I take the bus. Not out of some deep rooted environmentalist belief that I’m saving the planet, but out of convenience. There just so happens to be a bus stop right in front of my house and I get dropped off within a block and a half from work. There is also the savings of not having to pay for parking in downtown Regina, as well as the cost of gas. And to top it off I don’t need to deal with the horrible drivers that this city seems to spawn. There are times when I am shocked that there aren’t drivers plowing their vehicles into my living room.
What I have been noticing now that I tend not to read on the bus (entirely owing to not having any new books to read, I need some suggestions) is that I tend to observe the regular people on the bus. Why I have taken an interest in people when for years I haven’t really cared is beyond me. Though I will admit that its often times entertaining. Take for instance the old man.
Now I don’t know where this old man starts his journey along the bus route, for he is always on the bus before I get on. He sits in the back corner of the bus, a frail and withered hand resting on a lunch kit while the other is rested ever so slightly on the window. His wrinkled face turning to catch sight of new passengers as they get on. In the front pocket on his chest there is always a copy of the bus schedule; though it sticks out enough to make you feel that in a stiff breeze it would blow away on him. Usually around halfway through the trip he’ll stick his tongue out for a moment or two. Upon reaching the end of the line he quickly jumps up, eager to be off the bus first and rushing out into the cold morning air.
As my mind is want to do, I have found myself creating little mini stories for the people I observe and this old man is no different. For example he is almost always on the bus each work day, and the lunch kit makes me think he’s got some sort of job, even though he looks like he’s 90. What kind of job? I don’t really know, I never actually see him after I get off the bus. This realization got me to thinking that perhaps he’s a super hero, albeit an aged one. He has spent decades protecting this city against the scum of the underworld, and though he wishes to retire he still sees that his city suffers. Perhaps too his arch nemesis is out there too, and it is he who our ancient protector is taunting with his tongue stuck out. But why would he be taking the bus? Don’t most super heroes fly? This puzzled me for a bit, and the only reasonable conclusion is that he knows the dangers of an old person flying around. I for one am terrified of old people driving let alone flying. And for that kindness on his part I salute Captain Old Man, our aging protector for good. God speed good sir.