Heard It Through the Grapevine
“I’m glad trees don’t know that after we cut them down, we make them into toilet paper and wipe our asses with it. Oh, and then flush it down the toilet.”
That was after my beau and I saw a commercial on CBC advertising a new kind of toilet paper that gives users the added chemical experience of feeling as if they’ve had a wet, not dry, wipe.
Imagine the added stress to the environment, not to mention our sewage treatment facilities, when every prince and princess in the land takes to using chemically moistened toilet paper to wipe his and her asses.
My beau suffers from the change in light that comes with fall. He’s gone from peppy to schleppy.
I may have to send him to a schlepper colony.
Get it? A schlepper colony? Well, do ya? Hunh?
But that joke just reminded me of the government’s temporary foreign workers program that our banks were all taking advantage of to hire workers from India at 15% off so they could save on Canadian labour costs.
Anyway, yesterday, I took the bus downtown to attend the science rally on Parliament Hill. Alas, the scientists had said that the rally would start at 1:00 p.m. when it actually started at noon, so I got there just in time for the homework handout, which told attendees to phone Vic Toews to complain about cutbacks to science programs.
Luckily, no number was given to call so I was free to drop in and visit my beau at work and then go home and make a delicious roast chicken for dinner, which he appreciated so much that it was all worth it.
Still, hard to believe we have two universities in Ottawa cranking out public administration and/or communications graduates.
Here’s a question that’s been bothering me for some time: Why does Stephen Harper think I don’t support the development of the Alberta tarsands if not for the reason that I don’t think the benefits outweigh the costs?
I mean, does he think I don’t want the Alberta tarsands developed because I want to deprive my country, the one I live in and support through taxes, of energy, security and prosperity?
No, I want my country to have energy, security and prosperity. And if I thought developing the Alberta tarsands was the ticket to energy, security and prosperity, I’d be all for it. Honest.
Pass it on, please, NSA.
But as I was saying, the bus, yesterday. I sat at the back, because the front always ends up chock-a-block with strollers and walkers and I didn’t feel like playing the guessing game as to whether or not I should offer my seat to someone who may or may not be my age, but with lesser genes, having been snapped at more than once for my vanity. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything to read, as the Metro box at the bus stop was empty, and almost immediately trouble sat down right perpendicular to where I was sitting.
I’m terrible about making eye contact in that I almost always do. It’s a bizarre compulsion and it doesn’t matter how long I live in a city I still do it. The crazier the eyes, the more mine are drawn to them, too.
By the way, today I read a piece on Facebook about how some men take up more than their fair share of public space the way they often spread their legs and sort of sprawl back in a seat, resting an arm or two over the back of the seat next to them. Or just not crossing their legs and keeping their arms in close to their bodies even when reading newspapers, like middle-aged ladies do.
You know we do, MEN.
Tax break, please!
Anyway, this guy was rough looking, green Celtics jacket, cap, watery blue eyes, stupid and mean. And totally blocking my way. So we go for a few stops and then Creepy McCreeperson gets on, stoned out of his head, and sits right beside me, even though there are plenty of empty seats on our back row. But I figure he offsets Buddy Celtic, so I casually shift my little bag of money to the other side and stare diligently out the window.
Oh look, a guy vomiting in front of that diner. Nice.
Ah, prostitutes greeting johns. It must after noon in the ‘hood.
Wow, look at the balls on that dog.
Then, Lady Crack gets on, all crazy-eyed, although with a neat little afro and spiffy looking pantsuit, which I realize when she gets off later is actually a jacket from one pantsuit and pants from another, and sits down in front of Buddy Celtic and starts talking up a little blond girl who’s with her biker Dad, going on about a knot in her hair, “You tryin’ to get dreds or sumpin’? Lookit that knot, man. Lemme cut it out for ya.”
There was a little back and forth with lots of loud cackling laughter and then Biker dad got off with his little girl and another young guy got on.
He looked a little brain damaged, to be honest, and sat beside Lady Crack.
“Hey, yah, I know you, I got sumpin’ for ya. Ya got money?”
And then the party starts and while I’m sitting there studiously not making eye contact, about twenty drug deals go down, all pills, and many wheezy stories, a couple involving characters named Ralph and Sam (I swear, just like in the Bugs Bunny cartoon), get passed around.
“Ralph’s in jail, man, he’s gettin’ out next month. I got his stuff. He’s okay but he gets mean, eh, but I got him some good stuff. Sam, man, that guy, he’s dirty. Like, he’s so dirty. I’m tidy like that, eh. He’s, ugh, disgusting. We were livin’ in this place, man, like he had sumpin’ like 29 dishes – all dirty.”
And it’s like old home week all of a sudden with Buddy Celtic “what about so and so” and “can you get me this ‘n’ that” and Lady Crack “here’s my number” (which started with 700). And then we go by a cop directing traffic and it’s “harharhar”s all ’round.
The driver’s oblivious, of course, and I had to laugh later when I thought about how it would have played out if the OC Transpo ticket-checkers had come through. I mean, it’s not like anybody paid to get on, they’d all entered via the side door, so it’s not like ticketing them would do much more than delay everybody else.
Oh, and did I mention that the bus was moving at a snail’s pace?
The thing is, I’ve been on the bus when I was a distinct minority, in that I wasn’t drunk or on drugs and/or have a permanent address, but I’ve never been on the bus when I felt like I was trespassing .
The times, my friends, they are a’changin’.