1 Bus does not = 2 Vans ... or ... intBus != intVan*2

Have I mentioned our beautiful white bus? Someone at work saw us being dropped off once and they have since only referred to it as the "RockStar Bus". And that it is...long and white with tinted windows, hundreds and hundreds of horsepower, smooth like a Cadillac (the old, big, STEEL ones...not these new little cheap sporty ones). It's like a luxury hotel suite on 8 wheels...TV, DVD, Stereo (but please keep all of those off...it's just nice to know that we have them, thank you), AC, Heating, mood lighting (OK, little lights under the seats on the isle so you can find your way out in the dark), recessed lighting (OK, reading lights like airplanes have...only BRIGHTER...and please keep these off because I can still see them through my eye lids), and the best of all...someone else to do all the work. It's like a 787 Dreamliner that you share with 10 of your closest friends. Nirvana.

Contrast that with...hey, you KNEW this was coming and you kept reading anyway...contrast that with a van. Ya...just a plain white van. Where you pack 10 people and all of their luggage into a really small area. You could seriously fit 10 of these vans inside that grand bus. There's no comparison. It's like Air Force One versus The Spirit of St. Louis. It's like a 2 pound Prime Rib versus Beef Jerky.

So we're standing in the cold waiting for the bus and I'm getting more and more awake from the chill. The time for Miss Timex to arrive has come and gone so one of two things must be happening. Either all of our watches are wrong from some recent time warp perpetrated by the Government, or there's something wrong with The Queen Mary. Our beloved Highway Liner had technical difficulties. Then there they come.

Not one, but two vans. You see, we can't all fit into one without writing letters to the powers that be at the Bus Company about the inhumane conditions inside one van. I thought I was riding in the back van, but, well, Miss Timex was driving the front van and the back van had bench seats. Go back and read that part again...BENCH SEATS. Worse than incessant cell phone chatter...worse than a broken air conditioner in the summer (ya, that's happened too)...worse than breaking all three rules (are there only three?...gotta work on that).

So I spun on my heel and headed straight for the front van. I was last from my poor initial choice, so I had to sit almost in the back. The back is a bench seat in all the vans...and I took the last non-bench seat. The poor guy who gets on at the next stop was toast...remember, no butter. But he likes to call random people on his cell phone "just to say hi", so he deserves it. Then when I'm getting prepped to get off he has the AUDACITY to make light of all my essential gear..."Boy! You sure you have enough STUFF?". Oh, you can bet he's riding in the bench seat on the way home...I guarantee it!