Friday, February 13, 2004

Back Of(f) the Bus

It was dark and the squalid terminal was deserted when the bus pulled up and I boarded it - an articulated coach, they call them, with a bendy bit in the middle.  I went to my habitual seat, facing forward in a single on the left just past the articulation. 

Three fifteen-year-old girls burst in raucously after me.  They wore tight Ts and halters and sassy shorts and short skirts, too much perfume and elaborately braided hair and kicky little backpacks; they giggled with each other and squealed and generally acted like fifteen-year-old girls. I could barely understand a word of what they said.  But as they tumbled with peals of laughter past me toward the last rows, one of them clearly hooted out, “Niggas to da back o’ da bus!” One of her friends cackled at the joke but the other hissed back in a stage whisper, “Girl, he can hear you there!”

I could, too.  I was wearing headphones, and I like to listen to loud music, loudly - but as it turned out, at that moment I was at a quiet spot on the mix.  I could hear everything.  I just sat there.

“You think so?  He wearin’ phones.”

I couldn’t help it.  I smiled. 

All three burst into hysterical laughter and ran from the bus, tumbling out the back stairwell before we even pulled away from the landing.

MORAL: If you’re wearing headphones, but you can hear everything anyway, you should probably hold up a little sign that says “Actually I can hear everything you’re saying.” It will prevent misunderstandings.