Avis

The small spaces I was around yesterday, at B-Mont, reminded me of the other small areas in which I find myself. One new space is the Metro. Due to my project at the Douglas, I have become a regular Metro + bus commuter. The 112 leaves promptly from Jolicoeur every 20 minutes or so, headed West towards the hospital, into the suburban community of Verdun. The morning passengers are a fairly lively bunch of teenagers headed to the various high schools in the neighbourhood.

The trip from the Doug to the Metro in the afternoon is more exciting, as perhaps it is this time, between noon and five pm, when the interesting folk come out.

My last 'ride' began with my usual i-pod coma being interrupted with a passionate discourse about fictional and (potentially) non-fictional biblical anecdotes. The bald man across from me with bi-focal lenses lead the highly involved debate, making eye-contact with me at times acknowledging my seeming interest. Before I could hear the end of one of his tales, I was startled by violent nose-blowing of a young man to my four-o'clock. It was more striking to find that the idea of a kleenex was replaced by (both of) the sleeves of his hoodie on the 112, that day. His eyes were covered in eye liner, which may have been drawn on with a Sharpie. He sang loudly to the songs from the CD which played from his CD player. I watched his pant legs shake wildly as he compulsively bounced his legs. His eyes wandered and stared at the moist blots at the end of his sleeves. I wondered what he was thinking about and what ward to which he would belong.

I oscillated from the boy back to the theological conversation, and back again. It was only at the realization of my over-stimulation when my complete attention was overtly taken to a women seated beside the back door, who was vomiting profusely onto the floor of the bus with all her might. My eyes were fixated on the top of her head, which quivered as she released what seemed like two liters of heavy waste. Bright red and foul, those in her general vicinity pushed quickly towards the front of the bus, covering their noses with scarves and jacket sleeves to avoid the stench.

The bus was on the cusp from entering the Metro station, so an emergency stop wouldn't have worked. Sick-woman, at this point, was sitting up wiping her eyes, focusing her attention to a toddler beside her, who was most likely her child.

Sleeve-blower boy was the first to get up, stepping in the pile of puke as he exited the bus without any concern. I escaped safely, unscathed, and relatively grossed-out.

This experience, like some I have had at work, reminds me of how much significance can be had in one small area at one time. Whether it be intentional with personal belongings, or through nearly being coerced into encounter in borderline lunacy.