Coquille

The Chool Bus (ch19)

CHAPTER 19: The White-Knuckle Storm Crawl Continues… Tales of Ghosts and Mass Sociogenic Hysteria in Coquille. 

At forty miles per hour, the trip from Florence to Coos Bay took every bit of two. For Professor T, the disappearance of what little sunlight was leaking through the bloated clouds resembled a gray leviathan slowly swallowing the sky. The colors bled out, leaving behind a dark and angry deluge of cold, suffocating water. Professor T hoped Billie wasn’t feeling something similar… an overwhelming sensation of being waterboarded by Posiden. 

As par usual, Buck was playing a reassuring role in the passenger seat…his low-key southern gentleman’s confidence bolstering Billie’s stoic resolve. Of course, they had no choice as darkness was near total and the lonely forty-eight mile stretch was mostly devoid of pull-over spaces. 

They HAD to soldier on. 

Contributing to Professor T’s claustrophobic dread was a combination of Buck and Billie’s hushed tones and Jack’s untroubled snoring. It was disconcerting for Mork T as he could not imagine how anyone would be able to sleep through the pounding of drops the size of small water balloons, peppered by the occasional flash-bulb appearance of Zeus’ shocking bolts, and the delayed crashing of the Olympic bowling alley. Professor Thompson felt as if he had survived a staredown with the abyss in the two-plus hours it took to cover fifty miles… not to mention the hairy beast he could have sworn he saw lumbering through the lightning flashes as darkness was closing in.

As Billie guided the Chool Bus through Mother Nature’s extreme water hazard, she kept her eyes peeled for the sudden appearance of animals, vehicles, debris, or God forbid, people in the road. And though this may have been the most intense rain dump she’d ever had the chance to conquer, she was confident in the advice her grandfather gave for inclement weather.

“Never mind the posted speed limit… keep your wheels on the road, and keep your speed within the bounds of ‘reason and prudence.’” This advice served to earn Billie the gang’s trust as a calm, vigilant, responsible, True Blue Chool Bus pilot.

By the time the gang finally rolled into Coos Bay, the downpour had settled into a gentle, steady shower. The drops pattered on the roof most of the night and the soothing ambience served to lull all into a deep, dreamless slide into comatosity. When the morning sun finally made an appearance in Coos Bay, the gang took some time in the twenty-four-hour fitness center where they had parked for the night. Once all had their morning necessaries completed, some light breakfast food, some coffee, back on the road ventured the Forks. 

It was a clear sunny day when the bus rolled into Coquille. First stop? The home of Jack’s cousin, Janice. She and her sizable extended family were happy to welcome the Forks to their quaint little Oregon town. After introductions and some familial catch-up, Janice, tipped off by anecdotes of the gang’s time in Seattle, was reminded of the local Pho restaurant…all agreed…lunch at the Coquille Pho House.

Now, many consider this signature Vietnamese dish more than a nutritious, delicious meal, but also medicine. And with this medicinal dish, there is a process. First, the host brings each diner a plate with juicy wedged limes, a handful of fresh bean sprouts, a few sprigs of fragrant basil, and for those who believe their meal should have an opportunity to bite back, several slices of fresh jalapeno peppers.

Once the bowls arrive, diners prepare their medicinal Pho (oxtail soup) to their personal tastes. The proprietor furnishes accompanying spices at every table, hoisin sauce (seasoned soybean paste), chili sauce, Sriracha, fish oil, sugar, etc… you can gauge each diners’ capsaicin tolerance by the color of the oxtail broth. If it’s red it’s hot baybay. Now that the accompanying spices, herbs, and citrus had been added, one engages in a graceful ballet which involves chopsticks, and soup spoons. Swimming in the broth, noodles, and vegetable additions, depending on the order, will be your choice of meat: brisket, shrimp, beef tendon, tripe, mystery meat balls, etc.. Some like to enjoy the medicinal qualities of the hot broth, soaking in the healing steam, draining half of it before digging into the noodles and meat. These folks generally consume the whole bowl, noodles, broth, herbs, peppers, citrus and all. Others go right for the solids, sometimes leaving half a bowl of the healing liquid unconsumed. Professor T always shakes his head when he sees so much medicine wasted.

***

Back at Janice’s secluded house deep in the woods, the gang sat on lawnchairs in the warm June sun among romping children, goats, and pecking chickens. The conversations were easy and breezy. At some point, Janice’s brother, Jason, was chatting with Professor T about a land deal he was trying to secure. It was a plot in the wilderness that was rumored to be haunted by the tortured spirits of a recently demolished insane asylum. Now, Janice’s brother doesn’t believe in ghosts. In fact, he hosted a “paranormal activity debunker” podcast for a time… till he got board with it and decided to get a job in the sawmill as it paid a whole lot steadier. His real motive was triggered by another rumor, that gold could be found on the plot. He said it would take some digging and due diligence to determine the reality of that rumor.

As for the hauntings, all Jason could muster was a grunt of incredulity, trailing off to a smirking chuckle. “Seriously?” Jason sounded somewhat defensive. “I’ve interviewed dozens of folks convinced of spectral hauntings. After a while it gets predictable and boring. Do you remember the Scooby Doo cartoons? Of the ghost stories i investigated, way too many of them resembled stock characters and plots from that wildly entertaining Saturday morning diversion. Some corrupt opportunist or even local official is responsible for one of several outrages: environmental damage, estate dispute, businesses gone bust, almost always the motivation is financial. Some desperate grasping inspires an elaborate ruse involving a haunting of some kind. In the end, they either get away with their caper by way of mass sociogenic hysteria, or they make a mistake and get busted.” 

“Too bad we don’t have more of those precocious, inquisitive kids looking for mysteries to crack,” said Janice.

