laying pipe, 6-packs, and field trips

"One man's remorse is another man's reminiscence." ~Ogden Nash

The roar of the bus engine could be heard throbbing dull and purring easy under my feet. The vibrations were soothing but the gentle rocking was distracting because I was baked out of my mind.

8 in the morning. Most people in the world are probably awake by 8 in the morning, but I wasn't used to it. There have been only a handful of times that I was conscious at 8 in the morning at school. I paid special attention to barely schedule any classes before noon, ever. So this 8 in the morning shit wasn't up my alley. It wasn't even on the same street.

I knew there would be trouble that day so the night before I took special care to roll an extra fat jazz cigarette to coax me out of bed. Groggy and uncertain, I stumbled to the shower. The water did nothing to perk me up but I'll be damned if those green grass vapors didn't bring me around on the walk across the street to the campus center for a cup of coffee. Some guy was standing around in front of the english department and he watched me light up and smoke, but what could he say? It was before 9 in the morning, I couldn't possibly have been getting stoned.

I got my coffee, some unknown flavor that only served to remind me of how weak it was. I walked outside and lit a cigarette. This was the perfect picture of heaven: smoke some green, relax sipping a cup of coffee, and gently puffing on a cigarette. It was so nice I had another one and while lighting it managed to spill coffee on my jacket not once, but three times.

I grew tired of sloppily spilling on myself and finally hopped on the waiting bus. I tossed the cup in the little garbage can next to the driver. "Good morning bus driver" I said, I wanted him to know I was alert and ready for the day, trying to play grown up for a while. Of course the irony did set in that I was trying to play grown up while going on a field trip. It was me, two teachers and some dude on the bus when the driver started bitching about "What kind of asshole throws a cup away with coffee still in it?" I didn't say a word, but the bus driver was now my enemy.

The other students filed in slowly only one or two at a time until the bus was about a third filled, I figured most of my compatriots would be having those same difficulties that I had earlier. Too bad for them that they didn't have their wake-up routines down as well as I did. Yeah, I thought, too bad they didn't get stoned and spill coffee all over themselves and piss off the bus driver. 

We headed up the interstate as our 3 hour voyage commenced and it was just like any other bus trip, basically miserable. Passing the county line, I knew we were making good time though. The bus was colder than a miner's asshole and it was only a hair warmer inside the bus than it was outside. I remember seeing some guy fishing in a creek along the highway. I wondered what kind of person would decide to go fishing at 9 in the morning, on a week day, in the freezing rain and sleet. When those vacation days come, I guess you gotta take them.

We passed a tractor trailer, it was rocking back and forth like a drunk high schooler trying to tell his teacher he hadn't been drinking. The trailer was carrying a thousand PVC pipes of different sizes. A brief image of those pipes all coming loose and hurtling down the highway causing massive havoc and destruction flashed through my mind at first but then I actually started to hope they would make it to their destination and all be used in the same place. Some construction worker would get those pipes and at the end of the day, he would crack jokes about "laying some serious pipe." Then he'd make an exaggerated wink at whoever was listening to make sure they got the sexual reference.

I grew bored and started staring down at the floor. The pathway running back the length of the bus between the two aisles was lit up with the same kind of lights they use to light up pools and people's patios. Christmas lights in a rubber tube running down the pathway to a door, behind which was a tiny room full of despair. I wouldn't use those facilities, but I'd used similar and I've never liked the idea of a moving toilet. A moving toilet is always a terrible idea.

The window at my seat was too thin to keep the cold out, leaning my temple to it, I watched the streaks of yellow and grey racing past on the asphalt. The bumpy interstate didn't let me stay in that position for long as my head started to ache from the soft but constant thumping against the glass. With a quick jerk of my head upward, I surveyed the scene as we pulled off of the highway and into beautiful Buffalo, New York.

We passed a couple billboards advertising different casinos and law firms that promised to charge only if they got money for you. I smiled and made a half hearted joke about ditching the museum and going to play some slots. I had yet to find my love for roulette at this point. I said it to no one in particular and no one in particular responded. I was serious, though.

