Sunday, February 2, 2014

Rain Americano

I was going into London the other day, and I always take the Oxford Tube, a double-decker bus. I always sit at the very top at the very front so that I can see everything along the way. Buses make me sleepy, so I got a massive coffee to sip during the journey (it always makes me have to pee so bad by the time I get to London, but I never learn my lesson).
There was only one other person on the bus when we headed out in the early morning. We hadn’t quite gotten out of Oxford, and I realized that I had something in my boot. I put my coffee on the little shelf in front of me, propped between a rail and the window. During the four seconds that I had to fiddle with my shoe the bus dipped into a pothole, and my coffee exploded out of my cup. It literally splashed up all around, and completely soaked the window in front of me.
In the post-spill panic I tried to decide if I should sneak to the loo and get tissues to wipe it up, or if I should sacrifice my scarf—just before the bus driver could notice that I’d made such a mess. But then to my horror, before I could do anything, he pulled the bus over and stopped it.
“What happened up here?” he asked when he’d ascended the stairs.
I explained, and instead of getting mad he smiled and started teasing me. He’d said that he’d never seen rain that color before—apparently it had all spilled down onto the windshield below.
“I’m going to warn the other drivers about you!”