I was recently on the BART from SFO to Lafayette when a woman in her 50s got on wearing a small boom box around her neck that was blaring an R&B song that I didn’t recognize.
She took a seat and leaned back, eyes shut, grooving to the music. It was very loud; it was very, very loud.
It was one of those times when I was grateful for my age-related hearing loss.
My fellow passengers started glancing around to see where all the noise was coming from. It was pretty obvious — she was the only person in the car wearing a boom box around her neck.
Once they figured out the source of the music, everyone ignored her.
Being subjected to a song you didn’t choose at top volume is annoying—but it’s also harmless. So nobody confronted her. Or told her to turn the music off. Or at least to dial down the volume.
It was one of those times when I was grateful for my age-related hearing loss.
As the train stopped at each new station, new people would board our cacophonous car. Startled, they’d look around, note the culprit, and then ignore her.
This is, of course, just basic public transit etiquette.
Then we got to a sexy song. The lyrics were down and dirty. Baby baby crooned the singer, Oh baby I want to touch you. I want to touch you so bad. I want to satisfy you. Let me touch your body. I want to do everything for you. What do you want me to do to you?
Because my sense of humor is fairly immature, the fact that this woman was making a whole train car full of random strangers listed to this sexy song struck me as hilarious. I did a little quiet snickering behind my mask. A young woman leaning against the window across the aisle from me who clearly shared my sense of humor rolled her eyes.
Sexy music at a deafening volume — this was definitely noise pollution. It was even, potentially, offensive. And yet? We all just continued to ignore her.
This is, of course, just basic public transit etiquette. I’ve ridden on countless trains and subways and commuter train the world over. Whatever it is, unless it walks up and actually punches you in the face, you just pretend it isn’t happening and wait for it to be over.
After a few more stops, the sexy song was replaced by a more innocuous tune. I continued to amuse myself by watch oncoming passengers register the sound and locate the source.
Then our car’s informal disc jockey began playing one of my favorite songs! Stevie Wonder’s classic “As” (a.k.a. I’ll be loving you always) began blasting through the car. Finally — a song that I actually wanted to hear! Stevie Wonder’s voice made me so happy I was tempted to jump up and start dancing.
I didn’t, of course. I’m a 67-year-old librarian. Dancing around a BART car would be unseemly. Still, I was definitely grooving along to the song, really enjoying it. Then the train stopped and the woman with the boom box got up and left. Right in the middle of the song!
“Hey wait a minute!” I wanted to yell. “Come back here! The song isn’t over!”
Instead, I grabbed my phone, found the song on Spotify, put on my headphones, and listened to it. Quietly. On my own.
Although, for a moment, I was tempted to do something else. What if, the instant she’d left the car, taking Stevie Wonder with her, I’d cued up the song on Spotify but instead of listening to it on my own, I’d proceeded to blast it to the car myself via my phone?
If I were another passenger and somebody did that? I’d think that was funny as hell.
But the first rule of comedy is to know your audience. I had no idea how my fellow passengers would respond.
So I didn’t. Instead, I kept the song to myself and enjoyed it to the end. But maybe I made the wrong call. Maybe I should have taken over Boombox Lady’s role as our BART car’s DJ and started blasting Stevie Wonder. Maybe I should have gotten up and started dancing too. Who knows what I could have started?
A Stevie Wonder dance party on a random BART car might be a great idea.
Or not.
So if you happened to be on that particular BART car last Wednesday, and when BoomBox lady finally got off the train you breathed a big sigh of relief and thought to yourself “Thank God that’s over?”
You’re welcome.
Writing Coach Roz Warren, who writes for everyone from the Funny Times to the New York Times, can help you improve and publish your work. Drop her a line at roSwarren@gmail.com. (That’s Ros with an “s,” not a “z.”)
