Murder, mayhem... and alternate bus routes
This morning started off rough. Yeah, last night I had to stay up until 11pm to watch Lost, which I thought was on at eight. It totally wasn’t. It was on at 7pm and then at 10pm. Is it me or are those really stupid times? 7pm is too early and 10pm is too late. Nevertheless, watching Jack with… mmmmmm…. What? I love Jack. So I woke up tired and sexually frustrated. Welcome to single life.
I turned on News 1130 to listen to the, well, the news I suppose (this is to be read: it is deathly quiet in my apartment and I need noise, any noise to distract and entertain me) and learned that there was a murder in Quilchena Park last night or early this morning. I was a little surprised because this was at 33rd and Arbutus, only a few blocks down the hill from me. Someone driving an Escalade was shot. Huh, I wonder what his profession was.
I get ready for work, stumble down to the bus stop and wearily wait for my ride. Success! It comes chugging up the boulevard and I jump on, transfer in hand and to my delight I see the cute guy that is always reading a book and listening to his MP3 player. He usually sits in one of the single seats, but because we didn’t have a trolley bus today he was sitting at the back of the bus with an empty seat next to him. I’m going to do this, I thought to myself, grimly determined. My hair looks nice and I smell pretty clean, so I am going to sit next to him. My eyes skittered left and right, viewing the other available seats on the bus as I walked up the aisle. Did he know that I was singling him out? Could he sense my apprehension? I sat down next to him and immediately whipped out my Economist. Evidently the most I could muster was the act of sitting beside the man, but talking to him or saying good morning was more than I could stomach. I flitted restlessly through the magazine telling myself it was, after all, a half hour bus ride so I still had some time. But then how weird would it be to strike up a conversation ten minutes after sitting down?
I had naught to worry about, because then the bus driver said he had an important announcement to make. Normally after they say this, they tell a corny joke, but this morning was an exception. Our bus was being re-routed along 41st avenue because a portion of Arbutus was closed as the police were investigating the dead guy in the Escalade. Furthermore, our driver was not going downtown so we could either get off at 41st and Granville or Granville and Broadway. The cute guy next to me took his buds out of his ears and cocked his head endearingly. I folded up my Economist and decided the best bet was 41st because at least I had a chance at getting a seat. That chance would be none other than a FAT chance.
I piled off at 41st, happy to see cute guy trailing after me. Well, not after me per se, but I was happy to think so. Then we saw the 99 B-Line pulling up and they were packed in there like sardines. There was no way that our bus was going to successfully merge and co-mingle with the riders of the 99, so I pulled back and watched in horror as another #16 simply drove past without stopping. I started to wonder how I was going to get downtown. Cute guy looked a little perplexed as well. Then a bus called the 496 Burrard Station pulled up. I decided it looked promising so I got on. So did cute guy. Who stood beside me. Sweet. I know (from my incessant studying of his transit habits) that he stays on past Harbour Centre on Hastings, so I inferred that he was probably somewhat familiar with the downtown core and it’s affiliated bus system. Mustering my prettiest smile and all but batting my eyelashes I took a deep breath, turned to him and said, “Do you know where this bus is going?”. Brilliant. I probably looked scared and bewildered, which I kind of was. The 496? What the hell kind of bus number is that? Concerned for my well being (obviously) he removed an ear bud and said, “I have no idea. I just hope it goes downtown” to which I said “Excellent”. And there it was: the wedding ring. For frick’s sake. I smiled to myself as I contemplated how much fun I would have with this blog. We stayed like that, side by side, staring out the window trying to gauge where the bus would ultimately end up until a seat became available and I took it. I sat next to another married man. A woman sat in front of me and her husband stood next to her. I was on the married bus. I was lost on the married bus. Oh my god, the irony is horrific. I’m happy though, because I did it: I made a stilted attempt at awkward conversation and I wasn’t shunned. I will see cute married guy again and maybe next time I will say hi and ask him how the rest of his adventure on the 496 went.
Ah well. I still have Jack. He just keeps me up later than I’d like. He’d know which bus to take.
I turned on News 1130 to listen to the, well, the news I suppose (this is to be read: it is deathly quiet in my apartment and I need noise, any noise to distract and entertain me) and learned that there was a murder in Quilchena Park last night or early this morning. I was a little surprised because this was at 33rd and Arbutus, only a few blocks down the hill from me. Someone driving an Escalade was shot. Huh, I wonder what his profession was.
I get ready for work, stumble down to the bus stop and wearily wait for my ride. Success! It comes chugging up the boulevard and I jump on, transfer in hand and to my delight I see the cute guy that is always reading a book and listening to his MP3 player. He usually sits in one of the single seats, but because we didn’t have a trolley bus today he was sitting at the back of the bus with an empty seat next to him. I’m going to do this, I thought to myself, grimly determined. My hair looks nice and I smell pretty clean, so I am going to sit next to him. My eyes skittered left and right, viewing the other available seats on the bus as I walked up the aisle. Did he know that I was singling him out? Could he sense my apprehension? I sat down next to him and immediately whipped out my Economist. Evidently the most I could muster was the act of sitting beside the man, but talking to him or saying good morning was more than I could stomach. I flitted restlessly through the magazine telling myself it was, after all, a half hour bus ride so I still had some time. But then how weird would it be to strike up a conversation ten minutes after sitting down?
I had naught to worry about, because then the bus driver said he had an important announcement to make. Normally after they say this, they tell a corny joke, but this morning was an exception. Our bus was being re-routed along 41st avenue because a portion of Arbutus was closed as the police were investigating the dead guy in the Escalade. Furthermore, our driver was not going downtown so we could either get off at 41st and Granville or Granville and Broadway. The cute guy next to me took his buds out of his ears and cocked his head endearingly. I folded up my Economist and decided the best bet was 41st because at least I had a chance at getting a seat. That chance would be none other than a FAT chance.
I piled off at 41st, happy to see cute guy trailing after me. Well, not after me per se, but I was happy to think so. Then we saw the 99 B-Line pulling up and they were packed in there like sardines. There was no way that our bus was going to successfully merge and co-mingle with the riders of the 99, so I pulled back and watched in horror as another #16 simply drove past without stopping. I started to wonder how I was going to get downtown. Cute guy looked a little perplexed as well. Then a bus called the 496 Burrard Station pulled up. I decided it looked promising so I got on. So did cute guy. Who stood beside me. Sweet. I know (from my incessant studying of his transit habits) that he stays on past Harbour Centre on Hastings, so I inferred that he was probably somewhat familiar with the downtown core and it’s affiliated bus system. Mustering my prettiest smile and all but batting my eyelashes I took a deep breath, turned to him and said, “Do you know where this bus is going?”. Brilliant. I probably looked scared and bewildered, which I kind of was. The 496? What the hell kind of bus number is that? Concerned for my well being (obviously) he removed an ear bud and said, “I have no idea. I just hope it goes downtown” to which I said “Excellent”. And there it was: the wedding ring. For frick’s sake. I smiled to myself as I contemplated how much fun I would have with this blog. We stayed like that, side by side, staring out the window trying to gauge where the bus would ultimately end up until a seat became available and I took it. I sat next to another married man. A woman sat in front of me and her husband stood next to her. I was on the married bus. I was lost on the married bus. Oh my god, the irony is horrific. I’m happy though, because I did it: I made a stilted attempt at awkward conversation and I wasn’t shunned. I will see cute married guy again and maybe next time I will say hi and ask him how the rest of his adventure on the 496 went.
Ah well. I still have Jack. He just keeps me up later than I’d like. He’d know which bus to take.
posted by Duder at 10:00 AM
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