My Nemesis, The Bus

It’s morning again in America. The sun peeks over the mighty oak trees as an eagle soars down from the mountainesque plains of wherever the hell. We pan across a two-lane highway, quiet in the morning glow. It winds through the trees.

The silence is slowly drowned out by the sound of an engine. The sound grows louder as we see a bus come into the frame. Moving quickly down the highway, the bus is plastered with a logo for a company called “Casino Tours.”

Voice Over: The bus. I don’t really know how exactly to describe what I have with the bus. It’s more than just something that makes me angry. It’s a lot more. It’s not just an annoyance, though maybe that’s what it was at first. Now, it’s a vendetta.

A honking horn hits us like an air raid siren. The sound of the bus engine is joined by the struggling engine of a 4-door Dodge Sedan. We see its deep green finish glean in the sun as it quickly comes up behind the bus.

Voice Over: That bus, right there, is my enemy. I have to stop it.

The car pulls alongside the bus, attempting to overtake. The bus accelerates, spewing dark grey exhaust from its rear. Spying an oncoming motorist, the car slows down and pulls back behind the bus.

Cut to GARY SCATOLI, a middle-aged man wit thick wire-rimmed glasses. He’s dressed in a navy blue business suit. His thinning hair is blown back by the wind coming through the open car window.

Scatoli: God darnit! The bus! The BUS! The god darned BUS!

The chase continues.

Scatoli (V.O.): Yes, people have asked me. They’re rude about it, too. “What do you mean the bus is your enemy?” they say, or, you know, “Hey, you fool, stop chasing that bus all the time. It’s just a bus. You’re wasting your time.” You know what I say to that? You know what I say, when they say that to me? I say, “Yes, it’s just a bus. And that’s why I can’t let it behave like it does.”

We cut to different footage. It’s evening now. The bus and Scatoli’s car are on a four-lane highway, lit by streetlamps. They run side-by-side.

Scatoli (V.O.): That’s the thing about this. I mean, it’s my life, essentially. At this point, I’d say I spend 14-to-16 hours a day doing this. And not a lot of people get it. Not a lot of people understand. That’s the frustrating part. I’m not crazy. People have said I’m crazy. They’ve laughed at me. We’ve gotten letters, Jules and I, from people who have heard about me. Ones that start out like “Dear Crazypants.” Except they don’t say ‘crazypants’. They use profanity, a lot of them. Most of them, I should say.

Going into a curve on the highway, Scatoli’s car pulls ahead of the bus and merges into the bus’ lane. We cut back into Scatoli’s car. Watching him from the passenger seat, his face is a picture of frazzled concentration. His brow is wet with sweat. His suit jacket strewn across the backseat, we can see dark stains under his armpits.

Scatoli: I got him! I got him this time, I think! That old bus. He messed up on the turn - did you see that? You don’t slow down on that turn. There’s no need. There’s NO need!

We watch as the “Casino Tours” logo comes into view outside Scatoli’s driver’s-side window. Scatoli turns to see, a look of horror upon his face.

Scatoli: The BUS! My NEMESIS! You are breaking the law with your velocity, you bus! You must STOP!

Scatoli guns the engine, but so does the bus. We cut back to the overhead view, as we watch them race down the highway into the night.

Julie Scatoli (V.O.): I’d be lying if I said this is the kind of life I pictured us having when we got married.

Cut to Julie Scatoli, Gary’s wife, sitting at her kitchen table. She smokes a cigarette slowly. Behind her we see a bulletin board plastered with Casino Tours bus schedules.

Julie Scatoli: People call him a fool. Some of myfriends - some of my best friends - have told me to leave him. “He’s lost it!” they say, like it’s not something I’ve heard, or thought, before. It’s not that simple, though. I wish it was that simple.

Cut to amateur wedding video. A much younger Gary Scatoli is seen with his wife, rushing out of a church. They’re both smiling.

J. Scatoli (V.O.): We were happy. We had 20 amazing years. Our kids - they’re good kids. We don’t see them very much anymore. He taught science, you know, at the public school.

Class pictures of Gary and his classes are shown.

J. Scatoli (V.O.): He loved it - he really loved it, at least at first. But then it got bogged down in bureaucracy and administration. “I want it pure,” he used to tell me. He wanted things to be simple. He liked things straightforward logical. And he hated it when things got needlessly complicated. He still does hate that.

Footage as Gary pulls into his garage, shuts off his engine, and comes inside. We follow him as he puts his keys on the kitchen table, and then tiptoes upstairs quietly.

J. Scatoli (V.O.): I don’t see my husband anymore. But he’s a good man, same as he always was. It was his passion that made me love him and I can’t leave now because he’s found something - yeah, something odd. I’ll admit it! - to be passionate about.

Morning again. The sun is barely peeking above the horizon as Gary comes downstairs, already dressed in a freshly pressed suit. He stands silently in the kitchen as his coffee brews, and then departs again in his car. We watch him from the passenger seat.

Scatoli: I don’t do this for me. I do this for everybody. The bus that I see every day is a menace. It is not some trivial thing that can just be ignored. He drives badly. He drives VERY badly. And people expect me to just ignore it and say, “Oh, that’s annoying, but let’s move on”? People expect me to just turn and look away? No. Somebody has to put a stop to this. Somebody has to.

