Loud and silly; a bad combination
They were obviously just a couple of friends. Not too close, probably former classmates, apt to compete for attention. And, just as obviously, they were beginning another term in community college, with some new courses full of new ideas, new books, new knowledge. And, obviously, we were at the end of the Chapter One stage.
Today’s topic was astronomic theory; the definition of a light year, the number of galaxies, the idea that a worm hole could absorb a mouse. You can see where this is headed; nowhere useful. The rest of us, over sixty, were a captive audience. Locked into a city bus hurtling along the bypass, anxious to get home and begin our real lives. The two friends were oblivious to the rest of us, and they were LOUD. Having exhausted their knowledge of astronomy after three minutes, it was time to compare their marks. Not today’s marks, but those received at some time past, and the exactness of their recall was astonishing in its lack. Rather than move on to something else, they bracketed their numbers, up and down one or two at a time. Not quite bragging about their error count, but close.
Meanwhile, the rest of us could only wait for the show to end. They weren’t far away; I could have easily poked either one of them, but that rarely cures abject incivility. So, we waited for the bus to get close enough for debarkation; by this point, silence was worth walking a couple of blocks further.
Of course, they’re neighbours, so their respective rides ended within a block of one another, with a promise to telephone. Please, let them dial each other; I wouldn’t want to receive a wrong number call from either one. I wonder how much older they’ll be before they realize that yelling their stories in a crowded bus full of strangers is not even cheap entertainment for the rest of us.
