O O Ø O O O O
Train People
I often ride the C-Train to school. Though most of the time I travel in a commuting-induced haze, events sometimes percolate through to my consciousness. Occasionally, I even write these little vignettes down. These are my transit stories.
OOØOOOO
They huddled behind a copy of the Calgary Sun, sniffing model glue from a plastic baggie. They acted nonchalant, and pretended to be discussing the stories. It wasn’t the near-hysterical giggling that gave them away, however, nor the overacted point-at-story-and-make-up-a-headline routine. It was that the moment they opened their baggie, the train car filled-up with the smell of toluene. When that happened, all heads inevitably swiveled in their direction. They were too absorbed in their baggie to notice.
OOØOOOO
I look at the girl sitting in the seat across from me. Cradled in her lap is a box. She is holding it ever-so-gently, as if she considers it too pretty to open. When she finally slips off the lid and sets it to the side, I see there is a pair of pink dance slippers inside. She unwraps the shoes carefully, handling them reverently. After a short while she reaches inside the slippers, revealing a pair of ribbons and a spool of thread. She proceeds to sew the ribbon onto the shoes. It made me wonder if she was chasing a dream. Who dances but for love?
OOØOOOO
When I got to the station, someone had stuffed the FFWD newspaper box full of crumpled FFWDs. Someone was trying to make a statement. I silently agreed. I haven’t read it on the train since.
OOØOOOO
It is 9:40pm on a dark fall night, and I am standing on the C-train platform. I am completely alone—my mind still on the chunk of code left back on the screen in my office. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone mount the steps onto the platform. Moments later, a second figure appears; and then a third. Suddenly, the train is full of bodies. A glance to their uniforms tells me that they are the cleaning staff for the various buildings downtown. A few minutes later, my train pulls up, and I step inside. When the doors close, I realize I am alone again. None of the others have boarded my train. I am headed for the South-West. The collective cleaning staff of downtown Calgary is heading for the North-East.
OOØOOOO
I sit down on the train in the only available seat—one surrounded by 4 teenage girls engaged in full-on teeny-bopper chatter. Inevitably, after a few minutes of the spectacle, my eyes glaze over, and my brain tunes out. Soon glazed turns to closed, and I began to slip in and out of the commuter’s slumber. After a while, however, I notice the noise level of the chatter increasing. After a few more stops, I can no longer keep my eyes closed—the teeny-bopper chatter is nearly deafening. Sure enough, as my eyes open, I discover the train is filled to capacity with teenaged girls. Just then, the train pulls into Stampede station, the girls pile out, and the doors close behind then, leaving the car in complete silence. I must have started to frown, because as the train pulled out, the motherly-looking lady across the aisle said simply “Boy Band.” As we pass the Saddledome sign, I catch the band name: 98 Degrees. I sit the rest of the trip home in blissful silence.
Kjell Wooding
May 15, 2007
OOØOOOODCCCXXI
May 16th, 2007 at 4:00 pm
Very interesting moments. Reminiscent of the kind of stuff this guy posts on his website from time to time:
http://bigpicture.typepad.com/writing/lirr_commuter_from_hell/index.html
May 22nd, 2007 at 5:56 pm
hahahahaha
98 degres sucks shit