Scatoli holds a schedule up against his steering wheel as he creeps down the suburban streets.

Scatoli: And people have said, “Oh, was your kid killed in a bus accident or something?” And I say, “No, nothing like that.” But I’m not going to wait for somebody to get hurt. That’s what the rest of the world does. They wait around and then something bad happens and they say “Oh damn, let’s get the guy who did this.” That’s not…– that’s not the world I want to live in.

Scatoli pauses at a stopsign. He patiently waits. His hands are firmly placed at the 10 and 2 positions on the steering wheel. His eyes are steely behind his glasses. The bus drives by.

Scatoli: He is dangerous! Look at him! How can other people not see that this bus represents nothing but pure danger in this world? It just boggles my mind!

Scatoli has already jammed on the gas and pulled out onto the road. He follows the bus, tires squealing as he accelerates quickly. The chase is on again.

Scatoli (V.O.): So, you know, tell me what I do is stupid. Tell me what I do is foolhardy and wrong and a waste of my life. Tell me that, because everyone else already has. But the bottom line is that I do this because this matters. Because it means something to me. And, you know, what do you do? Sit around all day? Watch sports? How does that do anything? What are you doing so much better than me? Think of that, before you go and judge me.

Cut to late afternoon. Under the setting sun, Scatoli has stopped at a service station to fill up his car with gasoline. We see him in the background, filling up his car, his gaze fixed on the parked bus on the side of the highway. We are focused on the driver of the bus, a young bedraggled man in a baseball cap, chewing gum.

Driver: I don’t know. He just started, one day, following us around. All the drivers. Me, Lou, that black guy - we all just think it’s funny. He’s always there, trying to pass us and get in front of us so it’s like, hey, why not fuck with the guy? It’s fun. This job was fucking boring when I started. I just drove old people to the casino. All these geezers just shitting their pants and complaining about bumps in the road. But now, this guy has made things way more interesting. Listen to him - I mean, Jesus.

Zoom in on Scatoli pumping gas. He’s yelling mostly unintelligible things.

Scatoli: Go on, you —! We - the blasted —! That’s right! —–! Don’t even try to escape! It’s futile!

It’s night again. The bus and Gary’s car are once again side-by-side on a mostly-empty highway.

Driver (V.O.): We’re just fucking with him. I don’tknow why he does it. Some crazy old man, I guess. We hear him yelling sometimes, you know, “My nemesis! I will get you! Curse the day you were assembled, bus!” I don’t think he realizes that I’m just some guy driving a bus to make a few bucks. This isn’t even really what I do, you know - I’m actually a singer.

The bus pulls slightly ahead, but Gary’s able to match its speed.

Scatoli (V.O.): What do I hope to accomplish? I can make him stop. He WILL stop. I try to show him, you know, hey, people won’t stand for this recklessness. They won’t let you drive all willy-nilly too-and-fro all over the road like some sort of crazy whatever. I’m standing up, and I think I’m setting an example for others. Safety, after all, is all that matters.

Gary summons a burst of speed and gets in front of the bus. The bus quickly turns and takes a quick exit, barreling down the off-ramp. Gary is left alone on the higway. We cut to Gary in his car. He looks perplexed, turning back to see what’s gone on.

Scatoli: Is he gone? That’s not where he’s supposed to turn.

(Interviewer: Maybe he gave up?)

Scatoli: I don’t think - I don’t. That’s not where he turns. That’s not his turn.

(Interviewer: Maybe it’s over?)

Scatoli: I’m not sure - wait. Scatoli looks over his shoulder again. What happened there. Did you see that? He turned. He’s not supposed to turn.

(Interviewer: Don’t you think he could have given up? Maybe you showed him?)

Scatoli: I– I don’t. Keep your eyes open. He’s crafty, really. He…- this one time I thought I had him but then I was at a traffic light and boom, there he was, behind me. That bus, you know - that gosh darned bus.

Suddenly we see, in the oncoming lane, a bus appear on the off-ramp. This is also a “Casino Tours” bus, but bears a slightly different coloured logo. Scatoli is uninterested in this minor detail.

Scatoli: A-HA! The BUS! Do you see it! Over there! The bus! My nemesis! It is wily! But not! Wily! Enough!

Scatoli is smiling as he takes the next off-ramp at breakneck speed, rushing to get into the westbound lane. He rockets up the ramp and rejoins the highway. The bus is a few hundred metres ahead of him. The chase continues once more.

Scatoli (V.O.): Hero? I don’t know. I don’t think about things like that. I’m not interested in heroics or anything. I’m interested in making a difference in this world. Because there’s not a lot of ways a man can do that anymore. I tried, you know, other ways, but this - this is simple, easy, straightforward. This is how I’ll make a difference. This is how I’ll make the world a better place. This bus is my enemy. And I will stop it.

We watch as Scatoli rapidly catches up behind the bus on the dark highway. The bus accelerates, having seen his car in the rear view mirror. They both roar off into the distance.