Yey! It's time for another bus-story (see here (June 16 2005) for previous story)
I was going home from downtown a Wednesday evening (this particular evening in fact)... I missed my dance class due to having looked at an apartment for too long, which pretty much turned out to be my dream apartment. Although can't get it, because it was immediate possession and I have two more months on my old... At least now I know what I'll be looking for.
It was a chilly February evening. Clear but humid -17. My feet are still like ice. I sat down on a half-empty seat on southbound 55, next to a person speaking some other language with a mom or something similar. It's funny how some people seem to need 1.5 seats in order to sit comfortably, so that you can only sit on the very edge of the outer seat.
I'm in the stage now that I can read on the bus without getting seasick (a very rare and wonderful stage), so I fished up my current book (actually one of L.M. Montgomery's Emily books - I've never read it in English before, and I'm noticing that the swedish translator had skipped many chunks in the translation, so it's a wonderful experience to re-read it again for the umpteenth time). Then I looked back at the person in the seat on the side in front of me, whom I had noticed when I entered the bus. The synapses between my eyes and part of brain that registers things had apparently had a siesta, because not until now had I processed the info and realised that he was somewhat different from the other passengers.
A young man, perhaps 18 years old was sitting there. He looked a bit tired and never
met anyone's eyes. The most eye catching thing about him were his hats. Not one, two, or three but four of them were piled on top of his head. He wore some kind of pilot's hat, black in colour, in the first layer, then a brown toque, then a cap. On top of it all he wore the most amazing hat: it was striped in three bright colours, green, yellow and purple, in some kind of furry feathery plush, in a stylishly rounded model. The hat alone would have been a sight, but on top of three others, it had a life of its own. I was in awe. Secretly of course, I didn't want to make the boy feel uncomfortable. On the outside I took on the same calm and undisturbed attitude as most winnipegian passengers usually possess and pretended to read on about Emily's adventures.
Furthermore our friend was wearing black pants with the waist on mid-thigh. Underneath he wore black and silverwhite sports-shorts. The shirt-coat he had underneath his two outer jackets had lots of scarves hanging out of the breastpocket, turning my thoughts to magicians. His left hand wore a blue bicycle glove, while his right one was adorned by two rings with huge rectangular rocks, and a watch, also rectangular, with a wide golden wristband. This was however worn over his hand, just beneath where his fingers ended, instead of the more traditional location over the wrist.
His also wore his round Harry Potter glasses a bit crooked over his nose, pretty far down on the tip, which was sticking out from underneath the tower of hats. Now, his appearance was not at all the one of a homeless person. He was neat and tidy, and the shoes were definitely new, even with tags still attached. I was playing with the thought of asking him about the outfit, mainly because I admired it so. But embracing my "svensson"-heritage (=average swede, with all of what that means), I never dared. Most people ignored him, I only saw one other girl glancing at his general direction twice, but keeping a straight face. I just love how winnipeggian bus-travellers can see anything without letting a muscle declare what thoughts go through their minds. But most of all I admire this young boy. He made what would otherwise have been another dull bus ride into a colourful experience, reminding me to notice the lives of other people and by that even so more my own. I get happy and feel very much alive when things just a little bit out of the ordinary occur, like this. I only for my life hope that the boy was happy too. It was hard to say with his winnipegian expressionless look. Unless he kept his expressions in his outfit. The top hat alone was definitely a happy hat.
Perhaps I should talk to my cellphone provider who told me I was "eligible for an upgrade" (of all stupid things...!!!) when I checked what I could do now that two years have passed and my slave contract is finally up, and get a phone with a camera...
In other news... Well, there are none. I got well from my cold, although I suspect I have to carry around the national reserve of phlegm in the unknown depths of my nose quite a while longer. I tend to forget it, and start blowing my nose at a restaurant, only to realise after a while that people might not appreciate the sound of trumpets under water at quite that high dB's while enjoying there bubble teas (authentic scenario from earlier this evening). The research is still as annoyingly elusive, keeping the immediate answers just out of reach. I am not amused.
Edit: Swenglish, so much swenglish. Still! bah, I'll keep it. Perhaps some swenglish is actual english.
6 comments:
Ah yes, the bus. I took it steady for over ten years (from grade 7 on). I take it less now, but it still occupies a soft spot in my heart.
I've seen a fight start where the end result was someone knocked unconcious. I've had a passenger with blood on his hands get on and warn us that we were in the end times. I've been "interviewed" by a lady who wasn't quite all there. Sitting next to me, "Hello, I'm reporting live from the scene with Brian Mulroney." Although she pretended, she didn't have a mike in her hands and I wasn't Brian Mulroney, so I was pretty sure it wasn't an official interview.
