Observation of a person 1/25/18
The exhilaration of the return to school, has been tempered with some issues. The first, the time period of the class, commencing at what is considered to be “rush” hour, (an oxymoron if I have heard one.) The second, is the Montreal weather. The homecoming after 17 years, started with standing in -25 C degree weather. Standing and freezing, not rushing at all. While watching the #105 bus breeze past, empty. Not just once, twice, but five times. Apparently this is not an unusual occurrence. When relating my indignation to other transit users, huddled in a glass enclosure, they in turn, related an urban myth about benevolent bus drivers stopping to pick up passengers while the bus is “en transit.” Not the case two nights in a row I can assure you. Hiking kilometers of icy sidewalks, lost in the metro as well, arriving to class late.
Lesson learned. Another class, another night, same time, one boards the only bus to dock at the near by bus stop after four sail by. Think of a drowning woman in a crowded ocean of people being thrown thrown a life jacket. (giving a whole new meaning to “one and only” doesn’t it.”)
The public transit system, one would think would be the perfect spot to watch the multitudes. Hardly the case, jammed in cheek by jowl. The viewing forced into the most truncated of glances, completed by furtive glaces of the up close and personal. Most subjects if truth be told, do not even know as they are held captive by phones. The multitudes are parka clad, in incomprehensible leaden color ranges, the hoods, trimmed in fur, blocking any form of people watching.
Into the underground we all rush, and to my great surprise, entering a car with the great multitude, there were a vast quantity of seats, all were available for the taking. I promptly and gratefully sank like a stone. The smell of excrement,tickled quietly, potently, over the white seats. Lingering about in the underground, by the lack of air currents. A brief sniff revealed it wasn’t me.
In an occupied seat, however, across from me, a haggard gentleman. He had the countenance of homeless, but not quite. His thick hair, disarrayed with considerable gray, had been cut, combed only by his hand. He had shaved, but many hours ago, a shadow of the same colors on his cheeks, dusting them. He listed left, in the direction we were heading, his head cupped by a hand, elbow leaning on the hand rail. Thus propped, his whole left side of his body positioned precariously upheld solely by the armrest.
Eyes closed. His lower lip concaved towards the floor because of this posture. You could see his ruby red gums, surprisingly not inflamed, he was toothless. They had the look of missing dentures. His clothes biggish, had the look of the recently ill. His coat, was a brilliant honey brown suede, his neck protruding out of like a turtle in a tank. His pants of similar nature, soiled but not quite, in a hunter green colour green. Shoes were a popular years ago, a brand of hush puppy, again utilized, but to the point of hopelessness.
No it was just the underwhelming, but very overt odor that drew the ire of the passengers. Many using scarves as shields against the offensive scent. He appeared to be sleeping, or perhaps he was studiously ignoring the other passengers as they were him.
His look was, his feel was, and had the appearance of misfortune. He had at his feet, this view unencumbered by other passengers, two pristine white plastic bags, they too leaning to port. They had the look of worldly possessions, tied by an orderly at a hospital. Off we went into the night.