Hello, my name is Art. I’ll be your axe murderer today.Posted: July 9, 2010
About two years ago, I went up to Virginia to attend an annual weekend party with friends. The first few times I went to this event I drove up, but I soon realized that an easy 6 hour drive up was a lousy 9 hour drive back when I factored in a weekend of fun and the need for more rest stop naps.
Now I’ve got my routine down. Fly in. Rent the car. Check in. Buy things I need for the party. Wait for my partners in crime. Begin.
A new wrinkle
This year, I added the step of talking to an axe murderer. Why not? I had the time.
[picapp align=”left” wrap=”true” link=”term=bus&iid=9172063″ src=”http://view4.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/9172063/mex-africa-mexico/mex-africa-mexico.jpg?size=500&imageId=9172063″ width=”234″ height=”156″ /]The plane lands, I charge out to the rental car bus area. My bus arrives as if on cue. I jump right on and throw my bag on the rack. The bus driver stands next to his seat, staring at me. I smile and nod.
He’s still staring at me; completely motionless and staring. Knit cap rolled up on his head.
I do my mental check list –
- Did you say something sarcastic? No.
- Did you break something? No.
He’s still staring at me; black jacket and jeans. White tennis shoes, big plastic frame glasses. Maybe he wants something? Am I supposed to do something? I am holding my reservation print out, I offer it.
“Give it to the agent at the desk.”
He’s still staring at me; middle-aged, gray short hair. I decide he lives alone or possibly with his mother. We stand face to face following my offer of the reservation. My mom( who I don’t live with) taught me not to talk to strangers. Not many people are stranger than this guy.
We’re alone on the bus. So I talk to him. “I’m going to sit over there, how about you?” He nods and points at a seat at the front of the bus. I notice it isn’t the one with the steering wheel. He sits.
Area Man Dies on Airport Shuttle Bus, Film At 11
He’s not staring at me for the moment. I think one day there will be a news story about him…
“The neighbors say he is a quiet man, he keeps to himself. They had no idea of the horrors that went on at the end of his long dirt driveway.” The camera will pan the exterior of his cabin, my friends will recognize my favorite ball cap lying on the pile of wood next to the front door.
We’re both sitting now. He reads the paper for a minute. Gets up, drives up 8 feet when the bus in front of us moves. Gets up, sits back in the passenger seat, reads the paper. Gets up, drives 100 yards to the next stop. Gets up, sits back in the passenger seat, reads the paper.
No one else gets on, despite my silent pleas.
We’re off. I hope we’re headed for the rental lot. I’m formulating my escape plan and scanning the bus for a carelessly placed axe that would confirm my fears.
He speaks, monotone into the PA: “my name is Art, I want to welcome you to blah blah rentals.” Then he starts the recording that tells me all about my upcoming rental experience. I guess he couldn’t find a recording that said “I like liver and onions. I brought the onions, thanks for bringing your liver.” Maybe he could have found a recording that said that, but not as well produced and professionally voiced as the one about my rental experience…if I’m really going to have a rental experience.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the car rental place, not at an isolated trailer in the mountains. I leap to my feet and grab my bag. I say, “Thanks Art” as I run down the steps and off the bus.
In my mind, I add “for not hacking at me with sharp stuff”.
Bye! See you next ti…oh, crap!
Sunday comes, my weekend with friends is over. I’m tired. I’m happy. I had so much fun that I don’t really care that I think I’m getting sick. It is always good to go have fun with my dear friends now and again. I am very fortunate that they found me.
I check in the rental car and head for the bus. Of all the buses in this company’s fleet, which bus?
Knit cap, rolled up on his head.