Thursday, September 15, 2011

On the Bus

715 Monday morning and it was a cool 17 Celsius. I got on the bus. The probability that cramming so many people into one tin can on wheels could ever be safe is remotely slim. I should have waited, but I had left later than usual and needed to be places. On time. And looking half decent.

The bus could fit three more people before we all were standing on top of one another. So we took on another dozen.

Granted -- so early in the morning most people (myself included) seem to have a gap between their brain and spine. The buses in Toronto are one and a half levels. For whatever reason, no one wants to sit in the back upper half of the bus.

The driver kept telling us to move back. I can't. My bag is already on my feet, which are on someone else's feet.

The bus is  a lot hotter than it needs to be. There's fifty more people than seats -- can we not open the windows?

Apparently not. I wipe the sweat off my face, which only clears the area for more sweat. I can feel it trickle down my back. Really? I think. My clothes are going to be stank by the time I get off the bus.

I am neither a claustrophobe nor a germaphobe. But I think back to SARS (for which I was in beautiful, germ-free Nova Scotia). I think back to H1N1 (for which I was in lovely Canton, Ohio). Toronto has some four-ish million people. All of whom are on the bus with me. No wonder the outbreaks hit the city.

And of course, I am considering what all these microscopic germs look like, being sucked into my lungs. Floating into my bloodstream as though invited. Latching on to -- and attacking -- all of my defective cells (of which there are plenty; I do, after all, talk to people I claim live in my head).

So my mind is going like an out of control train barreling towards the end of the tracks.

And then I hear it.



Someone, big or small, had just signed my death warrant, voices and all. 


By now I am positive that I should be doing one of 4 things:

1. Stealing the face mask from the paranoid guy in his thirties a few seats down,

b. Looking around for the culprit to join in on the lynch,

3. Hyperventilating (which will only serve to speed the process of invasion along, so that gets ruled out), or

d. REMAIN CALM and wait for my stop. Then go home and bleach my entire person, inside and out.

I begrudgingly choose the first half of option d.

Begrudgingly. Because obviously I want to participate in face mask stealery. And I want to experience being in a lynch mob. (Hands on history, anyone?)

Needless to say, I get off at the subway station and continue with my day. No criminal activities to report, thanks ;)

ENDNOTE: I have since realized I look just as paranoid as Mr. Face-Mask since I posted about going to the doctors Monday night. I am not. It was a scheduled thing that had nothing whatsoever to do with viral outbreaks.

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