Chaperoning

I was asked by my good friend the orchestra director to chaperone the orchestra trip this past Friday to Louisville. Delighted for a legitimate chance to skip school, I agreed. Everything looked like it was going to be beautiful--the kids were orderly and well-mannered and even requested a numbering system so they could count off attendance rather than wait for roll call. (Thus, I was referred to as #29 rather than Miss Davis for the remainder of the day.)

The problem, then, lay in the fact that we had a novice bus driver. And it's not like we just had a school bus. We had one of those honkin' charter buses. The driver informed me that she was pretty new, but my fears were allayed when she said she had previously been a truck driver. I laid my fears aside too quickly. Our first problem came when we hit the first stoplight. You know when you first get your permit and your parent is constantly slamming on the imaginary break in the passenger seat? That parent was me.

We're flying along at fifty miles an hour, the light turns red, she's not slowing down, she's not slowing down--finally we begin breaking. Oh good, I think. We'll stop. The driver, however, suddenly begins to moan, "Please stop, please stop, please stop..." My grip on the seat in front of me tightens, my eyes grow wide, and I begin praying as I realize that we're not going to stop in time. Forget about the stop bar. It would be a miracle if we even come to a halt by the time we reach the other side of the intersection.

Fortunately, we had some understanding drivers who realized that their rights in a tiny five-passenger vehicle would not be upheld by the laws of nature (the laws of nature deeming that any large object will easily crush a smaller object regardless of whose right it is to be in that exact location at any given time).

After skidding through several more stoplights in a similar fashion, we made it to the highway, and I sat back in my seat. As the one in charge of the trip, I thought it my duty to remain calm in the face of our recurring appointments with death. The kids remained cluelessly happy in the back of the bus. I sat in my seat and prayed for a host of angels to protect this transport.

Other than getting lost twice on the way back, we thankfully had no more major incidents, in spite of the inclement weather we now faced.

I think we need to request an experienced driver in the future. At least one who can stop at a stop bar.

Travel Advice

So my sister and I are tossing around the idea of traveling abroad this summer (so long as we can save enough money). If we get to do it, what do you think--Italy or the United Kingdom? Spain/France or Italy? We're talking two-three weeks, hostels, cheap meals, interesting strangers, train rides, the whole bit. What's your two cents?