Surviving the School Bus Safari: Uncle Bobbys Field Trip Survival Sarcasm
Dear Uncle Bobby, My kid’s class has a big end-of-year field trip this week, and I somehow got roped into chaperoning. I thought it would be a fun day, but now I’m realizing I’m voluntarily getting on a school bus with 42 screaming kids. What did I get myself into?
Comically Unprepared,,
Permission Slipped
Oh, Slipped, bless your clipboard-holding heart. You didn’t sign a permission slip. You signed a pact with chaos. You thought this would be wholesome? An educational bonding moment? No sir. This ain’t a field trip — this is crowd control in motion. You’re not a chaperone. You’re an unpaid security guard for a rogue youth militia armed with juice boxes and sticky fingers. Field trips always sound nice: “We’re going to the science center!” But what they don’t tell you is:
- Half the kids only came for the vending machines.
- One of them brought an actual lizard.
- And somebody’s going to get “mildly injured” in the gift shop. And the bus ride? Oh, honey. You’re about to spend 45 minutes packed into a metal tube that smells like feet and fruit snacks while someone sings the Baby Shark remix on loop and two kids argue over whether “alligators are just swamp lizards with attitudes.”
Uncle Bobby’s advice? Embrace the madness. Bring ibuprofen. Wear dark sunglasses — not for the sun, but so no one sees the life leaving your eyes. And when it’s over, take yourself to a drive-thru, order something fried, and tell no one what you witnessed. Because you, dear Slipped, have done your time. And by surviving this journey, you’ve earned the highest honor of all: Not being asked again next year.
– Uncle Bobby