Sideshow
My transit day has two distinct populations. On the morning show, we have early risers, on their way to save their respective worlds. Pensive, but awake, ready to hit the street at a full run in a few minutes time. On the evening show, we have a full slate of students, often asleep within the first few hundred metres of the autoroute.
I’ve never had the urge to sleep on the morning run. Instead, it’s more fun to watch the sideshow. The woman with her Blackberry, determined to work out one email before getting into the office. Thumb-beat by thumb-beat in the morning light. The man with his Spanish for Travellers, enunciating noiselessly. This morning, there’s the amusing sight of the woman who is applying her makeup.
I’d be afraid to put tiny pointy brushes that close to my eyes; she is fearless. A mirror no larger than an espresso coffee cup provides feedback as she works on her personal Paint-by-Numbers project. I keep waiting for the BUMP; there will be one, especially with the flawed suspension of a bus in its second decade rushing along our quality streets. Will she pull an “I Love Lucy”, smearing red up one cheek, or will that pointy brush do more permanent cosmetic damage? Today, nothing interesting. I really wonder why she doesn’t do this at home, where the risks are much lower, but then I wouldn’t have this show.
The bus empties quickly, from a full load of more than sixty to a dozen in the first stop. My goal is to get off Number Two-Five-Five and on to Number Two-Five-X with a minimum of time spent cooling my heels. Today, it works.
