Film Festivals are fun — no doubt about it. What isn’t fun is boarding the terror train back to West Philly in the middle of the night.
This weekend, the Film Editors held each other tight as they faced disgruntled riders, flash mobs and a near gang–war.
“Fuck You! You think this is fucking funny?” an angry old man yelled, beating on the windows of the ticket booth as the turnstile jammed.
After a creepy wait on the platform, we entered the train, relieved to be on a different car than the geriatric loose cannon. That is, until the train stopped at a station where a mass of youngsters were being escorted upstairs by police officers. Flash mob? We think so.
But the real lowlight of the night came when an angry young man entered the car, knocking a pole-holder out of the way.
“You not gonna move, dickhead?” he spat. Said dickhead turned slowly and growled: “Really?” Just then, a group of young ruffians entered from the other side, backing up the dickhead who called the pole–holder a dickhead.
Caught in the middle, we weren’t unlike Elizabeth Shue and her posse of children in Adventures in Babysitting. Luckily, no one called me a bitch, and thus Nick Stergiopoulos did not end up with a knife in his shoe.
Whether anyone got off that train in body bags, like the gang leader in Adventures in Babysitting promised, we’ll never know. We got off at the next stop, because our daddies taught us right.
