A Drunk Bus Driver And A Bad A :: essays research papers

Sometimes, regular(a) from the virtually unsuspecting flock wonderful and profound messages can originate. This is the story of one such chance when much could be learned from a person alike that. On the way to school one day, this kid named Patrick went around telling everyone that he had some beer in his lunch box. Now in the 9th grade, this topic of intercourse is new and exciting. He was the center of attention, and was enjoying it immensely. We all knew he didnt switch any in there, but it was still fun to talk like he did. In all the commotion we failed to realize that the bus had start to a stop on the side of the road.We finally realized what was happening, and as the bus driver made her way through the aisle, you could see kids shoving newsprint balls in their bags, and sitting on batteries and rocks, which they were throwing out the window. The bus was unusually noneffervescent as the bus driver, Bertha we called her, waded her way through the narrow seats. Kids visibly squished as close as possible to the windows, some in an attempt to cutis something, others just out of fear that the may inadvertently come into gain with the beast coming through.Bertha was 7 feet tall, and appeared to be one of those ex-weight lifters, that had been on steroids for most of their adult life. Her neck was bigger than that of football players, and her arms resembled those of the body builders sometimes on ESPN. Her gut brought thoughts of the worlds strongest man competition to mind. She was big, and no one, not even Superman, or Batman could get away with messing with her. To us she might as hearty have been dressed in some military uniform, carrying a lather riding-crop. The fear kept us in line most of the time.She strode dependable up to Patrick, and halted just short of him. Not a word was interchange for a full minute, the two just looked at each other, a battle of wits. Patrick was the first to speak. "Waddaya want?" he said with a sneer . "Whats in the box Patrick?" she thundered, as if the voice of God. "None of your business" He retorted. He was "dead", what was going wrong in his head, she had at least(prenominal) two feet on him, and her arms could crush him like a convolute in pliers.