Got on the streetcar this morning, but this month the service is diverting two routes for a few blocks to avoid construction. This is handy, since I live at the last stop on the detour before the car I usually walk blocks to catch heads south again, and then that same route lets me off right at the front doors to my office building. Laaaaazy no walking!
Despite several weeks of this detour thing, daily commuters (people who presumably ride the streetcar every morning and every evening, and whom I can’t understand missing this detail until now) don’t pay attention and just hop on any old streetcar, and then freak out when they forget to pay attention to what the driver is announcing. Namely, that he or she is now about to turn right, head south, then continue east along the regular route. Everyone suddenly hops out of their seats, dinging the the stop-bell and grumbling about whatever the heck what’s this what’s going on why didn’t the driver say something.
This morning, this wee little hobbled and rickety old lady gets on board with the assistance of a team of about a half-dozen men, each helping with her walker, purse, satchel, taking her arm, laboriously helping situate her in the correct position to take a seat, and meanwhile at the top of her voice she’s shouting her gratitude, thanking these men, telling them about all the things she would bake for them to make them fatter and to say “thank you” properly, and shouting to the driver thanking him for waiting and being patient and not driving while she is trying to walk and sit down like them other drivers what don’t pay attention to an old lady, and thanking the man who surrendered his seat, and thanking all other passengers for being patient while she does her thing.
I am sure you can imagine where this is going.
Immediately, the streetcar heads south, and she starts shouting “OHHH MY GOD! Now you turning! Driver! You turning! Why you doing this?! Ohhhh my goooooood! I needa get off! Let me off! I can’t go this way! You turning!” THe streetcar lurches to a stop, the doors swoosh open, and the whole process takes place in reverse, unloading the lady and getting her back up the hundred metres or so to College Street to wait for the proper College-bound car.
This truly is the day that keeps on giving. At lunchtime, I cut through the department store across the street from my office, heading to pick up a sandwich at a place I love a few blocks south. I’ve learned that the fastest route through the store is the men’s department; perfumes, stockings, ladies’ wear and household appliances will be jammed with office ladies on their breaks, and add a good ten minutes to the trip. I was zipping along not paying much attention to the neckties, pyjamas and weird weekend warrior clothing lines (oh my gosh, so many ugly shirts bearing so many ugly designs!) when I hit the underwear aisle.
Slowed down…something was amiss…checked out the mannequins…and, it seems someone had been hard at work, if you will pardon the pun. The parade of white plaster dudes displayed not just their customary Calvin Kleins, but also great big boners, wads of tissue paper crumpled and crammed into each pair of y-fronts and boxer shorts.
I am so going shopping and giving the mannequins little tissue erections next time I am at a loss of how to spend my lunchbreak! Childish, certainly, but like potty humour and bad swears and the right kind of physical comedy, dang did this ever this made me laugh!