I thought I had been to the pinnacle of bus-trapped insanity last summer, when I sat pinioned between adolescent girls popping jewel like jelly candies and chattering on cell phones about big city shopping shopping shopping, half drowning out the Chinese dubbed Tom & Jerry cartoons with Japanese subtitles but not the little butterball boy pin-balling up and down the aisle, burning off the giant soda and fries mama fed him at the rest stop. Oh yes, and oh—only to be topped by my most recent trip, coming home to Brooklyn breezes after an ill-timed vacation into the sweltering swamp that is our nation’s capitol in August.
I bought a ticket with a new company for some hope of not watching a movie, because the passengers vote whether or not to have one. I enjoy bus trips, even long ones, especially long ones, except for two things: the bad manners of fellow riders and forced media. I typically bring earplugs, but sometimes I forget and sometimes they’re inadequate. I’ve yet to acquire any nifty music playing/earphone device. So, I am compelled to at least listen which leads to watching whatever Hollywood swill they foist upon me.
As we’re departing, the bus is only three quarters full. There is a salt and pepper haired, tattooed dyke a row ahead of me, who delves immediately into her book. A Caribbean family with several small children make their way to the back. The white guy across the aisle helps me figure out how to work the seats and offers me a Ritz cracker before wrapping himself in wires and hunkering down behind his laptop.
Overall, the passengers vote to watch a movie. “Tyranny of the majority,” I mutter.
I cannot remember the options now, but the group also voted for A Bronx Tale. “Good choice,” the bus driver approves. “It’s good for kids,” he adds. “There’s some swearing. And some violence. But no sex.”
And pops in the cd.
Some swearing, apparently, means the F-word as punctuation. And the N-word as an integral part of dialogue. This is a Robert De Niro film, and the violence is graphic. Mafia-style shootings. Threats and bullying. Racist brutality.
Excellent, edifying movies for children, no?
This is the great American perversion. Creation and tolerance of visceral violent imagery alongside puritanical veiling of sexuality.
Oh my God! Breasts! Cover the children’s eyes!
What would have been the same audience’s reaction had the driver shown, say, Boys on the Side or Philadelphia? I’ll admit it would probably be very uncomfortable to watch Shortbus or Fire with my busmates. Given the types of special gentlemen who often seat themselves beside me, it would be awkward at best.
What about Bend It Like Beckham? Wasn’t that rated G? I’d be fine to be trapped with a G movie to accommodate the most sensitive audience members. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Akeelah and the Bee—bring them on.
Really, though, can’t we all just read a book or something? Here are some good ones for your last long rides at the end of vacation season:
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