DickBus

"You are so lucky to show up today!" Says the bubbling grocery store employee.
"Why is that?" I ask.
"Because the DickBus is coming!" She was happy. Really happy.

I had just arrived at the grocery store about ten minutes ago and in the parking lot there had been a large, taped-off area that said 'Reserved Parking'. I asked if there was a relation between the reserved spot and the DickBus.
"Yes," She beams, "It's going to be here from 9:00 to 4:00."

I think she realizes at this point that her enthusiasm is one-sided, but I can't even put on a show (it's too early for forced enthusiasm). In my head I'm applying the rationale that this is a small town and certain events might mean a lot more in a place like this than they would elsewhere.

"Is this a regular thing?" I ask, "Has the DickBus been here before?"
"No. Never. I've been here for,"
And then she makes a huge mistake: She counts the years she's been working in that grocery store.
(wage-slave employee math works like this: Take however long you think you've worked without calculations, and then add ten years, because that's what it'll turn out to be after you start counting the years).
She tells me eleven years in the deflated sort of way that grocery store employees normally talk. The smile is totally gone. Even the imminent arrival of the DickBus isn't going to bring back her cheer.

When I say DickBus I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, right?
Those wonderful Kraft-brand meat-paste products that don't come from any specific animal, so instead of a pig or a chicken-shaped bus you've got a big roll of meat poo on wheels for a mascot.

I'll admit that when the DickBus did arrive, I was impressed.

Let's get the most important thing out of the way first:

There's no way to look at the DickBus and not think of a bus-sized dick.

People throw around the term phallic symbol for just about anything these days, but this is a true phallic symbol. This is a Freud-ism in the flesh.
And everyone knows it, too. The guy who drives this thing around has probably heard more dick jokes than any ten men ever will in a lifetime. The dudes who built it probably made dick jokes the entire time they were putting it together. I bet the Kraft exec who first conceived of this vehicle was  probably studying his dick when the inspiration first struck him, Field of Dreams-style.
Nobody cares about bologna. They just want to see the most thinly veiled dick joke on the planet drive around in their home-town.

It certainly is impressive. Check out the size. The girth. The throbbing orange paint job. It's even got some lift.

And those front windows are huge. I got a pretty good look inside and there is a lot of space to stretch out. It's like if the cockpit of the Millenium Falcon was attached to an enormous, orange cock on wheels.


So my first question to one of the grocery store employees who was in-the-know was, "Are they going to be passing out, like, free samples or something?"

Because that would be my first assumption. If you have a vehicle shaped like a food product then there should be an almost unlimited supply of that specific food product inside of the vehicle.

But guess what? No food. I don't why this made me sad. I work in a grocery store. I have money. It's not like I have to work out an equation on whiteboard to figure out how to get my own food.


They were passing out weenie whistles, though.

Did I get a weenie whistle? Afraid not. The crowd was too large (DickBus was a big deal here), and I couldn't convince myself that blowing my entire lunch break waiting to collect a cheap piece of plastic from a company that I've always been too much of a food snob to buy from would be worth my time.




I really hate that song.