Robitussin Bus

"Please tell me you'll be on the bus on Monday!"

Gee, that is not exactly my idea of a pick up line. Now, I was dropped on the head as a baby and my intelligence has been lacking ever since, but it does not take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out how not to hit on a girl.

Oh, that is right. Cory is special…yeah sure is. To me he is just another stupid white boy and a (forgive me) fugly one, at that. I do not know what his problem is but he just needs to stay away from me!

Well, I am a big girl; I can take care of my own problems. Cannot I put distance in between he and me (God, I hope that is correct English)? I mean, it would be for the betterment of everybody involved. I would get my personal space, he would get away with his heart in tact and I would get off the Robitussin Bus. Those of you who have been so fortune as never to have ridden a public school bus in the state of Texas, you may not understand what it is that has me foaming at the mouth. In short, these buses are crowded, dirty and, for the most part, very poorly driven. But everybody knows what Robitussin is--"there's a Robitussin for everybody"-- you have seen the commercial at some point in your life, just trust me on this one.


Funny…it has come to my attention that not all of my readers choose waste their lives in front of the boob tube. Anyway, I see those damn commericials every time I turn on the television…maybe that is because I only watch from three to four in the morning.

Anyway, I am getting off track. Robitussin is a kind of cough syrup that smells atrocious. You don't know what I mean by atrocious do you? Oh Marris, does it smell like fresh dog shit? Oh Marris, does it smell like sweaty socks? Oh Marris, does it smell like your driver's ed. Teacher? Oh Marris, was it really as bad as the three combined?

Oh yes, it was gut-wrenching. Now I have friends that delight in the ripe, sickly sweet scent of cherry fructose but personally the smell makes me nauseas. This is odd because I thought that cold medicines were supposed to make you feel better, not the other way around.

But the general plan is to get off the Robitussin Bus and away from Cory--far away. Do you think Fiji is far enough?

Being the resourceful genius girl I am I have come up with a surefire plan and just in case, I have a back up.

So…Plan A: Walk to school before the crack of dawn in the freezing cold and hide in the Co-op office and then go home at dusk when Cory will be nowhere in sight. Perfect!

Well, that did not work out so well. Presently I am lying in bed with a blazing fever and a snotty nose. Maybe I shouldn't have been traipsing around, catching my death in the dead of winter, all to avoid some stupid boy who has a likewise stupid crush on me. But desperate times call for similarly desperate measures--AHHHCHOOO!!!!

Now I know that Plan A would never work. Oh poop! But that is why genius girls like me come up with brilliant back-up plans like B! Hey that was alliteration! See Mrs. Crahdahl, I do pay attention in English!

Anyway, Plan B has not the slightest chance of failing! I mean it is really simple. Simply castrate Cory. Why did not I think of it before?

So I called my friend, Lolly (not short for Lolita, thank you), to tell her about my designs. Yes, I decided that I was overusing the word "plan". Now you will never believe what she said to me.

"Get a grip, Marris, Corey's really sweet. Besides, isn't castration a little harsh?"

"It's no less than that wretch deserves! Why are you taking his side? I thought we were friends! Did Cory keep your little secret about shitting yourself in the second grade or kissing your forty year old cousin at Chili's? Did he?" I fumed.

"Woah girl! It's a silly thing to get upset over. He's just a stupid teenager who doesn't know how to hit on girls. If that were considered a crime half of all teenage males would be walking around without a pair.

Oh no. No way in hell she was going to sooth this savage beast with base logic! Beastly but genius girl that I am!

"He practically felt me up!" I screeched.


Naturally my mother thought that this was the ideal time to barge into my room with a tray of steaming chicken noodle soup. And of course, her face was boiling beet red and her hands were shaking so badly that it was a wonder she didn't drop the soup. It was my cue to hang up on Lolly and call her back after calming the old lady down.

After breathing deeply for a few minutes, Mom sighed, "Put the phone down and talk to me before I run amok."

What can I say, bad tempers run in the family.

"It's not what it sounded like." I said quickly as I took the tray.

In my eagerness to avoid the pending conversation I took a great spoonful soup. Anybody want to chance a guess at what happened next? Yeah, I about burned my insides out--primarily my tongue. Spitting the soup up was high on my list of priorities. So that I did, all over my sick bed, mother and cell phone.

Let's see how much that little faux pas cost me. Hmm…dry cleaning: six dollars, cell phone: two hundred thirty five after rebate, heartfelt conversation with my mother: priceless.

"Who tried to feel you up?" Mom asked me quite seriously after we relocated to the living room couch.

"Nobody, I was just exaggerating." I slurred as I held an icepack to my tongue.

"Oh? Then what's the truth?"

"You know how cramped those buses are?" upon seeing the blank expression on her face, I elaborated, "Well, think on a two and a half foot seat three grown kids competing for butt room."

Oh my goodness, I cannot believe I said "butt" in front of my mother!

"So naturally you were seated next to guy?"

"Precisely, not that I would have chosen for that particular guy to sit next to me, but you know, people just got to take their seat where they can find them."

"And he got a little too close?"

"Yeah, this other girl came and got on the seat and we were kind of squished."

"I see. Well maybe that would explain why you're so sick--all those germs to be in contact with."

This was too good to be true. Normally my mother would have me include this in my weekly meeting with Mr. Goss, my therapist, but holy Hell! I was getting off scot-free.

"Speaking of sickness, have you taken your medicine?"


The End

A/N: Thankfully I do not own Robitussin--God that stuff reeks!