If you ride long enough your sure to have something interesting happen as the random set of people rotates in and out. However, interesting stories only happen once in a while. To have an interesting ride everytime, the best thing is to make up stories about the people.
I have a friend who likes to make up dramatic backstories for people. What I love to do though, is try and imagine people in a different time era. That man there reading the book with the grissled beard, imagine him as a viking raiding a village. That other man, maybe a jester in the king's court. The limit is your imagination. Which is why your fellow traveller was definately a magician.
Anyways, love your story especially, about how people's reactions are so nonplussed. So true.
(Please ignore the grammar and spelling errors... it must be the language barrier)
haha! I practiced this today, not on the bus, but at the astro-journal club meeting I was attending. It was hard to keep a straight face imagining the speaker as medieval troubadour, playing the jew's harp, and a few of the listener's as roman rich men in togas. One of them was however one of Attila's hunns (it was a very long meeting)
Once upon a time a girl entered the bus I was sitting on and when she should pay the ticket, she picked up a PIGGYBANK from her bag!!! She used a knife to pick out the coins and it took a long while!! I did nog believe my eyes. Nobody in the bus said a word or moved a muscle in the face. The driver waited patiently, until enough coins had came out of that very piggybank and the girl finally could pay for her ticket. But I will never forget that peculiar way to pay for a ticket. At the moment I have other pigs in my mind - wharthogs!! I recently saw a lot of those lovely creatures in Africa. Some stupid people say they are ugly. Compared with what? Not with humans, that is for sure. I think the prominent wharts on those big pigs/hogs are cute. And the teeth - lovely!
Continued sightings:
The oddest thing happend the other day. I got on the bus and there was a young man already on the bus. What was remarkably coincedental about this young man was the he too wore four hats, had glasses, wore a watch on his hand (as opposed to his arm) and had shiny white sneakers. Perhaps oddest of all was the fact that he was talking with the bus driver about obtaining identity papers.
Although Theresa identified the look as possible magician, I believe the look the young man was trying to achieve was that of a pimp.
Which is all somewhat dissapointing because the thought of a magician suddenly transported into a realm of long cold nights and equally long bus rides is far more appealing than the story of a mysteriously transported pimp.
And the tale continues:
This evening I jumped onto 14 from downtown, in order find the right brand of contacts lens fluid at st vital mall.. blablbala, who cares? Anyhow, it was a spur of the moment decision since I always take 55 otherwise, and I was surprised to find myself on this other one. Someone came in, and almost sat next to me, but I happened to have the backpack there, so he chose another seat. Hm, how many toques does that fellow wear? Suspicion grew - eiter it's the same as the hatguy, or this is a new rather different fashion that has recently surfaced in winnipeg. A seat on the other side of the bus got available, and I grabbed my stuff and moved. See, from here, I could unsuspiciously study our frozen friend in the reflection of the window - perfect! A quick glance had already satisfied my curiosity - a familiar face looked out from under a pair of skewed harry potter glasses. 6 layers of toques this time. Well, the second from top was actually a cap. More discreet colours this time though, and the top toque had a tag attached. He still wore his golden watch over his hand, as well as another one over his left hand, which still had a light blue glove, only this one had the word angel and a halo on top of it. The jackets (2 of them still, even though it's SPRING and WARM now (i.e. 0- +1 degrees) were the same but the jeans he wore this time had more pockets, so he had more scarves of different colours hanging out of them over his blindingly white shoes. He was also drinking a humongous slushy. I am not sure my shameless out-of-the-window-staring was as stealthy as I thought, because all of a sudden he started waving at my direction with a clipping scissor-movement of his hand ("cut it out"?), and I guiltily read in my book instead. A funny thing is that after this, it felt as if I knew every person I saw. Another bus driver came on board, and I've been his passenger many times (he's usually very grumpy, but this time he seemed to be in a jolly mood :) entering the mall, it was as if I saw familiar faces everywhere. Noone recognized me though, so I had the odd sensation of being a ghost floating around, observing.
But who is this guy? I definitely don't think he is a pimp, no matter what Jonathan says. He is far too young... No, the identity papers akes it more likely he is an alien. ähm. Or just someone who has formed his own style, and sticks to it, nomatterwhat. Highly cool, but hardly comfy? I wonder how it will alter when it gets warmer though! keep your eyes open, winnipeggers, and me informed...
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