Commuting by bus affords one the opportunity to witness things that might otherwise go unnoticed. It is, therefore, not particularly unbelievable that so many of my stories come from my bus rides.
Today, I have for you two. Both are quite simple and short. My only worry is that I will succumb to hyperbole while describing them, as does happen with me from time to time.
I have chronicled my lack of luck when it comes to who I sit next to on the bus. Though I complain, sometimes bitterly, I must admit that I usually manage to get a seat. Today was no exception. I even managed a decent seat partner. I hunkered down to read “Off the Road” by Carolyn Cassady. As a result, I didn’t pay attention to the elderly couple looking for seats on the bus. My seat partner, did and offered her seat to them. Realizing my error, or remembering my manners, or realizing what a jerk I would look like if I didn’t do likewise, I offered my seat too.
No, that isn’t one of the two candidates for Today’s Perfect Moment. I could hardly celebrate my actions. I didn’t leap to offer my seat until my seat partner did as well. Also, basic manners are to be expected rather than praised.
What was perfect was that this couple were not native English speakers, and their ability to communicate was quite poor. However, the gentleman did make it a point to thank me for giving up my seat when he got off the bus. It certainly made me feel good.
I will never be accused of being a slave to fashion. I dress rather predictably and I am usually a very lade adopter of technology, trends, and slang phrases. In fact, on that last point, I am more likely to make up my own and wonder why these phrases don’t catch on. When I see young Canadians on the bus, I do wonder about there fashion. While they are no less predictable than I (black leggings for as far as the eye can see) they do things that confuse me. One of them has to do with T-shirts.
It started several years back when my nephew was wearing a Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt. I highly doubted that his musical taste (and I shudder to call it that sometimes) extended to Pink Floyd. Usually concert shirts like the ones he had chosen to wear were badges of actual attendance, rather than purchased at the store. At the very least, in my day, you had to wander the Head shops on Yonge Street for those finds.
On the bus today, one young woman had on a black Flintstones shirt. This is not a particularly bold choice for T-shirts of this genre. Had it been Johnny Quest, Hong Kong Phooey, Speed Buggy or the dependable Herculoids and Space Ghost, I might have been more impressed. As it was, I couldn’t decide is this was a fashion statement, the mark of a true fan, or something meant to be ironic.
If you could let me know, then I could pick Today’s Perfect Moment.