Category: Commuting

Categories
Commuting

#047: Airing dirty laundry on public transit…

Currently listening to: “La Reine” – Les Cowboys Fringants

I continue my coverage of general Vancouver oddities seen and overheard in this post (previous ones include Vegetable Sandwich Man and Drunks before 3 p.m.).

I’ve always been intrigued by people who hold extremely loud and personal conversations in the loo, on the bus, in the cinema (god, honestly!), etcetera. In particular, I’m always puzzled as to whether some subtle exhibitionism compels such people to expostulate on their entire lives while on public transit. Be it jabbering into a cellphone at 293152 wpm, or yelling at their iPod-listening friends as the rest of the bus/Seabus listens on, it’s a source of endless entertainment.

Today was no exception. While reading Chuck Klosterman’s hilarious pop culture rants in his collection, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto on the 211, I was treated to one of those incredibly scintillating conversations which nobody needs to hear, but just can’t stop listening to. (Somewhat like Lady GaGa’s stuff- you don’t really want to listen to her music, but just can’t get those catchy pop chords out of your head. But I digress.)

So this aforementioned character had such mad dramatic news that he just had to call up five friends and repeat the same story to each one of them, getting progressively louder as he went on while the rest of the bus listened on to his blow-by-blow detail of exactly how much he wanted to sleep with the lead singer of a Celtic punk rock band, which plays mandolins and electric guitars. We were also treated to a description of exactly how rousing he found aforementioned Celtic rocker, and I don’t mean that in the whole grandeur of Celtic music way.

Now, I’m sorry, but firstly, what exactly is a Celtic punk rock band? Is that like Lord of the Dance crossed with Led Zepplin with a side serving of Simple Plan? Will they play rounds except with screaming? Will there be Irish dancing? Does one smash a mandolin? Most importantly, do they do covers, and if so, will they do a cover of Queen’s We Will Rock You in an Irish accent? These questions are plaguing me at present, so I’ve taken the liberty of researching this: according to Wikipedia, Celtic punk is “punk rock mixed with traditional Celtic music”. How very helpful. In following the links, I must say that Scottish Gaelic punk sounds a lot more intriguing…but I digress again.

Secondly, was it really necessary to hold that conversation on the bus, yelling into a cellphone (where presumably, the other party is probably also on a bus, knowing the sort)? I don’t feel the need to speak about my tooth-brushing habits on the bus; nor am I compelled to (twist and) shout about my metaphorically raging hormones. Also, was it necessary to tell five people the exact same story? You could have mixed it up a little for all our increased entertainment. After a while, it was somewhat like listening to an audiobook on loop. Yes, we know your Celtic rocker is absolutely “just so f-ing hot” and can play without a pick. Yes, we know that you’re getting turned on just thinking about it. Bloody brilliant, I’m sure. But no matter how intrinsically entertaining it may be the first time round, after three renditions of the same tale, things get a bit dull. It’s like over-milking the cow (or some metaphorical expression like that). It’s just not that funny any more (except in theory). And Chuck Klosterman does not appreciate your distracting me from his brilliant tripped-up rants.

If I ever so much as breathe that I don’t like busing, remind me of all I’ll be missing if I start driving, or living on rez.

I definitely will be writing another blog post tomorrow, regarding self-help book authors and how easy it is to delude people. But that’s a story for another time. Till then, cheers!

P.S. This kinda made my day: LOL, BLAGOJEVICH

Categories
Commuting

#045: Vegetable Sandwich Man

Currently listening to: “Democracy” – Leonard Cohen

The one-and-a-half hour bus ride to UBC from North Vancouver can be absolutely ghastly sometimes, but it is days and situations like this that make me – dare I say it? – downright fond of busing.

So this whole fiasco started when my friend texts me all panicky, ranting on his new pet peeve – people who eat their lunches and have their juiceboxes on the early 7-ish a.m. bus. Honestly, he said, what do they eat for their lunch? Dinner? I chuckle to myself; he continues to rant: it is downright silly, there is a man who eats a vegetable sandwich every single day on the early morning bus, and has a similar sandwich every time he’s on the bus, etcetera. I am positively howling with laughter at this point. I vow that I must seek out this character, this veritable specimen of sandwich-munching –

and yesterday, the busing gods granted my bus ride proper amusement of the highest order.

