Slick

I miss my man, Slick.

I only knew him for about 14 hours back in 1988, but he still left an indelible impression on me.

For those who have never met Slick, he was the dude who drove the charter bus I was on when my high school class went to Virgina Beach. Before departing, we were segregated into three different groups, herded onto the buses like cattle, and asked to sit still for the 10-hour trek to the ocean.

Prior to the teenage roundup, my friends and I were being entertained by our driver as he stood outside the bus waxing his best Eddie Murphy impression. As soon as he finished the “roll Charlie around” Barbecue routine, I knew that THIS was the bus for me.

Throughout the trip he would do his favorite Eddie Murphy routines over the PA system and repeatedly tell us that we were all being a little too quiet in the back. “It’s a High School trip, y’all. This ain’t Sunday School!”

He’d also frequently call out for “hand checks” while gazing at us in the rearview mirror. To the chaperon’s horror, he’d always follow his hand checks with, “I still see WAY too many hands in the air!”

Slick was our hero.

When you’re 17, a guy like Slick personifies everything you ever hope to be in life. Adults probably found him horrifying but I remember more about Slick than any of the chaperons on that trip.

I didn’t see Slick at all during our stay in Virginia Beach until the night before we were supposed to leave. As a few friends and I returned to our hotel after an evening on the beach, we saw Slick and another bus driver standing nose to nose yelling at each other in the parking lot beside the buses we’d be returning home in.

Apparently, the one driver was mad because Slick had driven his bus to a local strip club. Slick didn’t see the problem because, as he explained it, the club had a big parking lot. As though the other driver’s chief concern was parkability.

That’s why you gotta love Slick. He saw the bigger picture.

“How else was I gonna get there?!” was probably my favorite Slick quote from that argument. It just made so much sense. But then, it also made no sense. And that’s what made Slick awesome.

The more this guy reamed out Slick for taking his bus to the strip club, the louder Slick’s F-bombs became, and the closer they got to exchanging blows.

In a huff, Slick exorcised one final “F— YOU, MAN!” and climbed into his seat. The bus fired up, he threw it into gear, and off he went into the night. Ever loyal, we escorted him out of the parking lot with fist-pumping chants of, “Slick! Slick! Slick!”

We couldn’t WAIT for the ride home the next day because we just knew Slick would have plenty of stories to tell. But as we exited the hotel and proceeded to the bus loading area, we noticed that only two buses were present.

The third, our bus, was already back in Binghamton.

Slick had gone home.

He had climbed into his strip club bus and LEFT, abandoning us all.

When we realized what had happened, we collectively rejoiced with high fives and more fist-pumping “Slick! Slick! Slick!” chants.

For Slick had single-handedly blessed each of us with another day of vacation. As we stood there teasingly waving goodbye to those whose bus driver hadn’t quit, we felt free. Granted, none of us had a room to sleep in yet because the hotel was already booked, but details like this are of no concern when you’re in high school. All we knew is that we had a free bonus day in Virginia Beach. Nothing else mattered.

For the adults, the ordeal was a nightmare. We had to be ferried out to multiple hotels, they had to arrange meal vouchers, parents all needed to be called (and this was WAY pre-cellphone), and the bus company had to arrange for a replacement charter.

We didn’t care. None of that was up to us. Our only job was to stay alive and hang out on the beach where the chaperons could see us.

Over the subsequent few days, we talked a lot about Slick. We wondered what happened to him and wondered how he explained his early return to the depot. I honestly don’t remember anything else that happened on that trip. Outside the bus ride there and the experience in the parking lot, the entire vacation is a blur.

Still to this day, even though 24 years have passed, the man is a legend.

And just in case he’s a fan…

We miss ya, Slick.

Signed,

The Passengers of Bus #3.