An Afternoon of Douchebaggery

One of the inevitable consequences of being an only child, I’m told, is that I’ll throw a tantrum if I don’t get my way. I don’t like feeding generalities, but I don’t fight my feelings, either.

Cranky (adj): ill-tempered; grouchy; cross.

I hate bus tours. My mom wanted to go on a bus tour. I told her I looked at the itinerary of several bus tours and planned our day around what they thought visitors want to see. But she wanted to go on a bus tour. I told her the day pass for the subway is $7, while the bus tour is $50, and that the subway is much faster. But she wanted to go on a bus tour. I told her I’ve already read about the general history of these places and that she could reference those printouts of information I gave her on the plane. But she wanted to go on a bus tour. I told her I’ve been on bus tours before and it’s much more fun to experience the streets than glide past them on a bus. But she wanted to go on a bus tour. I told her we wouldn’t have control over our time and that we’d have to leave early even if we really like a place and want to spend more time there. But she wanted to go on a bus tour. So we went on a bus tour.

The thing is, I always seem to have really good luck. Even though I’m stuck on this bus listening to information I already know, I’ve got spectacles happening all around me.

“Tah-Kah-Tih,” an elderly woman says loudly, over-pronouncing Japanese syllables and giggling as she spoke. Her portly husband leans his head out of the bus window and screams, “ANDIAMO!” 

I perk up. So they’re Italian… Who is he yelling at? His kids? No, he’s yelling—in Italian—at our tour guide who has a basic grasp on English. She looks at him from outside, asks him in English if he’s okay, and he grunts and returns to his seat.

Francesco and Paolo step into the bus with obnoxious stride. Yes, guys, these elderly women are going to be all over you if you keep swaying your hips just so. Your glimmering gold chains and tight shirts are impeccable fashion choices, bravo. 

Francesco and Paolo are super best friends. They do everything together. They take pictures of each other in identical locations in nearly identical poses—both like to lean on one knee and thrust their hips into the air, but Paolo furrows one eyebrow a little more than Francesco. I think it’s because he’s trying to woo Francesco while he’s in front of the camera. They’re wearing identical leather satchels. Both have the same haircut, too. I wonder how many STDs they share.

Jess and Ryan are conjoined twins. Not literally though. I recall this myth from ancient Greece about how people used to have doubles of everything—two heads, 4 arms, 4 legs, et cetera—and that the other person was your soul mate (your “other half”) but then something happened, I think Zeus got angry, and people were split in half and ended up trying to find their “other half” (I think the myth was supposed to explain gender preferences and sexuality—the gender of the other head you were supposed to be attached to revealed whether you were into men or women). Jess and Ryan are the embodiment of pre-split humans. They’re sharing a sweatshirt, and often coddling each other’s frail sense of security about their relationship. She shivers from the cold, and he envelops her like an amoeba feeding on plankton. He leans away from her to get a better view of something, and she twines her arms around his torso, just in case he forgets she's there.

We go here and there on the bus, taking 5 hours for a process that involved 3 hours of commute. My mom looks like she’s having fun though, so it’s okay.

Besides, I’m having fun, too:

Does this make us best friends too, Francesco and Paolo?