The Oklahoma Party Bus

One day as me Grandpa Joe was hobo-ing across the State of Oklahoma, he either thumbed for or was offered a ride. Either way, he took it. And he quickly regretted the decision.

As I heard the story, the six or eight people shoe horned into this old jalopy (I want to say a Model T Ford but I'm simply uncertain) happily shoe horned him in with them. It turns out it was something of a party car though. Joe talked about careening down rough dirt roads, the car hopping and jumping like a bucking bronco while the driver pushed it to whatever speed limit it could hold. He feared at every turn that the entire lot of them would fly off into a ditch, or worse. I'm just surprised me Grandpa would be feared of any kind of driving, what with what he drove and the way he drove them.

But as I said, it was also a party car. A whiskey bottle made its way around the vehicle freely, each soul drinking deeply of it, and all being vaguely offended that he would have none of the hootch. And with each empty bottle another one produced itself, keeping the revelry on a high.

For Joe's part, he soon wanted the ride behind him. Bouncing all over the road and subsequently being bounced into one another didn't bother the partiers at all. But he tired of it quickly, especially as the largest person in the car always seemed to land right on him with each rut in the road. 

Evening came upon the group, and Joe saw the light of a farmhouse ahead and yelled, pointing, "That's my stop!" even though it was not. Far from it. Anything to get out of that rattletrap Ford and her hard partiers. 

The driver pulled over and let him out at the driveway to the farm. Me Grandpa made sure to start along it until the car was on its way. Well on its way. Then he doubled back to the road, hoping for better luck yet more than happy to hoof it for a spell.