks away. Straight Sports Bar is full of people that are looking to hook up, but can’t and decide to hang out with the same sex to lament. A Gay Sports Bar is full of people who are hooking up, but are taking a break to catch the game and a beer. The fact that you were checking out the girl’s hair styles should be a dead give-away.

3. You like the Leafs? You are most definitely gay.

4. Bedroom activity near zero? If there's one thing I know, straight people have sex whether they like it or not. I assume you spoon instead of having sex and by spoon I mean that when she kicks you out of bed, you wrap your crying, cold body around the corner of the futon and gnaw on an edge of the mattress.

5. Breaking up a date because Erica was coming over? Dude! That's the siren call of a threesome! And you didn't even suggest that you could come over and hold the camera? A straight man knows that a threesome is a one in a million chance. But dammit if he isn't going to ask a million times. You were handed a threesome and instead stayed at home and openly wept as you humped an oily sock.

6. You want to meet up in Columbus and see a hockey game? That’s fine. We’ll have sex and if you like it, you’ll know you are gay. If you don’t, then dammit, I’ll try harder.

Your straight friend,

HolyJuan

Corporate Dress Policy

My friend sent me this memo from their company concerning dress code:


Good afternoon everyone,

There seems to be a lack of understanding regarding the (XXX Company) dress code. This email is to reiterate the policy and remind everyone you will be asked to go home on your first offense and not be a part of the Company for the second offense. You should re-read the handbook which prescribes the following:

Appearance and Grooming

The people-oriented nature of our business lends great importance to the professional image (XXX Company) presents to customers, vendors, and other visitors. Therefore, it is important that you present a professional impression in your dress and grooming.

Staff based or working in (XXX Company) office:

(XXX Company) expects you to maintain a clean and polished yet professionally casual appearance. Generally speaking, (XXX Company) has adopted a relaxed dress code as follows:

For men:

Shirts: Dress or sport, knit or woven, must have a collar. Tee shirts, v-necks, henleys or other collarless shirts are not acceptable.
Pants: Dress slacks, chinos, or dockers
Suits: Suits, sports jackets, and/or ties are optional.
Sweaters: Crewnecks, v-necks, cardigans or turtlenecks are acceptable.

For women:

Slacks or skirts; jeans are permitted on Fridays and on days when employees are scheduled to embark on midday travel. Torn jeans are not allowed at any time for any reason.
Business suits
Dresses
Leggings, skimpy tank tops and shorts, and midriff blouses are considered inappropriate at any time. Shoulders and backs must be covered.

You are expected to use good judgment.
________________________________________________________

NOTE THE FOLLOWING BEING ADDED REGARDING FOOTWEAR:
No flip flops or flimsy sandals (i.e., ones more appropriate for the beach or BBQ than the office)
No sneakers (even if they are "hip")

We are lucky to have a relaxed dress code and need everyone to adhere so as not to risk losing it for all of us.

If you have any questions, or are unsure what's appropriate, contact either XXXXXXXXX or me.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Homestar and a Haircut



In 2004, Greg was a one years old boy and Homestarrunner.com only sold shirts for little boys and not for babies. But I bought Greg a shirt anyways, knowing that someday he would grow into it.

And he did.

Empire Strikes Back Movie Night

Empire-Strike-Back-Movie-ni

A Drink with Allen

There is nothing more fun than a drink with Allen
Except two drinks with Allen
Of course three drinks is marvelous
And the fourth is only the prequel to the next drink
The fifth drink is the next drink and then there's the sequel
The sequel is the seventh drink and that's because there was a surprise ending where the sixth drink was kidnapped by my liver!
And then it's one in the morning and time to say goodbye
So then there's the last drink
And the last last drink
And the just kidding this is the last drink

And then I wake up and it's 11:45am and I have to be in Mansfield in 15 minutes.

Good god there is nothing more fun than a drink with Allen.

Funny Translator

I got an e-mail from Andrew S. with a link to a concept I had played with a while ago, but forgot about. Fun stuff:

HolyJuan,

Just wanted to pass along http://www.funnytranslator.com

It uses Google to translate any phrase from English to 56 other languages and back again, with often funny, usually bizarre, sometimes even insightful/ironic results. My favorite example so far is actually someone complaining about the site: "Ok, I'm sorry to be the curmudgeon but I get the translator part, I'm just not seeing the funny part."

...56 translations later we get:

"Oh, Sorry, I know, I think it sounds great."

