The Good Old 1863 (FF)

© Ron Pruitt

It was 8:15 on Tuesday morning in Jefferson City, and already they were lining up to board Jefferson Lines Bus No. 1863 bound for Mt. Bailey for the weekly meeting of the Jefferson City Blame Someone Else Society.

The meetings were held in Mt. Bailey because it had a much bigger town hall.
Bob Byron had founded the Society secure in the conviction than anything bad ever happened to him was caused by his foreman, Drake Beighley.

At the Jefferson City Blame Someone Else Society, members railed against those responsible for their misfortunes.  It was the overly demanding boss, the ex-boyfriend, the hard driving assistant coach, and so on.

It was now 8:40 A.M. The bus driver flung open the doors and bade the passengers enter:

"Climb on.  Climb off.  Throw under."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First up, congratulations to the Chief Honcho of the Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle Wisoff Fields, on her third anniversary helming the Fictioneers.

Rochelle has graciously suggested we may repost our stories from the week she began her august duties and she herself has posted the same picture from that week. So never missing a chance to screw off, I have herein submitted my same story from that week, but with a difference. I have edited it such that, even though it still exceeds 100 words, it no longer brazenly thumbs its nose at that limit as it surges on past it. 

You should surge on over to the stories of the the other Fictioneers by clicking here. And thanks again Rochelle; hope we never see you on the Good Old 1863.

The Wheels on the Bus Go "Carp, Carp, Carp"

Who could  have ever expected what happened when the town of Paddington-on-Rye decided to commission a new crosstown bus?

On a whim, somebody had decided to paint the new bus with bright colors and add a face with eyes, nose, and mouth to the driver's end.  And when the bus came alive and began talking, the townsfolk knew they had a tourist boon like no other!

True enough, people came from hither and yon to see, hear, and ride the bus, and the town's coffers swiftly filled.  There was but one problem.

The bus had a personality like yesterday's underwear. 

"Driver, slow down, you're gonna kill us!"

"It's too cold, I don't want anyone climbing on me today!"

"Well, that's a goofy-looking crop of tourists, especially the buck-toothed lady in the print dress!"

It was determined it would take thousands of  dollars of therapy to cure the problem.

Either that or paint a smile on the front end.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're probably carping about it already, but I drove this story into the station at 158 words, well over the prescribed maximum of  100.  But you don't meet a talking bus every day, especially one as downbeat and jaded as this --- and that's a bus after my own heart!

I'm sure you'll be talking about the various other takes on today's picture prompt by the many other Friday Fictioneers if you park yourself right here at the official Paddington-on-Rye Talking Bus Stop.  No charge for unlimited parking.

The Wheels on the Bus Go "Outta Here!"