Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Constipation, A Druggist And A Weaving Library Van

I inwardly sigh as the odd combination of the Library van being forced to reverse in front of me and the little boy in the seat behind telling me a risque joke.

"What does a constipated Maths teacher do?"

The Library van lady driver looked scared when she crossed the bridge and came face to face with my 57 seater bus.

"He works it out with a pencil."

The Library van lady driver struggled to find reverse gear.

"What's a very constipated Maths teacher do?"

The Library van veered wildly back down the road, narrowly missing the stone bridge.

"He works it out with logs (logarithms to an ignoramus such as myself)."

The Library van eventually sought sanctuary in a muddy lay-by. The lady driver was relatively cheerful when you think she has just suffered such an inconvenience.

"Do you want to take the dumb test, Mr Bus Driver?" piped up another child somewhere down the back.

I didn't.

But I did because it is always better to play along and keep the little dears happy. of course I failed the test miserably and, in their eyes have been consigned to the scrap heap for thick bus drivers.

The test was interrupted by Anxious Andy who shouted:

"Stop. Stop. Mildred's become a druggist. We've got a druggist on board."

"What are you talking about, Andy?" I asked.

"She's supplying us all with Strepsils. She's a druggist. Mildred's a bad druggist."

having failed the dumb test, I was a little unsure whether this was a malapropism or a genuine understanding that druggist is the American equivalent of a British pharmacy or chemist. I suspected the former.

"What is a druggist?" I said, just double checking.

"It's someone who deals in croakcane, canaletto and calpol." He replied.

"Ah. Have you been having some anti-drug education at school recently?"

The rest of the bus laughed. Andy was silent. I looked in my mirror to see the yellow Library van again weaving backwards down the road. In front of it was a tractor.

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