"I Think, Therefore I Ant."
December 2
Seat
on the Bus
Peter
Merritt had an uncommon and unusual familiarity with the particulars of the
Alymer 33-C bus. He prided himself on being able to detail the route, the bus
times and the names of each of the four drivers that worked it. The Alymer 33-C
was Peter’s route and had been five days a week for the past nine years. Every
weekday morning at 7.42 Peter caught the 33-C at the bus stop three blocks from
his one bedroom apartment. He’d flash his metro pass and a friendly hello to
Greg Morlock, the morning driver and then take a seat in the rear two thirds
of the bus. The ride itself took 27 minutes and Peter occupied the entire time
reading the front section, the life section and the business section of his
morning paper. The bus traveled down Alymer to Mornington, headed north and
then took a right hand turn onto Norley.
Peter
got off at the third stop onto Norley. From there he would walk half a block
south to his office and pour himself a Sanka from the coffee station and then
turn on his computer somewhere between 8:20 and 8:24
The
end of the day routine was an eerie reflection of the morning.
Sometime between 4:28 and 4:32 Peter turned off his computer. He would
then return his cup to the coffee station and walk the half block north from
his office to Norley where he would wait for the 4:41 bus and its driver,
Terrence Cole. Once aboard, Peter sat himself again in the rear two thirds of
the bus and turned his 27 minute attention to the sports section, classifieds
and entertainment section.
Peter
had been making the trip on the Aylmer 33-C for so long now that he felt it
was a natural part of his day, the 27 minute trip that transported him between
his two totally separate worlds. He could not imagine being at the office
without first having made the ride in and could not imagine leaving without
catching the bus out. The ride was so intrinsically linked to his work day
that it seemed to Peter to be an actual part of the workday – some kind of
twice daily staff meeting on wheels.
Peter
enjoyed this metaphor and felt it was made stronger by the fact that, as was
the case at work, his bus ride was populated by more or less the same people
every day. Peter preferred the company of his bus buddies to that of his
office co-workers for many reasons but primarily because of the fact that they
had such an air of mystery about them. Like the people at work, there was a
casual acceptance of each other among the passengers, a general
acknowledgement of others as a member of their daily routine – but unlike
the people at work, Peter was not privy to these people’s names, occupations
or boring personal trivia. Instead, Peter had to try and deduce the facts of
these people’s lives. He had to try and establish their stories piecemeal.
It was, in Peter’s opinion, infinitely more interesting to try and determine
why the man in the green suit had shaved his moustache, than it was to hear
the details of Clive’s lower lumbar pain.
Every
once in a while Peter was required to work late but his knowledge of the 33-C
was extensive enough that he always new when the bus was due, and could time
his departure from the office to meet it. Such was the case when Peter was
required to work late on a special project for his manager. At 7:30 Peter was
still at his desk but close to finishing. He had hurried to put the finishing
touches on a document and left his coffee cup where it was, aware of the fact
that he only had 11 minutes to catch the 7:41.
Dave Grech was driving and was rarely behind schedule. If Peter missed
this bus it would be 44 minutes before the next arrival.
Peter
caught the 7:41 with a minute to spare. The bus was very busy but Peter found
a spot halfway back and quickly took in the other passengers before turning
his attention to his newspaper.
The ride was slow and the bus filled quickly. Peter was unaccustomed to the
crowds; his hours were just far enough of rush hour to spare him the press off
the commuter crowds. This wasn’t a rush hour crowd, mind you. These people
did not appear to be part of a cohesive, regular group, but rather were likely
to be an odd assortment of shift workers, shoppers and non specific travelers.
Peter
was just about to begin in on his classifieds when she got on the bus.
Peter thought she was probably in her late 20’s or early 30’s but
could not be sure due to her pregnancy. Peter felt that it was foolish to
guess peoples’ ages when they were ill, crying or pregnant. She was an
attractive woman, shortish, with long auburn hair that she had twisted and
piled into something resembling a poorly constructed cone of soft ice cream.
She was easily five months pregnant, possibly more.
Peter
watched as she maneuvered her way down the bus. The seats were all filled and
as she moved along people closed their eyes, stared out the windows or buried
themselves in their books and newspapers. Peter was more than a little
disgusted with the crowd of the 7:41 and even a little miffed that driver
David hadn’t stepped in and demanded that someone give up their seat.
