November 23, 2011Dear Sir,This afternoon, I made the infinitely regrettable mistake of taking a No.8 bus to the vicinity of a client's home, commencing from the new bus depot in town. It was a time of day when tourists and long-suffering local citizens had to endure what passes for “service” in this country.We were callously bundled elbow to rib; pressed firmly against an assortment of lumpy green grocery bags; which in turn, were rather haphazardly affixed to the ageing outstretched arms of overtly exhausted shoppers, obviously anxious to get home in time to feed ravenous family members, before their own oft-ignored, pulsating aneurysms finally explode — yielding at last, a blissfully halcyon escape from urban life, bad teeth, non-stop hair loss and the truly excruciating experiences derived from nauseating daily commutes, via Bermuda buses.Take me now, Lord! My monthly transit pass is due to expire anyway! At the time of writing, it is November. The air-conditioning on the buses is seasonally terminated by thin-skinned drivers, only too pleased to yank open the few existing mini-windows — avoiding the refrigeration craved by their dehydrated passengers, soon to expire in the aisles. When buses are not moving (due to traffic lights; bus stops and the occasional pods of pedestrians, attempting to sacrifice themselves upon the buses' bumpers, while jaywalking mid-block) no air flows through the mini-windows (eyes begin to bulge and tempers flare).Lack of breathable air; excessive heat and humidity; combined with the sickening mixed odours of perfumes, colognes; day-old body sweat and more, leads to acute asthma, a longing to lose one's sense of smell or possibly; even the desire to be granted a quick death! It was 5.45pm, and I was riding the No 8 bus to Hell, along with a herd of impolite children (ages 12 — 16) none of whom offered a seat to the elderly ladies rocking back and forth on their heels while clutching over-size purses; canes and the aforementioned green grocery bags. Before you ask: I stood all the way to Southampton. Each child was either engaged in animated conversation with friends or carefully averting guilty eyes, so as not to officially notice the senior citizens standing next to them. Despicable! Rude! Atrocious behaviour! I may be “old school” in my education — but at least I received an education!While I freely confess that I am not an angel, (my own sins are numerous and constantly gnaw upon a tattered conscience) I do recognise what is “right” from what is “wrong” and this entire situation was definitely wrong. Politeness still counts! While tempting to blame the parents in this instance, it is not a shining example of basic, Bermudian etiquette. There! It's official! I've finally tumbled into the abyss, landing heavily in the muck — better known as middle age. I've even recently been heard to utter the condemning phrase: “When I was young … things were different!”Forgive me! It is possible I've lived too long. I remember a happier Bermuda; a kinder Bermuda; a respectful Bermuda. Alzheimer's is my final hope.ARTHUR L RAYPembrok