Scott: HEADPHONES REQUIRED

Phil felt nauseous just seeing the aquatic blue bus come from around the corner.  He actually didn’t mind most of the potentially nauseating elements of the Capital Area Transit (CAT), which serviced the city of Raleigh, North Carolina.  He could handle the over-weight drivers who seemed to be either too friendly or not friendly enough.  He could take the griminess, the occasional disruptive character, the pervasively ethnic music selections and the faint detergent smell was actually starting to grow on him.  Phil’s discomfort came from a simple case of motion-sickness.  The narrow winding streets combined with careless driving made his daily trips between school and home a practice in mental gag-control.  His only relief was a pair of huge headphones.

Upon boarding, Phil eagerly scanned the eighteen inch strip of add space that framed the ceiling, looking for new additions.  Today it was mostly the same old adds for insurance agencies with a new SAT Prep course posted. 

There were three signs that could be found in all CAT buses.  “SHIRT AND SHOES REQUIRED; SERVICE ANIMALS WELCOME” and “HEADPHONES REQUIRED.”  For two-and-a-half years Phil didn’t bother expending the brainpower to figure out how that third sign made sense.  He didn’t even understand that he didn’t understand it, it was just there.  Until one day a young punker was referred to the sign and asked to turn off his loud stereo music. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” he said with a politeness in beautiful dissonance with his rebellious appearance.  A pair of large headphones were promptly positioned over his matted hair.  Phil would never forget what the guy said to the bus-driver before getting off:  “You know, everyone here’s wearing shirts and shoes but I don’t see too many headphones, which are required.  I think you should give ‘em the boot.” 

The next day Phil bought a pair of identical headphones.  He wore them every day since.  He didn’t own a cassette player or a radio, but that’s what made the practice pleasing to him.  He felt in on a joke that tied him to a world in which, however foreign, he had a hunch he could thrive in.  The world of polite rebellion.

Every once-in-a-while they’d get an add for community theater and once he saw an add for a local punk show.  That day he let the bus take him farther downtown than he’d ever been, entertaining a blind hope that somehow it would drop him off right at the ticket line.  He had to walk several blocks back to campus and was late for class.