You wouldn’t even think it could be him- the dear little man was dressed in a dark blue trenchcoat, and had on these little square-framed glasses, all professional and proper as can be, briefcase on lap, staring straight ahead like it was all so normal and all so delightful being on this splendid bus chewing on a vegetable sandwich. He would chew, lower his sandwich back into its Tupperware box, swallow, glance around, take another bite, repeat process, shifty glance, etc. As he finished his sandwich, I was trying my hardest not to stare/laugh/say something awfully inappropriate and loud on the bus – and as I thought I was succeeding, he proceeded to
whip out an entire loaf of bread from his briefcase and eat the sliced bread piece by piece.

At this point, I tried my darndest to think proper thoughts, such as ~*~INAUGURATION~*~, Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses, etc, but it obviously failed. I think I must have passed the entire ride with a ridiculously large grin on my face as I tried in vain not to look so bloody amused at the whole thing.

Seriously. That’s amazing. I mean,
a veggie sandwich, and a freaking loaf of bread.
Win.

Categories
Commuting Miscellaneous

#010: City people are like crémé brûlée…

Currently listening to: “All The Old Showstoppers” – The New Pornographers

Today, I had the good fortune of being on a relatively empty bus going to UBC. In fact, here is a diagram of the bus (Paint, I LOVE YOU) :

As I got on the bus, the seats which were occupied were as follows: the three orange seats in the front, the lime green seat on the left, and the pink seat on the left. I sat at the very back of the bus, in the purple seat, and observed as people got on the bus.

A lady got on, and sat down on the blue seat, forming a nice square with lots of empty space between the four of us at the back of the bus. The next seats to fill up over the next few bus stops were the turquoise seats at the front of the bus; nobody ventured to sit next to another person. Subsequently, the gentleman sitting on the lime green seat left; at the next stop, it was promptly filled up. This pattern continued: as the lady on the blue seat left, it was quickly filled. The empty space between the passengers persisted. The red seats were next to be filled up, and only after that did people venture to sit next to another person as there was absolutely no way to avoid it. Which was quite interesting, because 1. people kept to themselves; 2. nobody spoke a word throughout the entire bus ride, with the exception of the answering of a phone call by one of the passengers; 3. everyone was quite fine with it.

Which led me to recall something a small-town friend of mine once said.
“You city people are so cold. you walk and avoid each other’s gazes; on the bus, you don’t sit next to people unless you have to; you don’t say hi to anyone on the street.”

Having grown up in the city (and multiple others), I am no stranger to the above comment. But I still disagree. And as fascinating as I find the bus observation, it doesn’t bother me too much. True, city people can be a tad more cautious. We may not be as touchy-feely as some others. And we value our personal space. I like having space to toss my umbrella on the bus. And if there’s an empty seat, I’ll take it, if only so that I won’t be splaying my damp umbrella over some other equally tired person’s feet. Not saying hi to people on the street is really a matter of sensibility and practicality; after all, with approximately 500 people passing you on the way to school, it is just really not practical to stop and greet everyone. It does take time to get to know people. But that’s the beauty of life, is it not? To pause and actively work on understanding and knowing others instead of taking it for granted. To really find, among that lot, people who share a mutual understanding, instead of settling for whatever’s within an arm’s reach. And yes, it takes time, but eventually, it’s…nice.

City people aren’t cold. Even if we like to sit alone on the bus. Even if we avert our gazes. Even if we aren’t always bounding with manic chipper energy. City people are like crémé brûlée…take a moment or two, crack the surface, and enjoy the treacly goodness beneath.

Categories
Careers / Work Commuting

#003: Of books, buses and breakfast

Currently listening to: “Kiss You Off” – Scissor Sisters

So…I got the job at Indigo! It’s quite funny really; half the week I’m persuading people to take out as many books as they could possibly want to read for free, and the other half of the week I’ll be trying to make people pay for as many books (and other trinkets) as I can possibly sell them. Thank goodness I have no principles whatsoever.

In other news, two days more to the start of school and such; it’s really quite exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time. I shall look forward with great excitement to the hour-and-a-half-long commute; the mere thought thrills me to no end. You will soon learn that I am supremely easily amused: while donning the Arts students’ requisite purple robes, I will probably be the one kid sitting there, being incredibly entertained by watching people from various faculties walking around in gigantic colour-blocks.

Anyhow,

Kellogg’s All Bran Strawberry Medley owns my life right now.
It’s probably one of the most amazing breakfast (and lunch, and dinner) food I’ve eaten in recent years. The strawberry clusters are absolutely to die for, and the chunks of dried strawberry are heavenly. Oh, the cereal bits are pretty good, too. Bottom line: try it, it’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and better for you than other addictive substances.

I’ll be back to haunt you some more soon. Till then, tally ho, pip pip, guv’nor!

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