Laurentian University, where I coach the women’s track and cross-country teams, is four hours north of Toronto, and most of our competition venues are at least that far away. (I also coach a track club, but that’s for other blog posts).
So we do a lot of driving. In the past, we travelled in vans, but this year our fortunes changed dramatically. We now use a 30 passenger coach, It’s heaven! The difference in stress levels after a bus-trip versus a van trip is astronomical. In fact, I’m typing this blog while sipping tea in the front seat of the bus. We’re flying down the highway and I can see the fall colors flashing past, and rivers and lakes and other spectacular views. The bus has a bathroom, luggage compartment, reclining seats and a professional driver.
It has one other feature that sounds wonderful, but is a double-edged sword – a DVD player with five screens and speaker system. Movies! What a great way to wile away the hours!
Or so I thought. On our first trip in the bus, I made a fatal mistake. I forgot all about the DVD player and forgot to bring movies. I also forgot that I travel with women. There were just three non-females in our group – me, our assistant coach and our trainer. And 15 females.
My ordeal began shortly after leaving the campus. The first episode of season three of “Sex in the City.” Immediately followed by the second episode. Then the third. Whoever thought of putting an entire season of a television series on a DVD is an evil person. I soon found myself getting to know the intimidate details of every aspect of the lives of Miranda, Carrie, Samantha, and Charlotte. Much more than I wanted to know. My mind was being filled to overflowing with sensitivity. It was torture.
The drive home was no better. More episodes of “Sex in the City”. I had no alternative to offer. The eyes of my fellow males were spinning in their heads. Where were the car chases, shooting, fistfights, blind-side tackles, and kung-fu kicks? This wasn’t movie watching as we knew it.
Then it happened. The coup de grace. The “Sex in the City” DVD was removed and replaced with…”27 Dresses.” Quintessential chick flick wedding movie. Out of the frying pan into the fire. My poor assistant coach, sitting behind me. Every few minutes, I could hear him make a big sigh followed by an “Oh my gosh!”
I’m sure the Geneva Convention has rules against such treatment. Surely, being entrapped in a metal tube for 16 hours while being assaulted by unwelcome sensory stimuli qualifies as torture.
At any rate, the trip eventually ended. While I haven’t watched a DVD since, I am currently on the bus again. But on this trip, the girls have been merciful. We are well stocked with the Anchorman, and the Bourne Chronicles. I stand a chance. However, if you don’t receive a blog post in two weeks, you’ll know I am locked in an asylum somewhere. One without DVD players.
Dick Moss, Editor,