I stepped off the bus and directly into proof positive for the hoax that is global warming. I zipped my jacket up to my chin and jogged to shelter in a corner of the nearest building that wasn't getting much wind. I lit my cigarette and watched as the rest of the students marched right on past me to get inside. I cursed the world for shunning smokers like me from the insides of their buildings. I often think of burning them down, rapscallions. Remarking to myself about the smoking laws being the worst form of bigotry, I went inside to hear the tail end of the field trip team meeting where they discussed Indian food and the art nouveau wall sized screensavers. From what I gathered, lunch was to be held down the street at an Indian restaurant and very soon, two hours earlier than I was accustomed to eating. Normal people don't eat lunch at 11AM, senior citizens do. That afternoon I was expecting a stop at the cracker barrel for the 4PM senior blue plate special. In addition to that, the artist that the class was making the trip to see had succeeded in turning an entire wing of this museum into a series of rooms with wall sized psychedelic screensavers projected onto them. It was strange, but my high was wearing off so the effect wasn't as great.

On the walk to our early lunch I started to chat with some of my fellow students. They were just some idle pleasantries that should have probably been exchanged 2 months earlier, at the beginning of the semester, but I didn't mind. There's something about a shared adventure that leads souls to find common ground. Lunch  itself very uneventful save for how terrible it all tasted. Normally I am a fan of the great subcontinent's cuisine, but this was too early and the Indian food being served tasted as if it were left out and just reheated from last night's dinner or even from the dinner the night before.

The table conversation slowly turned and I noticed a kindred soul seated across from me. As we were walking up to pay I said: "John, how about you and I get a couple beers and smoke up?" and he excitedly agreed by saying "Yeah, fuck those windows slide show art projects, let's get fucked up for the ride home."

A couple doors down from this restaurant, and after a long and meandering smoke break, we found ourselves seated safely in a bar stool, John and I regaled each other of the faults and foibles of our classmates. It's funny how two people can get together and each have years and years of their own experiences to share and the only things they say are derogatory comments about their most present company. It was almost like we were bursting at the seams, waiting impatiently to gripe about something we'd both just seen.

Talk turned to school and the future and the usual nonsense bullshit two college seniors discuss: sex, drugs, and rock and roll. This bar was a unique kind of place, there were some stuffed and mounted game animals hanging on the walls beside neon beer signs and pictures of local celebrities. I didn't recognize a single person   but that didn't surprise me because Buffalo, NY local celebrities aren't real celebrities. Local celebrities are always just some assholes they put on the local news or self-righteous or narcissistic businessmen that like to plaster their face all over billboards and commercials. Local celebrities also tend to be intolerable human beings, or so my personal experience has taught me. Some day I hope to be a local celebrity and I'd imagine I'll be just as intolerable as the rest.

John and I eventually decided time was drawing near to begin our trip back to the museum, make a half assed attempt at writing down some notes about what we saw for the paper that'd be due the following week, and burn another one for the long bus trip home. Luckily, great minds think alike and two jazz cigarettes were produced for our meandering journey back to the bus. A nice long walk around the outside of the museum in the freezing cold, inhaling mother nature's finest crop turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip. This was cut short by the midget (maybe not full blown midget) docent that was behind the building taking his smoke break.

As is typical in social situations, a nod of the head was given to the stranger as we passed by, customarily a return nod is expected. This time was different because all we received in return was "YOU GUYS ARE SMOKING REEFER!!!" and he took off, I'd imagine to go tell the museum security. I haven't met a security guard I couldn't outwit, outlast, or outplay and this was no different. It was actually very anti-climactic because we just finished our walk around the building and got on the bus. From the back, while we were enjoying our six packs to go from the pub down the street, we watched as the short museum guide and tubby security guard did about three laps around the building before finally giving up their search for the two criminals safely tucked away on their field trip bus ready for the ride home.

With the beers in hand and the smoke in lungs, our story ends here because I fell asleep about an hour into the trip home and woke up being prodded by John that there were happy hours to go to because our highs were wearing off. That's actually another story, for another time. The moral of ours today is: if you're going on a field trip, no matter the destination, always go prepared.