People on the bus – Making the world a better place – Part two

So I’m driving home from work and I’m listening to the wireless and the Home service Radio 4.

People on the bus
Nobody talking

The programme being broadcast was about a newspaper editor from Zimbabwe and how he is adapting to life as an asylum seeker in the UK. One of the main differences, he pointed out, between Harare and the UK was how people didn’t seem to talk to each other on public transport.

Now surprisingly, this guy lives in Leeds which is a good deal away from London where I believe such practices as ignoring ones fellow passengers is common place. It kind of shocked me and my Northern mind set because I’d always thought of the south as being a bit….well you know….”insular” when it comes to talking to complete strangers. Indeed, I’m quite happy to sit there with my earphones in (sometimes without anything attached at the other end) to avoid the weirdo on the bus or being assailed by some elderly person wanting to tell me about their gout.

And that got me thinking.

Sometimes I don’t mind talking to complete strangers on the bus or in the pub or where ever. Sometimes it’s nice to get chatting about things. Why don’t we do it more often? What stops us? Fear of a stabbing? Fear of being converted into some mind numbed zombie from a Nigel Kneale story? Wasps?

I think the main reason for our inherent phobia of talking to people on public transport is fear of extreme views. Nobody likes to be trapped by someone spouting vitriolic hate or outlandish views. A case in point could be the time when Jim and I went to the Brewery Tap at the Cains Brewery in Liverpool.

We  got chatting to a seemingly jovial chap at the bar. He seemed ok, typical of the populace of the city. Friendly banter, John Lennon anecdotes, Billy Butleresque memories. However, the chat swiftly switched from idle scouse chit chatty banter to a strong antisemitic nationalist rant where one would have expected the gentleman to start waving his arm about a la Hitler at the Nuremberg Rally.

Then another case in point is the guy who once cornered me on the 78 and started talking about how the government controls the populace through the covert use of prescription medication.

Nutters.

So yeah, I can understand that people don’t really want to talk to each other on the bus for those reasons in illustration. But surely not everyone is like that. It seems people’s first reaction to someone talking to them on the bus or train or in the pub is one of suspicion and distrust.

This is my bus
This is my bus

Who is this weird person? How dare they talk to me? Are they going to knife me? Might they not try to  bum me? Or maybe stick me in a dark cellar where I will be forced to eat marmite and parsnips until the day I die?

I know I’m not likely to force anyone into eating parsnips or marmite. I don’t even have a cellar. I suppose that coupled with the fear of being attacked by marmite wielding weirdos comes the fear that they themselves would be labelled a weirdo. Fear, as they say in Dune, is the mind killer.

Then I thought, what is needed is a kind of badge system. Like say a green badge for “I’m happy to talk to anyone” and a red badge for “Fuck off weirdo”. So those with green badges can sit and yatter away to their hearts content and the red badge wearers can scowl and frown and listen to their music or whatever without interruption. It could even be a registered thing so that should you like talking to someone then you take down the number on the badge and look them up on the internet when you get home or what ever.

There could also be a voting system like say badge wearer #473083 is very interesting and like prawns so people who like to talk about prawns (there are a lot of people that do) can look out for #473083 on their travels. Furthermore, one might get talking to #23932 and find out they are one of those religious zealot types that want to turn everything into some discussion about Jesus or whatever. You know, like :-

Person #48909823 – “So do you like tea?”
Person #23932 – “I do. In fact in the book of Ba’at chapter 30 it says ‘And the lord didst partake in tea and verily there was much rejoicing’. I like tea almost as much as I like Jesus. Jesus can be your friend. Oh yes he can. Do you know Jesus? He is your friend. He is you know.”

So the person #48909823 could go and say person #23932 likes to turn everything you talk about into something about Jesus and then people who prefer to talk about Jesus all the time can talk happily to #23932 while those that don’t can talk to whoever else.

What do you think?

Of course such a scheme would require some more thinking out. But I reckon it would work well. Especially with the technology of the day.

This is, of course a giant leap to make in a society which we need to make happier and better. I suppose we can make a start by chatting, at least once a day, to a complete stranger. Just be nice. Don’t say anything controversial or boring. Just something brief, engaging and relevant to your situation. Say it with a smile rather than a frown. Or perhaps just say “Hey, Do you know Stegzy Gnomepants? He writes on the intarwebz”

Next time I will tell you more about how we can make the world a better place.

 

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Murder on the High Street

angelhands wanted me to get the bus today so that she could go to Wakefield. I told her I would compromise by allowing her to take me to Picton Clock where there is a better chance of getting the bus. As it happened I ended up getting the Stagecoach 78 [the one that only goes half the journey] from outside the Thatched House pub on Wavertree High Street. I got thinking, as I walked past the old Abbey Cinema (now Somerfield’s and Chav Bingo) and the new “luxury” apartments (still empty) on what was once an independent petrol station, how much Wavertree Road must have changed in 30 years.

The long and sorrowful tale of Wavertree High Street, the social history of houses, the damage of supermarkets and a plea

Buses

Buses in Liverpool have had a No Smoking policy for sometime, although I think that rule only applies to the passengers and not the engines of old dilapidated buses that some of the bus companies run. However, that doesnt stop the majority of under 21’s sitting on the back seat chuffing away hiding their burning butts in their cupped hands.

Today was no exception.

If I do have to get the bus I try to sit as near to the front as possible, normally because the intimidating types tend to congregate at the back; gob, urinate, leave curries or deface the seats and also because Liverpool bus drivers think they’re a cross between Benny Goodman and Ayrton Sennacot, speed past your stop and unless you have lightning reflexes and the balance of an acrobat you end up at the Pier Head when you want to get off at Brownlow Hell. Unfortunatley, all the seats at the front where empty so reluctantly I had to join the rough types at the back. School kids mainly, you know the sort, the ones that just loafed about at school, no ambition to succeed, as far as they’re concerned “why bother?”. Sure enough they were smoking ciggies and being generally obnoxious.

Their conversation brought a grin to my face (although I internalized the grin for fear of getting my head kicked in so it probably looked like I had wind or toothache).

Scally 1: yeah an’ like i was ded chonged like lahhh *
Scally 2: waz ya? I was chongin’ from like 7 till 4:15 last night
Scally 1: yeah well I once chonged from like 4 till 4:30

Obviously a bollocks “one-up-manship” competition was going on. This amuzing competition continued with

Scally 2: I had 21 packets of cigs the other day…smoked the lot of them
Scally 1: yeah well I once smoked 10 packs before 12 then when we went out we had another 17 packs….it was great

It was a wonder they were still alive!!

Anyway, further adventures on the bus involved :-

  • a woman with the same model phone as me
  • a child wiping its nose on the seat, Mum didnt give a shit
  • emotionless people crammed like sardines
  • drivers still using mobile phones when driving
  • a woman driving her kids to school in her dressing gown and nightie
  • a woman bottle feeding her child while driving at 30 mph (towards traffic lights)

Its a wonder any of us are still alive!

*Translation Corner*

Chonged – Stoned, normally through use of pot/ganja
Chongin – smoking pot/ganja
lahhh abrv. Lad , similar to mate, buddy, pal, chum

I hate buses.