Andrew


I tried this one:

"My voice is my passport. Verify Me. "

...56 translations later we get:

"Yu. It. Passport / Embarrassing for them to show."

The Best Man Speech

About two weeks before John's wedding, I called his best man and brother, Chris, to ask him if he needed any help with his Best Man speech. Chris said he hadn't started working on the speech, but that if he needed me to look at something, he'd let me know.

The Wednesday before the wedding, I left Chris a message, asking him how things were going with the speech. I didn't hear back so I assumed things were going OK.

The night before the rehearsal dinner I got a call from Chris. He had a bit of writer's block and was well on his way to losing his mind. We talked for a little bit about what he was thinking and he had some good ideas. I gave him some gag ideas but I could tell that wasn't what he was looking for.

But at about 2:30am, he had a break through.

The speech was very well received at the reception and I got his permission to share this with you.

Chris' Best Man Speech

Hi everyone, I'm Chris, John's brother. I want to thank all of you for coming. I also would like to assure you that I am indeed the best man, and not the ring bearer.

Some of you know that John and I are very close as brothers--our parents passed away when we were very young and we pretty much raised ourselves. Now it's true that we had a lot of help from our friends, who also essentially moved in with us. You can imagine then that two teenage boys being "raised" by other teenage boys -- things are going to fall through the cracks. Our neighbors likened this whole situation to living next door to a den of wolves--that is a gross and malign misrepresentation -- we regard you more like a pack of dingoes, and you were delightful company.

Since John and Bekah have met, this has all played out like a Disney fairy tale...no, no, not the one with the dwarves...ok yes that one, but...the one where the beautiful, cultured princess falls in love with the scruffy, uncouth man-boy living in a cabin somewhere and on the way to falling madly in love, sees fit to re-introduce him to those quotidian preambles of adult normality like eating off plates that aren't made of paper, silverware that’s actually metal, or -- what is...an oven. (I share some of the blame here too...Doug reminded me the other day that the oven at our house in Lancaster had not functioned properly for 10 years...we were informed of this by the NEW owners. Brett, again we are terribly sorry and we had no idea that family of raccoons was living in there)

Bekah, you've found a wonderful husband to grow old with--John, you've found a great girl you can grow UP with. I'm sure the two of you will create all new deeply embarrassing, traumatizing adventures to add to the catalog of our family lore --none of which you can ever ever publicly talk about.

Oh, speaking of that John, there's a nice lady from Wal-mart's toddler's department who's waiting to speak with you after the reception.

So I'm proud to welcome you Bekah into the family as a younger sister/den mother (not that there's anything weird about that). And thank you both, and Bekah's parents, for making this a wonderful celebration.

Air Hockey Table

My parents did something amazing once. Normally the stuff they did was one step down from amazing. It wasn’t their fault. We were not rich and they always bought what they could and not what we wanted. They bought the Sears Atari knock off when they could have bought the original. They bought the TI-99/4A computer when we could have had an IBM. They bought an Apple //c when we could have had an PC. You get my drift.

One year they bought something awesome. They bought an air hockey table. It might have been used (some dents and some larger dents filled with bondo,) but it worked great. We would play for hours. I think I was born with six fingers, but luckily I lost one of them on the air hockey table, so now I look normal.

One weekend, my buddy Russ got to spend the night. Russ and I did a lot of spending the night at each other’s house. It was great when I got to go to his house because I got to watch Monty Python and Benny Hill. At my house, we got to play air hockey.

During one morning at my house, we decided to play a game of air hockey. I’m not sure if it was the corn flakes for breakfast or the pizza we had the night before, but something crept through my bowels and waited to pounce.

During a very hard fought game, I let loose a very quiet, but very deadly fart. It left my butt, snuck through my dirty underwear and pajamas. Right before escaping unto the world it was pulled back under the table and into the fan that sucked air up and through the hundreds of holes in the air hockey table surface. As it was a hard fought game, Russ was bent over the field, intent on winning. The fart was pulled up and pushed right into Russ’ face.

Here is where I mention that Russ had a weak stomach.

Russ puked. First on the table and then on to the floor. The air didn’t mind having puke on the table so it just kept on bubbling through. Yeah. Gross.

I ran downstairs and got mom. We unplugged the table and cleaned it up. Unto this day, Russ will swear that the Devil himself crawled up his nose and pulled forth the vomit from his gut the stench was so bad.

The table withstood the vomit and only lost its value with its legs buckled under the constant leaning and smashing it had to endure. We tried propping it up under some chairs, but they were never even and someone always got the uphill bonus.

