bus.

It was supposed to snow.

That’s what was supposed to happen, therefore I had to take the shuttle back to American Fork for Thanksgiving.

Snow is bad. I don’t like driving in the snow, and Robin didn’t want me to crash my car and die.

Therefore, I got to take the shuttle home.

Land.

It was this tiny, over booked, bus that smelled like eggs and men. Not the good smelling kind.

A older girl came and sat by me and gently elbowed me in the side. Her elbow stayed there for most of the trip.

The boy in front of me called his mother not twenty minutes into the journey. I can tell you pretty much everything about this boy. His roommates names, who doesn’t do dishes, when he last changed his underwear, his girlfriends name, what they did for their month anniversary, and much more.   

Someone behind me was listening to dub step really, really loudly.

Then the driver got lost.

He’d be swerving into the other lanes like a drunken sailor for the entire drive.

He had to ask us for directions.

It took six hours for me to make it back home, and not a single snowflake fell.

I could have made bank driving people back to ‘The Holy Land’.

But, I learned something.

I’m “too pretty for public transportation”.