Upon joining the rank and file who are sluffing along Boylston Street to the yard, I realize that these are my people. Initial conversations verify this in spades. A guy walking next to me holds one nostril shut and blasts a ribbon of phlegm out of the other. It slaps the pavement hard, but no one really notices. Unpolished, undisciplined and uber blue-collar, these good folk are a refreshing contrast to the slick, pretentious, monied bastards I had spent most of the day around.
Whilest on vacation (and by the way, had to pass through Baton Rouge on the way to Florida, so I farted in your general direction... or the direction of the LSU stadium.... from the huge bridge over the Mississip!), I ran into three families worth of what you are talking about. We spent a few days at the Walt Disney Resorts, complete with park passes and all that comes with that. Well, to get to the parks from the resorts, the recommended way is to take the buses that pick you up supposedly every fifteen minutes.
Our family always ran into this same three families vacationing together from Boston. The best way to describe these folks is like this: Three huge (350lb at least, over 6 ft tall) white men, bald headed, young all wearing Red Sox jerseys. Three very young hot wives, all blonde, small (maybe 90 to 100 lbs each, all near 4 ft tall). Two little baby girls belonging to the oldest of what I suspected was "brothers". Each wife took turns cooing over the two little girls, whilest the two other wives would talk about the hot weather, clothes, food and other women. The three guys? The Red Sox. Only diversion in their conversation was the bus running late and one strange conversation about Christopher Robins of Winnie the Pooh fame. Each of the men had a different story about "whatever happened to him?", each more gross than the other. I was sure they were making it up, but I in no way was going to correct them. I also felt it wrong of me to cover the ears of my two kids in fear of getting noticed by these guys and in such a demonstrative way my saying that they're full of shit. Better to be safe than sorry, plus it only took me a hour later that night when kissing my youngest goodnight to convince him that Christopher Robins was not a drug dealer later in life and no, he did not marry five women, each of which he left with at least 6 children. I told him they mistook him for Shawn Kemp.
Any way, we rode more buses to different parks with these people. In time, I grew to really like them too. Salt of the earth? In a way, yes. Perhaps just a tad too salty, but salt nonetheless. And remarkably (to me) those Sox jerseys remained relatively clean and sans the sweat stains I was sure they would have after those 100 plus, no air circulating days we were having. I liked those people, but I didn't want to sit near them. God bless their women who must have some sort of procedure done to remove ability to smell odor. Or maybe that is something mothers pass on to daughters up there because I sure as heck wasn't going to get near these guys during the day. It was one late night at Epcot though when these three... ahem... gentlemen proved to be at their best. Up to this point, we knew each other only in passing because we damn near rode every single bus they rode to every single park they went to (as luck would have it). This day was no different. So very late at night, we decide it's time to leave Epcot and go home to our resort to chill for the night (maybe go for midnight swim). There is no one, I mean no one within sight and so I think this will be cool, no more crowded buses home. Just nice and relaxing. So we get to the bus pick up area and instead of heading towards the normal #12 area where the bus was supposed to pick us up, we are told by a man waving a flashlight at us to report to the #2 area as they are combining bus routes this late at night. No problem.
As we approach the #2 area, who is there waiting on the same bus? Yes, my three very large friends with family. But more people start to arrive and just then a bus going to a resort called Polynesian Resort arrives. We, of course are staying at the very cheesy Pop Century resort. I tell my family "come on, let's go!". My wife hesitates, I shoot her a look like "Oh come on, trust me!". So she and the two boys start to follow me when just then one large hand is on my shoulder. I mean this giant paw has my entire left side engulfed under it. I turn around and see it is one of my pals from Boston. "Hey buddy, yah don't wanna get on that one... sit tight". "But, but... the guy with the flashlight said...". "Fuck the guy wid da flashlight, yah ain't getting home on that bus... sit tight, don't make the missus have to bust you over the head with an iron later tonight because you wuz an a-hole!". So I have to make a huge decision now, is this guy trying to insult me or help me? What to do... macho up or say thank you?
Damnit!
I noticed a slight gleem in his eye that helped me realize he was actually being nice and trying to help me not make a fool of myself. So I back down and say "thanks" and move back to the end of the line. My wife looks at me the way that only she can. The look that says "what the heck are you doing?". I says to her "I'm not entirely sure, but that guy was telling me that they're not combining bus routes, they're combining bus stops... the guy with the flashlight wasn't too clear on that... so he said our bus should be coming along... OH LOOK... THERE IT IS!".
We got on, me looking down all the way to my seat. I only made eye contact with large Boston brother #3 (he looked like the youngest of the three, but only ever so slightly) once. He winked at me and then looked away. His wife and the others wifes were talking about the food, the other women they saw at Epcot, the hot weather, the clothes... and he and his brothers talked about the Sox all the way home. I think I like these people, but still remain unsure about that.