My son, Greg, and I play air hockey when ever we get the opportunity. Sometimes, Russ is there with his kid and we watch them play. I know what we both are thinking.

Andyman Fund

It wasn't until after I gave $5 to the Andyman fund that it all became very real. I didn't know the guy at all, but it seems that many did or felt a strong connection to the man.

So if you get a chance... drop his family a buck or two. Go to http://www.cd101.com/andyman/ and click on the PayPal link under his photo.

I think some DJs of CD101 said it best... pretend like you are buying him a drink. The same drink he would have bought you, not expecting one back.

My Only Andyman Story

It seems like everyone has two or three stories about Andyman from CD101. He was everywhere Columbus and people gravitated towards his exuberantly friendly personality.

I only have one Andyman story.

A few months ago, my buddy Russ and I ended up at the My Morning Jacket concert. Towards the end of the show, I walked off to use the bathroom. The line was only a few dudes out the door and I saddled up. I could sense people lining up behind me and that became obvious when the guy behind me starts talking to the guy behind him. When I turned to look, I could tell it was Andyman. I had not seen any photos of him recently and I missed the part where he dropped 200 lbs. I said, "Hey, it's Andyman!" Without missing a beat, he proceeded to tell me a story as we all shuffled forward into the bathroom. He said that years and years ago, he was standing in line for a bathroom with one of his crazy buddies at a concert. His buddy couldn't wait any longer so he just started pissing in the bathroom all over the concrete floors and on dudes' shoes. All the time he was telling this story, he was laughing and his laughing caught me doing the same. The best part of this was that we were using urinals that were separated by three or four guys and he just yelled over the top of them to finish the story.

I assume that every hour of his life was like that. No, not the pissing on shoes part. The openness. The stories. The contagious laughter.

Here's a tribute video from one of his co-workers at CD101.

Andyman has Died



News spread quickly this eventing in Columbus that Andyman had passed away. Here is the news from the CD101 website:

"It is with much sadness that CD101 announces the passing of John Andrew “Andyman” Davis – programming director and beloved dee jay at CD101. Andy was vacationing with his family in Michigan and tragically drown on Saturday evening. Andy is survived by his wife, Molly, and their three sons Johnny, Oliver, and Sammy.

Andyman Davis started at CD101 in June of 1991 as on on-air personality and became CD101’s Programming Director in 1998. Andyman was the voice of CD101’s afternoon drive program and was voted Columbus’ favorite DJ on numerous occasions.

No further details regarding Andyman’s memorial services are available at this time but information will be announced as it is made available."


On Friday afternoon's, Andyman would do a bit called, "Taking Calls" where he would answer the phones and let people say whatever they wanted for a few seconds. At the end of the bit, he would play the Beer Song by Asylum Street Spankers. My kids sing the "beer, beer, beer, beer, we love beer" part.

You will be missed, Andyman, and never replaced.



John is a Good Friend

My friend John is getting married this weekend. I can only hope that at sometime in your life you get to have a friend as fiercely loyal and genuine as John. John is my friend for several reasons. I will only include the ones that will ensure that his wedding actually happens and that my divorce proceedings won’t:

John wasn’t too upset when I literally stole a girl out of his lap at a party in his house
John has driven when I could not
John has paid when I didn’t have the cash
John held my clothes when I went streaking
John stood by sober when I was a drunk idiot at Outland on SEVERAL occasions
John drove to visit me in Boston and slept in trash on my floor
John has never said no
John has never brought up the fact that I never gave him $200 for the Amiga 2000 computer I “bought” from him.
John lights up a room
John never complains
John will lend you his last dollar and take out a loan if you need another
John loves my kids
John doesn’t mind (too much) when you fall through his roof
John always has a place for you to sleep if you need to crash
John will pick you up at 4:00am from anywhere
John will not hold a grudge
John spent 12 days in Paris with me and we are both still alive
John agreed to pick me up at the Columbus airport and then drove over to Dayton to get me when I fucked my flights up
John bought me doughnuts and it saved me from a bad case of the herpes
John remembers my stories when I do not
John laughs at my jokes
John wants the best for everyone
John is there when you need him and he knows when it’s time to leave
John is a good friend

Good luck buddy and congratulations!




Equipped with full breathing apparatus

With budget cuts, "full breathing apparatus" means "holding your breath."

breathing-apparatus

Read the fat removal story HERE.

Jamole from Uganda

The Baskin Robbins in Lancaster, OH was located at the corner of Memorial and 6th in what I think was an old gas station. That store had huge windows on two sides and from either roadway you could look in and see the employees screwing around. The guy that owned the competing ice cream store down the road once said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if I drove by and saw those kids fucking on the back counter.”

