You can't watch a movie that takes place anywhere in the third world that does not feature a scene of people on a bus, train or other similar public transport carrying live chickens. I watch those people with chickens in string bags, bamboo cages, held by the feet and I want to be them.
I admitted my fantasy to friends, and it went from being my own private obsession to one shared with a small, deeply disturbed community. And it has gone from myself alone with a single chicken in some sort of suitably restraining enclosure to a huge number of people in bizarre costumes invading every sort of public transport between SJ and SF with an impressive array of barnyard fowl.
Just picture it [insert fadeout with nauseating wavelike motion and "doodley-doo" music here]:
I'm standing at the bus stop with at least a-five a-chickens in a string bag. As the bus stops in front of me, the driver takes in my fur cap (earflaps down), plaid shirt over a bright, flowered skirt over at least four pairs of socks and my most beat-up work boots. And I am at the head of a queue of people who all look like me, only worse.
As I clamber uncertainly onto the bus, the driver looks at my string bag. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, you can't bring that on the bus."
I squint at him uncertainly, as though I don't speak English, and continue on the bus. I sit down, all the while the bus driver is yelling "You have to get off. You can't bring those on the bus." In the meantime, at least ten other people are also climbing on the bus with their paper bags, Samsonite suitcases, cat carriers of live chickens. I lean forward, putting my arms protectively around my chickens, just in case someone might think that mine are better, more desireable than their own.
The bus driver gives up and sits down, cursing loudly. Once we get to the light rail station, we all get off and take over at least two cars on light rail. All the other passengers flee because by this time it's getting to be late in the morning and there are a lot of chickens here. The smell is...fowl. (No, I'm not particularly sorry.)
From the light rail, it's on to Cal Train where another car is emptied of people whose only wish on a daily basis is to NOT HAVE THIS HAPPEN TO THEM.
We ride Cal Train all the way to BART, where we can stride from car to car talking extremely loudly in unplaceable accents and smile broadly at other people in the car, drawing everyone possible into the joke.
And then we ride BART to the end of the line. We get off and celebrate our victory over civilization and good taste, and then take our chickens home and have fertilizer for the gardens and lovely eggs and pets that are every bit as stupid as goldfish or hamsters, but more useful.
I can hardly WAIT!