Bussie-Talkie
Erin Douglass
One early morning several weeks ago a young woman climbed aboard the bus at Vermont. Long blond hair tied in 70's cheerleader ponytails, she wore trendy glasses and a baseball cap. Behind her bounced a roller bag.
Stepping quickly as the bus accelerated, she chose a seat in the crowded front of the bus. After parking her bag beside her, she leaned over and pulled a phone from its side, zipper pocket.
This was no ordinary phone. As I discovered the moment she dialed and her friend — beep! — answered, this was a walkie-talkie phone.
I used to love walkie-talkies. My sister and I would whisper crackling plans into our cheap Radio Shack set from opposite corners of the yard. We'd pound messages in Morse Code, mangling every word. Later, I learned that adults actually use the devices, too. Parents, lifeguards, the staff of Old Navy — all depend on the give and take of the walkie-talkie.
The blush, as they say, is off the rose.
Miss Ponytail, phone several inches from her mouth, started to run down her morning's plans. When she was done, she pressed a button, there was a shrill beep and her friend's voice issued forth.
You've got to be kidding me, I thought, staring at the back of her head.
She wasn't kidding. Instead, she and her friend launched blithely into a catalog of the previous evening's bar hopping with a chirpy, beep-infested cluelessness.
I gritted my teeth and glared out the window. Whose bright idea was this? Wasn't the pure, unadulterated cellphone annoying enough? Why make it the plaything of Satan?
Beep!
"We couldn't find you!"
Beep! [scratchy laugh]
Beep! "So we found those guys and left for Sunset…"
Beep! "You dork…"
I rolled my eyes and la-la-la-ed to block out the conversation. I plugged my ears with my fingers. It was no use. The party line continued, with all 25 of us tuned in.
An older woman across from Ponytail tapped the arm of the woman beside her. I couldn't hear what she said, but the two looked at the walkie-talkie and pursed their lips. Others shifted in their seats and stared forward. A few shot angry glances. Oblivious, the young woman blabbed on — beep, chat, beep, chat.
When she finally pulled the cord, the relief on the bus was palpable.
A week later, she was back.
Oh please no, I thought, when I spotted her waiting at Vermont.
She and her roller bag boarded. The driver didn't flinch. The other passengers snored on. Was I the only one who knew what we were in for?
After popping a token into the slot, the young woman — hair twisted into a bun — marched down the aisle and plunked down directly in front me.
I rolled up my newspaper and stuffed it in my gym bag. Then, sighing, I sat back and braced myself.
The phone was already out of stowage. Raising it to her lips, the young woman said, "You there?"
Nothing.
No beep. No response. Not even a crackle.
Well hallelujah, I thought, thanking the Almighty for Her perfectly timed intervention.
Not so fast, my child, came the angelic reply.
The young woman shook the phone a few times, shrugged, then flipped up the top. An American flag beamed from the display panel.
"I'll have to call you back!" she yelled into the phone, waking the older man dozing to her right.
Unfortunately, that wasn't necessary for suddenly — beep! — the walkie-talkie function kicked in.
"I told you to get tickets!"
A child sitting in the row in front of the young woman turned around and stared.
Beep! "I couldn't. I started talking to this guy —"
Beep! "Which one?"
Beep! "The guy who looked like Ben Affleck."
At that point I tuned out. Or maybe I blacked out. All I know is that I missed some important plot developments.
Beep! "…but married! It's the worst!"
Married? The Ben look-alike? Or another one of the studs from the bar?
Beep! "He's the one who called me from Starbucks…"
Oh him, I thought, rolling my eyes and staring out the dirty bus window.
Beep! [scratchy, unintelligible question]
Beep! "I gave my resume to her and she says I'm a shoe-in."
Beep! "That's great!"
The child was still staring over the back of the seat. He was probably seven or eight, and had a flop of black hair and large eyes.
Beep! "Well, I'm at school. I'll call you once I'm inside."
Beep! "K. Bye!"
Beep! "Bye!"
The young woman pulled the cord with her phone-bearing hand and awkwardly rolled the bag into the aisle. Then she stumble-stepped toward the front door.
The staring child watched her pass with a look of wonder.
And I prayed for a short semester.