"Keep me posted on that score!"
That was what I heard the driver of the Greyhound bus I rode home after Thanksgiving saying repeatedly on his cell phone.
Throughout the ride (nearly 5 hours), I heard the melodious tone of his cell phone. And time and time again, he answered. At one point he held it up at a driver who had almost collided with us. That person was also on a cell phone. It looked like an angry gesture, but can I really be certain of that? Perhaps he was expressing solidarity with a fellow daredevil.
Since I was sitting in the very first seat, I heard a lot in between naps. (The bus was about to take off as I arrived, but that is another story.) One of his coworkers complained of an ache somewhere. He asked about it, but then concluded that her significant other would have to take care of it.
Because really, when he wasn't asking about "the game", he was providing a public service. There were many conversations with people that I understood to be fellow busdrivers. He warned them of where traffic was heavy (between exits 10 and 6; it clears up past the toll) and suggested alternative routes.
At many gatherings people go around the table to say what they are thankful for, but today, post-Thanksgiving, I am thankful that my fellow passengers and I made it home alive.