As she waddled to the midway point of the bus Peter realized that if
anything was going to be done about this, he was going to have to be the one
to do it. Peter half got up. He had to retain the seat for fear of it being
poached but also had to look willing to leave it. He looked to the pregnant
woman and in a tone just sanctimonious enough to shame those in his vicinity
said, “Would you like to sit down?”
Peter
was speechless when the woman looked at him, smiled, shook her head in the
negative, stopped across from and took hold of the overhead pole.
Peter
sat back down. He was uncertain about what to do. He had offered his seat to
this pregnant woman and she had declined. He'd just get back to his paper…
At least he had offered. He tried but could not relax. There was a pregnant
woman standing on the bus while he was sitting. Why had she refused? She was
supposed to take his seat but instead she was standing beside him, looking
bloated, tired and put upon. Peter offered again and again she declined.
This was crazy. He was aware that people from the back of the bus were
looking at him like he was a leper. Hadn’t they heard him offer? More people
got on the bus. Peter could see the accusation in their eyes. This was too
much. This woman was ruining everything. She was spitting in the eye of
convention, etiquette and public expectancy and she was making Peter very
uncomfortable and guilty. He was sure people were judging him and it made his
stomach queasy. Was this the reward for decent behaviour? For being a good
man? After a minute of unbearable agony he could stand it no longer. Peter
jumped up and looked her straight in the eyes. There was nothing in her face
that gave any indication of why she was acting this way. Of what she was
hoping to achieve. Peter rang the bell and got off the bus. It took him 45
minutes to walk home but it was fine. It gave him time to think.
The
next few days were confusing ones for him. He went back to his usual routine
and for that he was grateful, but at the same time he could not shake that
woman from his head. Her single act of defiance had unhinged him in a way that
he did not care for. The feeling of terror that she had instilled in him was
remarkable. She must have realized how self-conscious she was making him –
anyone with a conscience could not comfortably on a bus seat while a pregnant woman stood
alongside. Peter tried desperately to come up with some explanations as to why
she had done this to him.
Despite
his attempts to put the incident behind him, Peter could not shake it. He had
come up empty in his search for answers and realized that the only way he could
find peace was to find the woman and ask her why she had declined to sit.
He
started to stay late at the office, catching the 7:41 home every night. He
realized it was a long shot but it was the only link he had.
On the
Tuesday of week 2 Peter finally met with success. He was seated near the front
door in anticipation of her arrival. As soon as she had paid her fair he was
on his feet. He smiled warmly and gestured toward the vacant seat.
“Please take my seat,” he said, but she simply smiled, shook her
head and started down toward the centre of the bus.
Peter followed in pursuit
and placed his hand on her elbow. She pulled away sharply and turned to face
him. Her smile was gone. “Please sit," he insisted, “I don’t have
far to go and I think we’d all like you to have a seat.” Peter turned and
looked at his fellow passengers for support. He was expecting a rousing chorus
of sympathetic comments and warm smiles but instead was unable to make eye
contact with anyone except an unkempt youngster in a
Sesame Street
vest. Peter turned back to the woman but she was already several seats away.
He continued toward her. He tried to get in front of her, so as to avoid
having to touch her again to get her attention. It was an ill advised move and
one that surprised him as much as it had her.
He
stood in front of her and caught her eye. “Excuse me, but why wouldn’t you
take my seat?” She said nothing.
Peter tried again. “Was it something I did? Said? I’m sorry to push
this, but, it just seems… odd. You know?”
Just as he was on the verge of
deciding that she didn’t speak English, she looked him square in the eyes
and said, “Excuse me please, this is my stop.”
She
rang the bell, pushed past Peter and got off the bus.
Peter watched her walk down the street as the bus pulled away.
Peter
had officially changed his hours and was working late every night now. The
change in routine had not agreed with him and he found himself tired,
irritated and unfocused. For three weeks he had been riding the 7:41 home. Peter
had though things through and decided that he had to talk to her again. He
had to explain himself and get an answer. He wanted her to know that he
wasn’t some stereotypical male who saw her as a member of the weaker sex.
That he wasn’t trying to interfere with her, pick her up, con her. He was no
threat. No typical male. Peter prided himself on his sensitivity toward women,
his gentleness and his understanding of their weariness and wariness toward
men. He wanted her to realize that his offer had been one of social
expectation. He didn’t really give a rat’s ass whether she sat or not. She
could stand on her head for all he cared but she had to realize the
implications of her doing so while he sat next to her. He hoped that if he
could explain these things to her she would come to her senses and the world
could go back to normal.