“Good luck with the site survey… i’d love to help pan for gold nuggets,” Billie was on autopilot, she was making sounds in order not to look bored.

Professor T was taking it all in. He considered Jason’s cock-sure outlook regarding mysterious phenomena a little too certain. In other words, Professor T was skeptical about Jason’t iron-clad skepticism. But turning his thoughts to Abigail Weiser’s inexplicable attack on his workplace integrity gave him pause. He was starting to wonder if he could accurately gauge the veracity of anybody’s fantastic story at face value. It seemed he was waking up to the depth of people’s public facing masks. He was starting to understand how the onion-like layers of personality can run deep and pungent.

Regardless, open-minded or not, Professor T considered the paranormal rumors about as real as Scooby Doo himself.

NEXT WEEK:
The gang lands in Eureka, NorCal, a beach town crawling with under-employed pirates giving the gang the heebie-jeebies, pushing them on to Redding.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch18)

CHAPTER 18: The Forks crash through dense Oregon forests dodging Sasquatch and Mother Nature.

As the research tour meandered through Pacific Northwest territory, the Forks made their way to scheduled stops from Seattle to Tacoma, from Portland to Eugene, and Oregon’s Lane Community College…a last stop before taking some time to visit Jack’s cousin in Coquille. The pace was frenetic as Portland’s traffic congestion affected the itinerary in ways not accurately factored by Jack and Billie. And though she was able to stay calm, Billie was hard pressed to hit all planned destinations on time. The stretch from Corvallis to Eugene was a welcomed respite…the gang was ready to let their hair down and enjoy some down-time in Coquille. 

From Eugene, they made their way to Florence and though running late, they decided to push on down the 101 Coastal Highway to Coos Bay where they could settle at the local 24-hour fitness club. Again, the gang was running late. The sun slowly disappeared, a soupy fog/biblical downpour rolled in, visibility inched ever closer to nil, and Billie was obliged to nudge the Chool Bus through this leg of the trip slowly, hazard flashers blazing. It was a white knuckle stretch for Billie but Jack was snoozing in his sleeping berth, Buck was in the passenger seat providing moral support, and Professor T was anxiously staring out the window hypnotized by the downpour, the claustrophobia-inducing tree walls persisting for miles and miles.

In this somewhat nightmarish crawl through the sodden darkness, Professor T’s thoughts ran wild with replays of conversations involving Abigail’s attorneys and the court-appointed mediator. On one hand, Professor T understood the #metoo movement was a necessary seismic correction in gender relations. It wasn’t just about high-profile takedowns… it was a fundamental demand for dignity and the right to exist in professional and private spaces without the threat of predatory behavior. It forced long-overdue conversations about consent, power dynamics, and the invisible labor women have historically carried. 

On the other hand, the rise of the “Manosphere”…the world of Alpha-grindset podcasts and “bro” influencers…seemed a bit more than a random backlash to Mork Thompson. More like a symptom of deep-seated identity metamorphosis. Professor T recognized traditional roles (provider, protector) were becoming less tied to economic reality. Where many were feeling disempowered at best, their very existence increasingly viewed as inherently problematic at worse. He felt his fellows were looking for a script that could provide purpose, strength, or at least, a sense of belonging.

He considered himself savvy to this dynamic and viewed himself sympathetic to the plight of women. He recalled John Lennon’s song, Woman is the Ni***r of the World. Professor T’s take was that, due to their willingness to sign up for nature’s demands in the process of proliferating the species, they should be more accurately be considered heroes of the world. Not to mention the monthly pain of simply existing. In short, Professor T considered himself in league with the ladies. 

Abigail surely knew this about him, so all things considered, Professor T concluded Abigail’s campaign was a setup. He suspected she was caught up in a nefarious plan hatched by the ethically challenged duo, Scheizer and Bok. In the beginning he experienced self-doubt, he truly wondered if his outlook had been so out of whack that her case was legit, but then he recalled an encounter with the shysters where they appeared to be provoking him. Scheizer, with his fragile and bony constitution always ended up standing behind Bok, pasty, bloated, and shabbily dressed.

It seemed they were trying to provoke Professor T to assault one of them. He even thought he heard Scheizer say something to the effect of, “Does this inquiry anger you? Perhaps you would like to give my partner a shove, or maybe a poke in the jaw?” 

Of course, Professor T could only look on with astonishment. In his thinking, members of the professional class, doctors, teachers, lawyers, etc. were always well intended and professional in their day to day interactions. When it appeared someone with the privilege of representing clients in a court of law was exhibiting grasping and corrupt behavior, he experienced a shock of cognitive dissonance. Always wary of falling into a trap of fundamental attribution error, Professor T’s response, when encountering corruption, was quick to explain it away by acknowledging everyone has their share of battles, telling himself he must be misinterpreting motives of those who appear to be behaving in less than ethical ways. 

***

Breaking Professor T’s reverie, a thunder crash rattled the cabinets. Billie confessed later it gave her a good jump scare. But just before the crash, in that instant of bright illumination, Professor T could have sworn he saw a lumbering, hairy figure in the trees. And for the rest of the stretch to Coos Bay, he scanned the fog and rain obscured dense tree belt for more evidence of forest dwelling wookies. Of course nothing more would appear in the good professor’s visual field. He decided to keep this sighting to himself as it would never do to have a respected academic confessing belief in the Sasquatch mythology. It was difficult to hold his tongue, but he was traveling with friends so he resolved to make a joke about the sighting over dinner once the Chool Bus was parked for the night…a trial balloon to check his traveling companions’ reaction.

NEXT WEEK:
The White-Knuckle Storm Crawl Continues… Tales of Ghosts, Toxic Waste Contamination, and GOLD in Coquille.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links