“I hope we have everything,” Sherry said. “On a Mexican bus I always worry that they will lose our suitcases.”
“We’ll be fine,” I told her.
We boarded the bus in Chetumal, Mexico for a six-hour ride to Cancun. Across the aisle from me a well dressed but angry looking American straightened his tie and said, “I wish this bus would get going. I’m going to be drunk by the time we get there.”
He offered to pour me some Jack Daniels whiskey from his pint bottle but I had to turn it down.
“I can’t catch a direct flight to Cancun this morning,” he told me. “I hate having to spend six hours on a bus.”
A dried up little old Mexican man took the aisle seat next to him and said, “Buenos Dias. Buenos Dias,” to everyone.
The big man fell asleep almost immediately. Just before we got to Tulum, Sherry nudged me and said, “P-s-s-s-t.” When I turned to look the little Mexican was turning a nice green color. He struggled to get out of his seat and then he could hold it no more.
“Bl-e-c-ch-h-h!”
He threw up all over the big American who was still snoring peacefully. He managed to get none on himself or on anything else but he covered his seat partner very well.
“Oh, no!” Sherry said, as she handed me some tissues to give to him.
The little Mexican took them gratefully and wiped his mouth.
“What is he doing now?” Sherry asked, trying to see around me.
“He’s smearing it all over that big guy’s suit and legs.”
“What?!”
“You heard right,” I told her. “Now he just smeared it all over his lips and chin.”
“E-e-e-w-w! Disgusting!”
Just then the American woke up and looked angrily at his coat and pants.
He said, “What the hell. . . . ?”
The little Mexican leaned over and gently wiped the big man’s lips with the tissue.
“There, there,” he said. “Do you feel better now?”
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