“...the manners, comments, decorum and courtesy were exactly like what we had at a Junior High bus stop.”
Will have to rely on your experience as I didn’t have that experience. The bus stopped in front of my house, and I got on. I didn’t live in a town or city. I lived in a Sun Oil Camp in the middle of the east Texas oil field. As a child, I climbed on oil derricks. I suppose if my parents had known that, they would not have been happy with me, but I never did fall.
I lived in a large suburb to a medium sized city. Leave it to Beaver land.
Our bus stops were the areas, of play and fight; kick or be kicked as well as the land of who could be the crudest or the most unique.
My play area included houses under construction and I was almost killed in one of them by a thousand pounds of falling dry wall board.