Like me, George thought.
“Yes, like you, George,” she said, reading his mind.
“And how about you?” she asked. “What are you do-
ing on my bus again? I thought we had seen the last of
you after you ran off the bus faster than Carl Lewis at the
1984 Olympics. I consider myself blessed not once but
twice with your presence, so please do tell.”
George told her about the flat tire, the repair shop,
the brakes, and how he could have crashed if he had dri-
ven the car and how he would have to take the bus for
about two weeks.
“Well, that’s just great, George. The fact that you are
going to be riding on my bus is a great thing. As I said the
other day, you’re on my bus for a reason. I didn’t know
why exactly then but I do know now.”
George asked why curiously, not quite catching on.
“What’s so great about having your car in the shop for
two weeks?” he asked.
“Man, your head is hard to crack. But I’m going to be
gentle with you. Look up there, George, to the right of
the mirror. Tell me what you see.”
“A sign,” said George.
“That’s right, a sign. And what does the sign say?”
“It says THE 10 RULES FOR THE RIDE OF YOUR LIFE.” Under-
neath this headline was a list of 10 rules that George
couldn’t really make out. He didn’t have his reading
glasses on and the words were blurry. Besides the sign’s
letters were handwritten and not very legible.
“That’s right, Sugar. All my long-term passengers learn
21
The Rules