Not the Fast and Furious, but Rather the Weird and the Wild

Is it just me, or all bus rides full of weirdoes? I want to believe I am not alone, but sometimes it is so hard.

Okay, I might have to allow that my threshold for weirdoes is quite low. What I encounter might be just slightly eccentric and I am blowing things all out of proportion.  I will chronicle the two latest incidents and let you decide.

So, I am on the bus headed home and I notice one of my fellow morning commuters (aisle blocker number 7 is the code name I have assigned him) get on the bus and take a seat across the aisle from me, but not directly in front on me. He’s off to the right at a not spectacular angle.  Since I usually only see him from behind, this is a totally new perspective for me.  He seems normal enough.

That is of course until he gets hungry. He reaches into his lunch bag…or is it a soft sided cooler? and pulls out what I surmise as sliced cheese.  Perhaps the colour or thickness gave it away.  I am wondering if he is going to assemble a quick sandwich on the bus.  I wonder if he is going to unwrap the slices, roll them up, and slam them back like potato chips.  I focus on his actions and realize that I was wrong.  It isn’t a 24 pack of cheese slices that he has.  No, it is a block of cheese (either Old or Medium Old…definitely not marble) and he unwraps the poorly wrapped package and crams it into his mouth like he’s eating a chocolate bar–not a Kit Kat, because that isn’t the proper way to eat a Kit Kat.

I have never seen anyone do that before. I’ve seen people slice, dice, cube, and grate this kind of cheese, but never eat it by taking bite-sized chunks out of it.

If you think I am overreacting, just picture someone eating a hotdog from the middle of the bun side, or eating a Kit Kat like an Oh Henry, or someone putting the spaghetti sauce down first and putting the noodles on top. I mean no one does that.

The other weirdo was the person on Methadone talking to his acquaintance in the seat behind me. While I had sympathy for his struggles, his conversation seemed rather manic and unnerving. Even the person he was talking to was only giving minimal answers and trying not to expand the subject area.  He continued to talk and pontificate on life and love and methadone.

At one point, out of the blue, he struck up a conversation with me. I did my best to answer in my unnerved state and took cues from his friend that prolonged interaction wasn’t really in my best interest.

What interesting commuters do you have on your commute?

About Anthony

I am: equal parts rebel, romantic and shockingly average Joe. a writer trapped inside of an ESL teacher's body. an introverted attention seeker. a teacher who hopes one day to be called "Captain, my Captain." an intellectual who can do some very dumb things. a person whose Japan experience, despite being so long ago, still exerts a strong influence upon him. a lover of books, music, beer, hockey and Pizza.
This entry was posted in Aspirations, Reflections, Perfection, bus, commuting, Viva, YRT and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Not the Fast and Furious, but Rather the Weird and the Wild

  1. Claudette says:

    Bahahaah! I remember a scene in Seinfeld where George had a thing with block cheese. Right after a breakup or something (with Susan?)….funny. Also a little worrisome – my elementary school kids take the TTC to school. What if they’re exposed to blocks of cheese shoved into mouths by weirdos on the streetcar? ;P

  2. capejohn says:

    Speaking of spaghetti sauce. When my kids were jr. high age they had friends over for lunch one Saturday. I made pasta but put the sauce at the bottom of the large bowl. Spaghetti on top. I brought the bowl to the table and said. “Dam, I forgot the sauce in my angriest tone. I took a butcher knife, discretely flipped the blade to the dull side, as I ran it across the palm of my hand.

    I pushed my hand into the spaghetti making the deep red sauce rise to the top. I then began to dole out the spaghetti onto each kids plate.

  3. Pingback: The Year That Was | Today's Perfect Moment

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