Week 11 Journal 1

Name: Dale Kesler

Nickname: none...yet Handwriting:sloppy

Sex: Male Astrological sign: scorpio

Age: 25 Talents: 90 second bong hits

Looks: Husky, unshaven Friends: Not many

Education: College dropout Relatives: Mostly dead

Vocation: High school bus driver

Enemies: His boss, the head of school transportation

Status/money: Fairly poor As seen by others:

relationship: Had a girlfriend of three years, dumped him when he refused to return to college

As seen by self: Loser, but has accepted his role in society

family/ethnicity: Family all lives in different state

Scars: None

Places: Tattoos, piercings:

Possessions: Most prized possessions-his 3 foot bong, his DVD collection

Salary: Around $35k/year

Recreation/hobbies: Smoking pot, watching movies, self loathing secretly

Correspondence:

Obsessions: Marijuana

Beliefs: No belief in God

Politics: Democrat when he remembers to vote

Sexual history: Not much, 3 girls total

Ambitions: Wants to write, produce, or direct movies

Religion: None, was raised in a catholic family

Superstitions:

Fears: Dying alone

Attitudes: Stand offish, avoids confrontation

Character flaws: Uncurable pothead

Character strengths: Nice to others, if he truly cares about someone he’ll do anything for them

Pets: Turtle, his only friend

Taste in books/music: Generally likes classic comedies and dramas (1940s to 1990); reads modern classic books (Hemingway, Kerouac, etc.)

Journal entries:

The bus slowly pulled into the roundabout in front of the high school, stopping just long enough to let the students off, mostly underclassmen,. Dale knew that the bad kids always sat towards the back off the bus, so he waited until all the other students were gone.

“Stop right there, man.”

“What’d we do? We didn’t do anything.”

“No, dont worry, you’re not in trouble...yet,” replied Dale, “I know you kids have some pot..”

He was cut off mid sentence by the student, “I swear to god we don’t.”

“Man, chill out, your not in trouble. Plus, I can smell the stuff on you, smells real good.”

“So if we aren’t in trouble why are we still on this bus?” asked the kid.

“I just want a little sack, man, just because I’m a bus driver doesn’t mean I don’t like to get high every once in awhile. Plus, everyone I know only sells that poopy brown stuff, I know that high school kids always have the most solid stuff. My name’s Dale by the way.”

“I’m John, and how much you want?”

“Just like a twenty, that’s all I got right now.”

“Alright, fine.”

John reached in his pocket, producing a bag. It appeared as though the kid just walked around with a bunch of premeasured baggies. They made the exchange quickly, both of them understanding the consequences if they got caught. There was an instant mutual trust between the two, since it wouldn’t be hard to tell the principal on one another. They could both be destroyed with just one sentence.

“Thanks, man. Don’t be a stranger. Now get to class, ya bum!” yelled Dale, chuckling, but clearly a little serious.

John and his small group of pothead buddies exited the big yellow bus, taking their baggie pants and tie dyed shirts with them. “Shit,” Dale thought to himself, “I can’t believe the weed these kids are getting today. Can’t wait to try it.” The high school started the latest, and Dale never worked afternoons, except on occasion when there was a field trip and he wanted a little extra dough.

Dale slowly pulled the old yellow bus into a parking with a few other buses, it was slowly starting to fill up with all the other drivers getting off of their shifts.

Dale parked in his bus’ assigned spot, A 22, and got out. He slowly moved over to the main garage, which contained the time punch that clocked him in and out every single weekday. He avoided everyone he saw, since they would smell the pot on him, and either tell on him or assume they were invited to the party.

Dale got in his car, a beat up Chevy Celebrity, only held together by the rust that was slowly taking over the car. He tried to start it, but, as usual, it took more than a few turns of the key for it to turn over and sputter that familiar smell of pollution. Dale drove towards his home.