Dear JAC Bus Company,
I write to you in hopes that two people will be castrated and stricken from the employee records of your company, and with any luck, stricken from the human record for all of time and space.
Allow me to set the scene so you can sympathize with my wanton desire to remove testicles…
On the afternoon of April 9th, I was poorly instructed to travel to Temuco Chile where I was told the Chilean/Argentine border is as loose as that one girl in college who should really be in jail for raping men in their drunken sleep like a Greek myth. I arrived with dubious explanations that this border crossing was not possible at this time of day and I would either have to wait until the morning or go back to where I had started. I decided to walk to the town and ponder the situation. It quickly became clear to me that wearing two backpacks and being the only white person in a town full of people six inches shorter than me was not to my advantage. I swallowed my pride and decided to go back to where I started my journey, admitting failure, and acknowledging the five hours in the bus I took earlier to get to Temuco, a waste of life. Your friendly staff in the Temuco office instructed me that the next bus I could take would be at 1:30am and I could not leave my bags in the lockers. Without many options, I decided to spend the next six hours doing as any person from the U.S.A. would do and find a bar, watch sports, and drink alcohol.
I am asking, no … demanding, that the first castration be executed on the bus driver who was supposed to pick me up at 1:30am. I can only hope that Pablito, or whatever his name is, got a good hard look into my steely eyes as he drove right by my jumping and flailing arms and understood the voodoo incantation of swear words in two languages that I was letting flood from my beer stained lips. Is it company policy there at JAC to instruct your bus drivers to look at the manifest and think, “Well, there’s only one person we gotta pick up at this station, let’s let this one slide. He’s probably not even there anyways.” Rusty knife in hand, Pablito’s scrotum in my other, the only thing he could tell me to excuse his behavior would be something along the lines of “I was having an incredibly lucky spell during an epileptic fit that ultimately ended in total destruction of the bus that you didn’t see due to the lucky spell.”
If there is anyone in your company who deserves a raise out of this, it was the sleeping security guard who woke just in time to say the bus had already left and there would be another one arriving at 2:30. Now if you are looking for a vacation destination, I suggest the liquor store in front of your station in Temuco, in between the hours of 1:30am and 2:30am. The friendly liquor store staff are more than amicable and enjoy giving you free cans of beer if you make enough noise outside of their establishment. The constant flow of gay male couples hitting on you with overly gross come on lines will give you that flamboyant vibe that you are missing in your vida. And finally, your Temuco vacation would not be complete, without the meandering Peruvians who walk their bicycles that clearly have never been ridden for months.
With Pablito’s balls in the trash, next on the chopping block is Jorge, the bus driver who could do nothing but stop and talk to me as I waited in the road as he arrived at 2:45am. Firstly, a gringo and two skeezy looking Peruvians at his side is nothing to be afraid of and there isn’t any reason to step back into the bus when I approach you to talk. Secondly, there are not many people on this earth who could have pulled off such an acrobatic display of balance and maneuverability as I walked every metal railing and jumped off every available tire to prove my sobriety. Thirdly, responding with “No you wont,” when I tell you that all I am going to do is board the bus and go to sleep, is not an acceptable answer in any universe except the “piss Luke off to the extreme” universe. And finally, smelling me to test my sobriety when there are two Peruvians nearby is never as effective as my acrobatic alcohol test. There is no salvation for the balls of Jorge, there is no heavenly escape, and they will be grounded up and fed to the withering roses outside of your Temuco station.
Along with these castrations,, I demand the following…
- My $10 refunded plus interest.
- The sleeping security guard promoted to whatever position you have that is allowed to punch bus drivers.
- Your policy on permitting inebriated passengers revised to allow for exceptional motor skills as a priority over drunkenness.
- Your Temuco office shut down and burned with every article of clothing that the two bus drivers own.
- A bus.
I anxiously await your response.
Sincerely,
Luke Edward Ollett