Young people today ...

[blamebrampton]

I was on the train home from work last night. It was crowded and there were a gaggle of blonde teenagers in the doorway who clambered on at the stop before mine and arrayed themselves around the doors. They nattered about hair, nails, one of their boyfriends who was unfortunate in the pants department.

I looked at them, and began to mentally rehearse my comments that would see them move out of the way of all the disembarking passengers at my stop (for some reason, it's always me who says something first, I have come to accept my role in the daily commute). 'Girls,' I planned to say, 'could you let us out, please?' I would be kind and a little older-sounding, because I knew they were not bad girls, just flighty and young and unlikely to have the spatial awareness one develops with age.

As the train pulled into the station, the loudest blonde girl looked behind her, looked at the crowded vestibule, then turned to her friends. 'We should jump off to let people out and get back on!' she announced.

'Yeah, good plan!' said the second-loudest girl.

As the rest of us disembarked, it was like a row of nuns passing a group of schoolgirls who had just won an award for civic mindedness. Everyone had a little word for them: 'Thanks!' 'What lovely girls!' 'Cheers kids!'

They all beamed, and we jaded inner-city dwellers mistily agreed that there were still parents doing A Good Job out there.

Of course, there are also The Other Sort.

Tonight, we were walking up to Newtown (which, in summer, is akin to descending into a Dantean hell) when a Young Man in a Porsche 911 came screaming around the corner and revved his engine painfully so that he could catch up swiftly to the line of traffic doing 15mph 50 yards ahead.

'That,' said J, 'Is the car of someone who has nothing in his pants.'

'What about his driving?' our friend asked.

'It's like an exclamation point,' I said. 'No really, there's nothing in there and I have no idea what to do with it!'

We all nodded in agreement and then a man went by on a rattletrap bicycle.

'Hung like a pony,' muttered J. We nodded agreement again.

Comments

Oh and

[annafugazzi.livejournal.com]

I nearly forgot my favourite teen bus story! I'm riding on the bus, 1993 or so, when a group of kids gets on. About five or six of them, mostly boys, all in black or scruffywear, looking goonish. The city I was in had seven federal penitentiaries, and judging from their clothing and colourful vocabulary, these kids looked like they probably belonged to families of inmates. They start talking loudly about f'ing this and motherf'ing that, and I start wishing the bus driver would hurry the f up.

Then one of the boys mentions that he knows someone who just came out, and his parents are ripshit and have kicked him out. I brace myself for the inevitable fag jokes.

"Are you serious? Holy f. That's so f'ing stupid."

"Yeah, like, what a couple of f'ing losers. And, like, his mom's all 'How can you do this to me?'"

"Bitch."

"No shit. Like, Sure, bitch, he's decided to be gay just to piss you off."

"People need to get a f'ing life."

"Yeah, and some of his friends, like, won't even talk to him any more."

"Assholes."

"What, they're worried they're gonna get fag cooties?"

"Yeah, probably. It's like, Get over yourself! He's not gonna be f'ing you, you f'ing losers, so what the f does it matter who he wants to do it with, you know?"


I wanted to hug the whole surly, black-clad lot of them. Warm fuzzies for the rest of the day :) :) :)

Re: Oh and

[blamebrampton.livejournal.com]

Oh bless! I want to hug them, too!

I was on a bus in NZ years ago with a squad of huge Maori Yoof swearing and carrying on behind me, and I was just starting to wonder if I wanted to move closer to the front of the bus when it reached their stop. As they filed off, they one by one looked down the aisle and called out 'Thank you, Driver!'

Their mums and dads would have been proud.