It finally happened

I got on the bus today and instantly recognised a feeling of nagging irritation in the unrested Bennie mindset. Looking around and searching my thoughts for the source of the irritation, it didn’t take me long to locate the source of my problem – some over confident little hood rat oik wielding his weapon of choice – the mobile phone with music playing facility. French hip hop was his ammunition – a totally charmless bastardisation of a perfectly valid genre with broad predictable beats and whiny ghetto pretensions.
Feeling not at all rested and unable even to listen to my own music or concentrate on my book, i knew action had to be taken. It started with a lingering look over my shoulder to ascertain the exact source of the social blasphemer and check how many were in the group. Hurrah! A lone soldier. Feeling slightly appeased by the fact that I needn’t be intimidated by a lone adolescent gimp, I tried to go back to my book. No joy though, and the rage was creeping back. I looked around for support, to try and make eye contact with some fellow passengers and see who might support any verbal request for common sense on my part. Nothing doing. Well, I had to do something, so I stood up and changed seats, much to the confusion of the down’s syndrome girl on the opposite seat, who started looking around anxiously as if she might have missed her stop….
Having acquired a seat of relative tranquillity and having read a page of my book without having to re-read every other sentence, I was surprised and increasingly glad to note that some of my fellow passengers from the back of the bus had followed my lead. A minute later, the back section of the bus was more or less empty and knowing looks and nods of understanding were being exchanged freely between the self-evicted commuters. This level of communication was unheard of! Soon, there was a consented drift towards the lone wanker and his ridiculously ill-conceived device. Without conflict, a spokesperson stepped forward and asked the questions that needed to be asked and made the demands that had been scrolling across the platforms of our minds since we’d left the depot; “Why do you think we would possible ALL want to listen to your particular brand of appalling music?” “Please could you turn it off?”.
This kid was so sure of himself, and so concerned with his own space, that he apparently hadn’t noticed any of this building. Either that, or he wanted us to think that he hadn’t noticed. I’m not sure which is worse.
In any case, he said no, go fuck yourselves, and in another instant we had him. A bloke on each arm, forcing his head downwards so his arse stuck up in the air like a poodle. A sinister acceptance passed over me as I foresaw my inevitable role in the scene. A lady had picked up the offending phone and yanked our hood rat’s trousers and briefs (yes, briefs) clean off. Soon the phone was in position and so was I, having already tied a plastic bag over my shoe in readiness. With an almighty wind up, I booted the phone deep up inside the poor bastard’s intestines and then, as if preordained, the bus doors opened and we chucked him and his muffled beats out onto the street.
We returned to our seats with the collective understanding that nothing need ever be the same again, especially for the down’s syndrome girl whose understanding of acceptable norms on public transport had been irrevocably shattered…