Page 18 of Only One Tour Bus

“Then you can’t possibly find it so funny.”

“Okay. But you can’t actually tell me when I can find things funny. I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. Or comedian, and teacher, would be a much easier job.”

“You’re exhausting. I’m knackered and I’ve only been on this tour for a day and a half.” I rub my face.

“Thank you!”

“It’s not a compliment.”

She shrugs. “You say potato, I say it’s the funniest potato ever.”

“Jaysus. Is this going to be a thing with you? Potatoes and the potato that tries to prove me wrong?”

“Who doesn’t like potatoes? Fries. Curly fries. Waffle fries. Potato chips. Baked. The possibilities are only limited by your imagination.”

“And your fryer. Americans.” I shake my head.

“I’d be more offended if the United Kingdom didn’t have like five chippies per person.”

I grunt at that. Because there probably are, and I no longer have the moral high ground. But I don’t have to admit that out loud.

“What made you want to be a tour guide, anyway? It seems like you dislike more parts of this job than you like. That seems a little bit miserable.”

“I love history and wanted to teach it. That’s the part of this job I fully enjoy: teaching history at the historic sites where it happened. I didn’t know I was also supposed to be drinking buddy, babysitter, best friend, therapist, and twenty-four-hour concierge.”

It’s the most personal I’ve gotten with a coworker in a long time, but I want her to know. Because it’ll make us work better together.

Or maybe I just want her to stop looking at me like I’m a completely humorless prick. It’s fine when the group looks at me like that, but I don’t want it from her. Someone who exudes cheerfulness in spite of any brush with reality. Unreasonable as her outlook is, I think I care about her opinion.

When did that happen? Why did that happen?

“Why did you choose this instead of being a lecturer at a university?”

Because I couldn’t do it. I applied to a few places, so sure that I would get a job and teach straight out of my PhD. I had done all the courses, gotten decent grades, done some lecturing even. And then the first few rejections came.

We don’t currently have an opening. This is a very competitive position. Thank you for applying, but the position has already been filled.

I don’t know how anyone gets their foot in the door, but I wasn’t doing it. I resigned myself that it wasn’t going to happen. And stopped applying to new positions, sure that they were going to end the same way, so what was the point in trying?

And then a friend told me about this opening and I thought that it would be close enough to satisfy the teaching itch. Definitely the history part. And they would pay me so I could eat and pay rent and such.

“I applied to a lot of postings, but this was the first to respond positively. And I’ve been doing it since. What about you?” I might want to share a little about me, but there’s no way I want to share the long list of my rejections with the Wee Sunshine.

“I love history and traveling. And I love meeting new people and helping them have fun. It’s the best when they come back from free time and gush about the places I recommended to them. Like, I did that. They’re happy because of me. Well, and Europe.”

“Ugh, I hate the gushing the most. Take the recommendation and then do me the courtesy of not speaking to me about it anymore.”

“Do you wish they would do you the courtesy of not speaking to you at all, ever again?” She’s back to laughing at me.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. Most days, that would be ideal.”

She snorts at that. “I’m not going to stop encouraging the group to take picture breaks. It also gives them a rest from hearing facts recited at them, which they sometimes need.”

“I’m not going to stop trying to hurry you along.”

“So we haven’t solved anything.”

“No.” But I hope she understands me a little bit better. Maybe it’ll lead her to taking the tour more seriously.