The Ballad of the Orkin Man, OR: My One Day in Youth Group

It’s hard to say at this latter day

If the Orkin Man or the rainbow bus

Or Amy did more to endanger us.

’Twas the only day that I said “okay,”

Thought, “youth group – why not?”

Dad took me to the parking lot,

I met Alan and Nate to wait

For Cedar Point, the coaster capital,

Lift, drop, loop and fall, all

Excitement a teen could want except

The bus was… yeah, I don’t have words for the bus.

“Somebody donated this wonderful bus to us!” Amy said.

“Amy, there’s a reason for that,” Alan responded.

Navy blue in stained old hue

Applied thirty years ago,

Sporting dingy rainbow

On its side, a nightmare ride

For anyone except a youth group head

With a crazed fixed smile; if you said

“Here’s a glass, and can I ask

Half empty or half full?” You’ll

Be sure that Amy would respond

“There is no water gone!

That glass is full, it will always be full,

We could fill a swimming pool!

Now let’s sing a song!”

So we boarded that bus and—

Half the seats ripped, stuffing loose in several, exposed springs in others.

Also, there was a hole. In the floor. ’Bout the size of a quarter. We could see pavement.

Now inside, Amy smiled and cried,

“We’ll leave real soon,

I’m just over the moon!

The man who will drive should soon arrive.”

We rolled our eyes, but arrive he did

And we realized the guy entrusted with us kids

Was the Orkin Man, yes the Orkin Man.

He pulled up in his Orkin truck,

And we said, “What the”—

You know, that wasn’t really fair of us. Anyone with proper training can drive a commercial vehicle, including a pest control specialist. There are probably lots of Orkin People who drive very well.

He just wasn’t one of them. But in fairness, he got us to the park just fine.

I lost my glasses on a water ride (did I mention I have 20/80 vision?) but damnit, I rode awesome roller coasters. The Raptor rules.

We rode till the night with the park alight,

Got our old friend Nate

To stop fearing fate

And just decide to enjoy coaster rides;

I was glasses-less and blind

But I did not mind.

We returned to our chariot,

Junk food in our guts.

Having roamed, we’d go home.

Rainbow bus on the road,

Us in back with dirty jokes,

Still kinda wired but starting to tire.

Rolling down the highway, I’d say

Twenty minutes, maybe forty,

-Awful metal on metal screech-

The bus pulls over, confusion all over,

I’m squinting but can’t see out,

Loud as hell, Alan shouts,

“THE ORKIN MAN HIT A CAR!”

Orkin Man goes off the bus, cursing us

And fate and bus, I assume,

But the cops came soon.

We were sitting there an hour,

Nothing in our power

But to be wiseasses.

Even without glasses

I could see eventually

When he came back aboard

Orkin Man was unmoored,

And he yelled “Shut up!”

As though to quiet us.

He pulled into a burger joint

Just an hour from Cedar Point

(With steady driving).

Orkin Man’s nerves were shot:

Leaving the parking lot,

Backed the bus into a pole.

Down the road we rolled.

We looked through the floor hole,

Alan said, “Sparks! I can see blue sparks!”

And I wondered if I was about to die.

Couple kids made a mess with the rest

Of the stuffing for fun on the trip,

Pulled it out through some seat rips

Made a foam pile, all the while

The bus drove on toward the early dawn

Albeit not very well, cuz the muffler fell

And rolled down a hill, but we did not die.

[This story is entirely real, and I still have a picture of the bus to prove it.]