All my worldly possessions rode in the seat directly behind him, and I rode in the other front seat. Bart stopped singing and pointed to a shoebox full of CDs that was under his seat. He said, “Dig through that box there. I’m pretty sure I’ve got Big Lizard in My Backyard in there.” Big Lizard in My Backyard is the album with “Takin’ the Retards to the Zoo” on it. “You have that album in the bus?” I asked, though I didn’t need to, because there it was, right in Bart’s shoebox. “Of course,” Bart said. “The clients love that song.” “Who are the clients?” “My short bus riders.” “The mentally, uh…” and I couldn’t think of what to say, what the proper term was now. If they were mentally retarded or mentally challenged or whatever. Bart solved it for me. He said, “The retards, yeah.” “You don’t call them retards, do you?” “No,” Bart said. “I call them short bus riders.” He reached into the pocket of his white and blue striped work shirt.
