I was made bus steward
That’s right, the warden of the school bus (normal size, not short).

I’d set the school record for detentions the year before, so I was somewhat surprised by this development.
I never actually did anything really bad, not anything that would warrant suspension or report at least, just juvenile showing off in class, sticking Barnaby’s head in the bass drum type of thing, so I guess they thought a bit of responsibility would set me straight.

Well I set that bus straight.

By which I mean I sat on the back seat with my friends and I got to play my tapes on the stereo.

No more teen girl fodder of choice at the time “Dirty Dancing OST” for this bus! Hell no, I think you’ll find we’re listening to Incesticide, Siamese Dream or Pearl Jam’s 10. Oh yes we are. Now sit down and face the front.

And the people loved me for it. I was Che Dervel. Banisher of Swayze and absolute ruler of this 54 seating (+10 standing) republic.

I have absolute command and authority.

I will determine when it is hot enough to open the sky light.
No, you can’t flick yogurt at the French exchange kids.
I don’t believe you can stand forward of this point and disturb the driver, now get back to your seat.

I am all powerful.

“What are we doing today?” you ask? I’ll tell you! We’re listening to Disintegration as I’m feeling a bit moody and I’m going to chuck this cassette out of the window whilst holding onto the tape so we can all look out the back window and watch it bounce on the road!

Years later I watched Napoleon Dynamite do similar with an action figure tied to some string.
And I thought, “oh, bum. Maybe I wasn’t that cool” “maybe the people didn’t love me?”

Then I remembered that I had long curtains with an undercut and wore boots from the army surplus shop and “let” the kids listen to grunge. I was clearly cool and of course the people loved me.

I imagine I have now moved into school mythology, an almost celestial entity, and that the kids still huddle round bus stops on cold winter mornings dreaming of my return.

And in their dreams just as the water in lonely roadside puddles begins to reflect dusks crimson glare, in the distance would come the glorious sounds of Sonic Youth heralding my triumphant return, that I will set upon despoiling all things hallowed by boy bands and that grumpy driver with the big eyebrows, and that I will spread a righteous glory of such benevolence that would see me reign forever.
( Dervel OTBC, Fri 9 Jul 2010, 10:22, Reply)