We were always doing something stupid, whether it was making outrageous concoctions of coke syrup mixed with coffee and dry ice or messing with the customers. The ice cream cases had vertical glass fronts that women would unknowingly (?) mash their breasts into. Because we wore hats, I could keep my brim down as I pretended to look at the tubs of ice cream.

We usually kept our shenanigans to closing time on non-busy nights. People walking in the doors at 10:59pm on a Wednesday would be greeted with us wearing our aprons on our heads as we chased on another with whipped cream containers. If we got busted, there was a back room for us to go streaking into to collect ourselves. I had fun one evening when Katrina and I taped 5 gallon buckets to our feet and served customers. No one said a thing as we klonked around the store.

One of the more complicated stunts we pulled off was Jamole from Uganda (pronounced Yahm-OLE.) We got out a TRAINEE badge and used the name tag maker to make Jamole’s name tag. I wore my hat all the way down, buttoned my shirt all the way up and wore my apron as high as it would go. I used an accent that was mostly Indian and what I thought was African. When customers would come in, my co-worker Dave would loudly pressure me to work. Guests would rattle off their order and I would say, “Speak slow. I am Jamole from Uganda.” Dave would yell, “He’s not from around here!” I would make correct change, but count it back in a fake foreign language. I would purposely pick out the wrong cone or ice cream and Dave would come over, slap it out of my hand and loudly correct me. “No Jamole! Sugar cone!” Once customers were served and sitting down, Dave would give me lessons about the United States and make me sweep the floor.

I was in the middle of being Jamole with some customers when my buddy Don’s parents walked in. I was in the school play with Don and we played football together so I knew his parents very well. They saddled right up next to the couple I had been working over with my “make change in gibberish” routine and said, “Hi Doug! How are you?”

I said, “Good,” in Jamolese.

“Are you excited for the play?”

“Yes.”

The man in the other couple turned to Don’s folks and said, “He doesn’t speak English very well.”

Luckily Dave walked up to serve Don’s parents and I ran in the back room.

I came back out once Don’s parents left. When I saw Don next, he mentioned that his parents saw me at Baskin Robbins the other night. He said they were positive that I did not recognize them.

Dinner Table Questions

As a youth, I was a curious lad and asked many questions. Usually they were asked as the family gathered around the dinner table so that everyone could hear. For years we had an expanding table in our kitchen that was extended during the holidays. After a time, that table got beat down by four kids and needed replaced. Dad, attempting to get his WoodCraft badge, built a table out of two by fours, butcher block style. I distinctly remember the unevenness of the top and how hard it was to clean off with all the crumbs falling in the cracks. I assume mom hated that table.

As the kids got older and moved away, the two by four table ended up in the garage and a smaller table took up residency. My younger sister and I were the last two left and we would spend our evenings, after work or practice, at the table eating reheated leftovers. In mid-meal, one of us would inevitably begin to eat with our hands and the Barbarian Food Eating Contest would begin to see who could eat the messiest and loudest. We were 19 and 16 at the time.

Getting back on track...

Back when I was seven, while at the table with the family around Christmas time, I asked what was behind the door in the basement. I knew what was behind the door in the basement because my brother and I had been down there that morning looking at the hidden Christmas presents. The door did not have a lock, so dad put a nail in the top of the door frame and bent it down as a make shift security device. Steve stood on a paint can and turned the nail. We looked through the bags of stuff and put them back exactly as we found them, thinking mom and dad actually remembered how precisely the packages were stacked. As we left, Steve said, "Don't say anything to anyone about this." After I told everyone about this, we were told NOT to go in the room and that those presents could be returned. The next day when I went down the nail was not in the lock position and the room was empty. For the next week I feared the gifts had been returned. Christmas morning we learned that they had actually been re-hidden.

Years later I heard our teen babysitter Darla tell my brother a joke about 100 nuns and gasping and tittering. I didn't get the joke. One of the words didn't make sense in the context it was being used. I knew what the word was, but it didn't seem to fit. When I asked them, they said I wouldn't get it. At the full dinner table I got to ask, "What's a rubber?" I then got to tell them where I heard the word and Darla got to hear my mom and dad express their disappointment. Steve explained to me how to keep my mouth shut with a series of punches to the arm.

At our dinner table at home, I wait patiently for those questions to emerge. So far, Greg has only dared to talk about bodily functions and body parts, but I assume that one evening he will blow us away with a ringer.