He
rode the 7:41. He rode the 8:23. He rode the 9:58. One night he rode around
and around until after midnight. He had no success. After almost a month he
found her. He was dozing at the back of the bus when a sharp braking jerked
him into consciousness. When he looked up he saw her. Her pregnant belly had
grown. She was on the bus and must have already been so for quite some time.
Peter
got up and started toward her but she was getting off, the doors were closing
behind her. Peter pushed past a
pair of teenagers and jumped toward the doors but it was too late. He pulled
on the bell furiously and called out to the driver, demanding that he stop the
bus and let him out.
Two blocks later the bus stopped and Peter jumped out the
rear doors and started running down the street.
By the
time he was within a 100 yards of her she was entering a four-story walk-up.
He had missed her. It was over. Peter had so hoped that he could make
her understand that she was part of a larger equation… That she had
responsibilities beyond her own selfish desire to stand. He waited for a while
and thought about her further. Perhaps she was a single mother, abandoned by
the man who had impregnated her and left her to raise her child alone. Perhaps
this was the reason she treated him so cruelly. Life was unfair and he felt
sorry for her but that was all the more reason that she should appreciate men
like him… Men who cared about the comforts of others and who treasured and
valued the sanctity of women, pregnancy and tradition. He comforted himself in
this thought and cursed himself for having fallen asleep on the bus… But it
was alright. Because now he knew where she lived. Peter would wait… Peter
would wait.
September 7
What
I did on my Summer Vacation
By Peter Remstead (Age 43)
I had two weeks off. That was good. On the first day I sat. I sat a lot. My
wife asked me if that was all I was going to do for two weeks… I didn’t
have an answer. Later, I finally
got up to go to bed. I thought
about how tomorrow I would have only thirteen days left in my summer vacation.
I lay down. I wept like a god damned baby. On the second day I woke up
early… Very early… 6am. I woke up early even though I was allowed to sleep
in. I thought it was funny. Funny that my life seemed to be programmed to a
timetable that I despised. It was funny but I did not laugh.
I had a shower and I went for a walk.
I walked past my office and wondered if someone was sitting in my desk.
On the third day it rained. I
turned on the TV. There was nothing on the TV. I watched it anyway. On
the fourth day I thought about how I had only 10 days left on my summer
vacation. I felt dread. On the fifth day I struck one of my children for no
apparent reason and then took them to a fast food restaurant. I had a burger
with fries and when I flirted with the girl behind the counter she laughed
mockingly at me. On the sixth day
I went for a walk. I got lost. I took a cab home… It cost me 20 dollars.
On the seventh day I visited the office.
My boss asked me what I was doing there.
I had no answer. My boss
told me that I looked ill and that I needed a vacation.
On the eight and ninth days I sat in my basement drinking scotch and
making a spice-rack out of old trophies I had won in high school.
On the tenth day I refused to shave, at lunch I changed my mind.
On the eleventh and twelfth days I stayed in bed with the covers pulled
over my head. On the thirteenth
day I made love to my wife, but I would have done that anyway as it was the
second Saturday of the month. On the fourteenth day I took photos so I would
remember my vacation and the next day I returned to work. Thank you.
May 1 (Rabbits)
The
Elevator Hug
Here's a
link
to a little cartoon I volunteered to write for. It's a campaign for
a "Virtual Hug."
This virtual hug is meant to
help raise funds for Meagan’s Walk which raises funds to fight paediatric
brain tumours. Meagan’s Walk was started by Denise Bebenek after her 5 year
old daughter Meagan died of a brain tumour 6 years ago. Every year on
Mother’s Day, Denise leads thousands of people to hug SickKids where Meagan
had received such excellent care. This virtual hug remembers her love of
laughter and of hugs. If it makes you smile, I hope you will
consider sharing this virtual hug with your friends and maybe even
consider donating to this worthy cause.
Last Christmas is so 2006...
Only 22 Shopping Days Left Until Xmas!
Meanwhile...
Ten Men Who
Can’t Do Drag
The
Monsters That Tucked Me In
Satan’s
New Image
The 12
Strange Faces of Jesus
Partisan
Broadcast System
Twisted
Toys In The Attic
 Movie
Monsters From Way Back
What
to say in a Job Interview
Powerful
Superwomen
 Top
Ten Books of Summer 2005
Fashion Faux
Pas
 Liner
Notes From Bad Albums
Journals of Leon
Schlesinger
(to
the top)
To read all the other mildly exciting editions of
"Avery's Daily Journal" visit
"Avery's Journal Archives"
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