Full Stop

Amy Riddle

 

The high point of his route is the college stop. He hates the students, who get on the bus with plugged ears or stumble off, liberated drunks, self-declared adults. Frat boys call him “Man” and “Pops,” caught between vernacular decades. More than frats, he hates the girls who smile. Shit-faced sorostitutes mean nothing; he avoids seeing the tan curves bursting from disheveled clothes; that’s how honest men get fired. The smiling girls wear sweaters and tell him to have a good day, condescending goodwill when they don’t give a damn. He got this job ten years ago with a high school diploma that’s not worth the paper it was written on, a casualty of academic inflation. At the college stop, he releases the air break, bus flatulence. The route calls for a five minute stop. The students check their watches. He has a smoke and lets the fuckers wait.

Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790