my mother lived about an hour outside the city. she called it "the country" but really it wasn't. there were no cows or farms or other country things, though every time i take the bus up, i wish that there were. cows are more interesting than the big open spaces that lay between Toronto and Innisfil.

with nothing to look at out the window, i looked around the bus. William Glasser once wrote that misery is among the most democratic of all life experiences.

sadness surrounded me on the bus. there were old folks and young folks, male and female. no one seemed happy. maybe just no one likes buses.

i decided to eavesdrop on the two girls in the seat behind me. they couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. of course, they were talking about boys.

"so i called Dave and told him that i got my hair cut and that i hated it and that it made me look like a little girl. he said 'you always look like a little girl.' how smart does a guy have to be to know that he's supposed to tell his girlfriend that she looks sexy, not that she looks like a little girl--even if she does look like a little girl!"

"i was in line at the 7-eleven the other day and the guy behind the counter told me i looked like a cartoon character!"

"was he trying to pick you up?"

"i think so. i dunno."

"eesh. what an idiot."

"i know."

"did you tell him off?"

"no. i just paid for my stuff and left."

"which cartoon character?"

"i didn't ask."

"weird."

"yeah."

"would be okay if it was Jessica Rabbit!"

"yeah. that would be cool. i'd have given him my number if he said that."

did i ever talk like that? were me and my friends ever that inane? probably.

i went through my book bag to see what was there to read. there was a paperback by Arthur Nersesian. i'd already read it, but it was better than the eavesdropping. there was a piece of paper in it, marking the page. i pulled it out. it had dobbs' chickenscratch on it:

FIRST, STOP DRINKING.

it was the "punchline" of a story he'd told often.

guy goes into his shrink and says "doc, i'm an alcoholic. can you help me?" the doc looks at him and says "sure. relax. yes, i can help you."

the guy is amazed. "really? how?"

"well," says the doc, "first, stop drinking."

i put the paper back in the book, put the book between my head and the window, and drifted off. the last thing i remember thinking before i fell asleep was that 'it sounded better when he told it.'

next