The Great Venezuelan Bus Odyssey (Part #7 and FINAL)

This will be my last post related with buses, I promise…
Okay, so let’s assume I found a way to board a bus without punching, gouging eyes and without biting someone’s nose off his or her face. The first you’d notice about a Venezuelan bus is the seats; they’re not made for humans taller than five feet four (I’m five eight, so you can start to imagine my plight). Their backs are absolutely perpendicular to the floor, which makes them extremely uncomfortable; there are no controls to recline them and, if these exists, they’re busted beyond any repair (not that you’d want to do so: the space between the seats are so tight that you’d only smash the top of yours into the nose of the person sitting directly behind you).
That dentist guy in the movie Marathon Man got it all wrong; instead of a dentist chair, he should have strapped Dustin Hoffman to one of these deviled contraptions, and the poor man would have become a veritable songbird concerning every detail he knew about the missing diamonds that are the McGuffin of that particular film.
Okay, so the bus is already full and the driver starts the engine, but not without first warming up his on-board stereo system. The speakers start to blare at a level of 150 decibels or more; I’m told that supersonic airplane pilots complain about not being able to hear their break-their-sound-barrier bangs whenever they fly over a Venezuelan bus.
The driver’s taste in music is abysmal; he only listens to meringues and salsa music. (Now, why does all Latino music seem to be named after some sort of foodstuff?) Ten minutes into the road, and my head is already throbbing like a drum made out of wet leather (which is being beaten merciless by a gang of albino midgets dressed only in loincloths).
There’s not much to tell you about the road to my destination; if I look through the window next to my seat, I’ll only see an endless wall of greenery passing by, and maybe the occasional road sign. It is a dreadful sight for the next three hundred miles (and doubly so, since I know the trip will last more than eight hours due to bad roads and depending of current traffic conditions).
But is a terrible inconvenience I must endure, especially if I want to get this manuscript transcribed into a usable electronic file.

Edwin Stark
Signing Off

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