The joke? It's still a good one:

Head Sister Maria called all 100 nuns in the convent together for a meeting.
"We have learned that a MAN broke into the convent last night."
99 nuns gasped and 1 nun tittered.
"And he left behind a rubber."
99 nuns gasped and 1 nun tittered.
"And the rubber was USED!"
99 nuns gasped and 1 nun tittered.
"And the rubber had a hole in it."
1 nun gasped and 99 nuns tittered.

Dirty Little Boy

My family tries to get together every 4th of July. I love seeing my kids interact with all their cousins and transmit all the Ohio germs to Missouri and North Carolina.

While the adults sit around at night, tales of our youth always seem to pop up. This year was no different. We talked about the bus this year.

As kids, we rode the bus to school. We were the first stop of the day on a ride that took an hour. My teachers thought I had horrible hand writing, but actually I was just doing my homework on the bus. The back roads we took were very bumpy and we would sit in the back and time the bumps so that we could get maximum height on the bounces. I remember seeing one kid bounce over the top of the seat and land head-first on the seat in front of him. To make things worse, on the ride home we were not the first ones dropped off as the bus re-traced its route backwards. We were dropped off at the halfway point of the route so I spent about 90 minutes a day on the bus.

The bus stop was about 100 yards from our house off a major highway. On the mornings when we got there early, we'd stand about 10 feet away from traffic traveling 60mph. When trucks would pass we would dare to stand as close as possible to the road to get pushed around by the wash of air. But most days we were late. I'd be putting on my first sock when you would hear someone yell, "BUS!" In a flurry, we all grab 75% of the stuff we were supposed to take to school and head out the door. As I exited the house, I could see the person who yelled now getting on the bus with someone sprinting half way down the road and me trailing behind thinking about how I was going to eat with my lunch money sitting on the counter. With the bus stopped, traffic would begin in build on either side of the road, held back by the bus' red flashing lights. Sometimes it would take all of us three minutes to run to the stop. I assume people changed their drive schedules to avoid our stop.

At the bus stop there was plenty to do. There was always trash that people had thrown out of their cars. Sometimes there would be fast food bags half filled with food and half filled with ants. There was always a dead animal and then usually the things that eat dead animals. When the trash on our side of the road was thin, sometimes one of the daring youth would sprint across the road and see what was in the ditch on the other side. Once we found a gumball machine with the money gone and the gumballs wet and ruined on the inside of the broken glass top. Sometimes there was a Playboy or Hustler in a state of sogginess, hopefully from the rain. The pages would be all stuck together, but careful peeling would reveal bits of pink.

The last option for entertainment was the stop sign. We would climb it and swing from the pole. If I ran around it fast enough with one hand holding on, I could actually make a complete flying circle with my feet not touching the ground.

Then one day my parents got a letter from school. It said that then needed to ensure that I was properly cleaned up when I left the house to be prepared for school. They were mortified and ensured that I was presentable upon leaving the house to catch the bus. Cleanliness was ensured, but they got a phone call a few days later. While what was actually said is up to debate between my parents, the phrase that everyone agrees on was that I was a "dirty little boy." My parents were baffled. They were sending me out the door clean, so I must be getting dirty on the way to school. Some brief interviews with my brother and sister and well as a trip to the bus stop showed the culprit. The stop sign pole was covered in black grease. I'd be sent out the door clean, make a few laps on the pole and my hands and face would be nicely covered. So my parents banned me from the pole.

I rode the bus through the first half of my senior year until Russ got a car and drove me to school. Before Russ had a car, I would sneak in though the high school kitchen so that the my classmates would not see my bus riding shame. By that time, the city school busing department got smart and the bus would actually turn down my road and pick us up in front of our house. This way the bus would give us a five minute warning as it roared past our house and then turned around to pick us up. Even with that five minutes we were still usually running our the door with the driver leaning on the horn.

Here is my tribute to all my bus drivers: Thank you for not beating us when were were late or loud or obnoxious. Thanks for finding the stuff we left behind and knowing exactly what child the crap belonged to. Thanks for not telling our parents and thanks for not making assigned seats. And thanks for giving us a warning look first in that big overhead mirror.

Thanks to:
Mrs. Bibby (Retired after 30 years service. Her last two were with me.)
Mr. Sigler (Paralyzed in a car accident.)
Miss. Budd (She had beehive hair. The bus smelled like cigarettes with her.)
Mrs. Norris (Who was actually just Miss Budd, but married.)