Fire Truck
Monday, August 11th, 2008I’m sitting on the bus when a gang of toddlers get on. There are about 30 pint sized passengers with 7 adults. They invade the bus, sitting 2 to 1 seat.
2 sit in the seat next to me. A girl and a boy, looking similar enough to be siblings. Their adult has her hands full with the others. I give her an “I got this” look and she mouths a thank you.
The boy jostles the girl. “Stop it. He’s touching me,” the little girl complains loudly.
“Am not,” the boy argues back.
A blatant lie. Of course, he’s touching her. They’re sharing a seat. They’re almost sitting on each other.
They squabble. I glance out of the window for inspiration. “Look at that.” I point to a fire truck waiting to pull out of a side street.
“Fire truck!” The boy shrieks joyfully at the top of his lungs.
‘Fire truck,’ I hear repeated throughout the bus. Suddenly a wave of tiny bodies swarm my side of the bus. I have 2 little bodies bouncing on my lap, kneeing into my groin quite painfully. 3 other kids are now crowding into us, hanging off of my shoulders, sticky hands in my hair.
I look ahead and all the passengers on my side of the bus are having the same issues, looking non-too-pleased.
I shrink down in my chair.