Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

268 Walk of Life

WALK OF LIFE

So the stupid part about being on a bus overnight that was built to sleep eight people was that we really didn't sleep.

Bart got into his bunk but didn't end up staying there. No one really felt like settling down; it was like a sleepover party. Colin had a nap and then got back up, and Chris never even got in bed, I don't think. People had quiet conversations, or read a little, and checked out the various parts of the bus all over again.

It took me a little while to figure out why there were holes in all the tables. As soon as someone stuck a Coke can into one it was obvious, though. There were two toilets, one in each "lounge" area. The one in back was tiled and had gold-tone fixtures. ("Crap. This is nicer than the bathroom we have at home," Chris joked.) The front lounge had a door that could shut us off from the driver completely, but there was a phone Marty could use to call us or vice versa. The front lounge was just a lounge, with a TV set in one corner and a VCR, while in the back the corners held some kitchen stuff, a microwave, coffee maker, freezer and so on. Ten people could comfortably hang around in the back, twelve if you were friendly. The banquette-type seats that lined it had drawers under them. There were also storage drawers under the double bunks that could be pulled out so that instead of eight bunks, you could sleep twelve.

The shower really seemed like something from the set of a science fiction movie. The entire interior was a uniform beige color and it was like it had been molded from a single piece of plastic, which I guess it was. When Chris got in I seriously wondered how he'd wash the lower half of himself since there wasn't room for him to bend over. Those of us of the smaller species of human had a lot less trouble. Chris said he planned to shower at the venues whenever he could, which got a thumbs up from Carynne.

Looking down the list I could see we were going to be playing some pretty varied places. The sports arenas where we'd been so far almost always had full shower setups because they had locker rooms and stuff. The locker rooms were off limits if there were sports teams playing there, but there were always showers. With the smaller theaters and amphitheaters, sometimes you didn't know what kind of facilities would be there. I had heard some stories that at outdoor festivals you might be lucky to have flush toilets.

I felt too good to really be worrying about all that, exactly. There's a difference between thinking and worrying.

I fell asleep as the sky was lightening. The windows in the back lounge were tinted, but I could make out stuff along the side of the road as the blackness lifted. I didn't actually get into my bunk. One minute I was staring out the window, the next, I was out cold with my face against the top of the bench-type seat.

When someone woke me, it was full morning, and the bus was parked behind a sand-colored building inside a fenced in area.

The someone was the bus driver, a short, olive-skinned man named Marty. "You'll get a crick," he said, and jerked his thumb toward the bunks.

"What time is it?"

"You get a couple more hours sleep. I'm getting breakfast." He shuffled up the aisle toward the front.

I was wide awake by the time I stood up. "I'll come with you."

He looked back at me like I said I was going to get a second head attached.

"Um, unless you don't want company."

He broke into a crooked smile. "You're a good kid. Come on. But bring a jacket."

I grabbed my denim jacket and I followed him out into what was clearly a production parking lot. I saw our equipment truck. A soft drink delivery truck was backed into the loading dock and someone was whistling.