“Let’s find some blow and big-tittie girls!” The guy beamed at his friend drunkenly and swayed as the bus headed downtown on the 101. He epitomized everything I love about guys in Isla Vista – their discretion, their class and their elegant way with words that make me melt in my hooker boots on the way downtown. Bill’s Bus is a jam-packed party of horny students getting frisky every weekend, especially on the way home. Truthfully, the bus aspect makes me feel like I’m in high school again, except the alcohol is legal and sex is a socially acceptable public act. Last week, I got dolled up, grabbed a flask of my good friend JŠgermeister and jumped on Bill’s Bus all by myself to do ethnographic research on my peers.
On any given Thursday night, the bars on State Street close and hordes of nearly blacked out drinkers pile on to the bus. Upon entering, they immediately fall on laps and sloppily start making out and experimenting with other various sexual indiscretions in front of the audience who are too drunk or sleepy to notice or care. Once my friend and I were severely lurped on by a fratastic meathead who informed me that if I were in fact the sex columnist, I had fucked his friend. When I informed him of his mistake, seeing that I had never even heard of his friend, he decided not that his friend was lying, but that there was no way I could be their faithful Wednesday Humptress. As soon as we shut him down, he moved on to another girl and started the kissing and the heavy petting before the bus had passed the Turnpike exit.
The dark bus coupled with the loud music and wall-to-wall people create a prime environment for discrete sex acts. Between sips of my trusty flask, I mentally judged the sloppy hookups and shuddered at the overly ambitious hopefuls groping and trying to lick everything in their immediate personal space. I sighed loudly and cursed the fact that I had willingly jumped into this cesspool by myself. What the fuck did I get myself into? My general irritation led me to drink excessive amounts of alcohol on the trip downtown and continue once I got there. I loosened up a bit and met up with my girls to dance.
Needless to say the irritation-induced drinking took its toll and I blacked out on the dance floor at Q’s Sushi A Go Go. I then decided to jump on the two o’clock Bill’s Bus, hopped on the lap of my friend and proceeded to make out the entire way back to I.V., thus becoming the girl I so easily passed off as a drunken, over-exposed idiot. The next morning, I had a significant epiphany – never judge someone until you’ve walked down State Street in their three-inch Steve Maddens. So I made a drunken scene on Bill’s Bus – big deal. Every snide comment I have made about a group of loud, drunk chicks in hoochie outfits strolling down the street has been hypocritical. I have been a part of said group of drunken girls more often than not and sometimes I need an attitude check.
With a town full of lookers, you are bound to find the occasional booze floozie or douchebag. My advice is to let these people roll off your back and not ruin you’re A-game. If you become a sour puss, then you’ll ruin the fleeting nights of freedom in college that tend to pass by so quickly. Beware of the sketch balls that lurk among us normal drunkards, but also let your guard down a little bit. As soon as you do, you might find that an “I cannot believe I did that” Bill’s Bus hookup can not only add a little spicy fun to your night, but create legitimate leverage for your friends and a great story for a friendly game of “Never Have I Ever.” So as soon as you become legal, give yourself at least one night on Bill’s Bus and you may find you will be getting off at your final stop over and over again.