Midnight bus to Worcester. Asleep in the second row of the Dirty Dog doing 70 on 95 when a solid Mrs. Buttersworth with the huge fur and suitcase between her legs bolts up from the front row in the dark and stamps at the driver screaming “You stop this thing–Stop this GOD DAMN THING RIGHT NOW!” The bus headlights swerve on nearby cars and this is it: we are all dead now. The obese white woman to her left shouts “Ahhhhhh STOP HER! Someone GRAB HER”! I’m up in the aisle with two handfuls of fake mink wrestling Mrs. B. back into her seat.
She was sleepwalking and thought the big bad machine had her grandson Sean. After a few “Jesus’s” and a cross-bus shout with her daughter who told her to “WAKE UP MA!” She realizes Sean’s back there safe and sound and finally settles down. Surrounding hipster drones plugged into devices don’t even look up.
God that was scary.
20 minutes later Grammy starts again but the white woman yanks her right back down with a vengeance.