transit is the opiate of the masses

it's mayhem
it's a marrakesh market
it's the first time free citizens go to polls
it's studio 54 at 2 am
it's a boy's first overeager orgasm

it's rush hour in toronto.

i usually ride my bike: bright fake flowers nerdishly woven into a basket guiding the path for a slow-pedalling, flower-sniffing flake. this transit stuff is like safari to me. i usually confront it with bemused delight or in a slim-grinned daze. but when a friend's fervent argument perked my eyes and ears, well wow - the shit that goes on!

we queue:
quanine convelescents
pining for the drug cart.
the air is thick
with the slow-minded
sedated
sociopathism
of 9 to 5ers
at 5:23

but when the bus dodders in, the hive comes alive and the air becomes stained with a frantic desperation. shoulders are squared and elbows enflare as the mighty congregation pushes toward the light. my friend is jostled from me, and shoots me a disparaged look. i sigh and lean back into the throng, letting the frenzied squeeze themselves into their salvation. by the time i am pinballed into the bus, my friend and i are decades apart. i crane my neck, hoping to reassure her with a smile: i am here, i am alive!

and the bus dodders forward.

the bus is thick with humans. i have a moment to reflect, and reimagine the mayhem. i imagine myself as knightess in shining armour, crying out my friend's disgruntled dismay. the clouds part and gleam on me as i exclaim: what are you, a bunch of fucking barbarians? i mean, *what* is with the shoving? there is a fleshy mass before me, as solid as it needs to be to prevent me from moving forward, no matter how hard you push. and the butting-in business? if you're so fucking frantic to get a seat for those 7 blocks that separate you from your couch, wait for the next goddamned bus - oh look, there it is, pulling in right now.

i chuckled to myself, head bent coyly, as i imagined my archangelic ranting. and then i peeked left, i peeked right. i saw a young man, a boy, a yoot. scruffy thing. the first time he helped out a struggling traveller, it was sweet. the second time, it was downright exultant. and then, when some young girl singsonged: "this sure is a busy bus," well by golly, i reckon it was just about the sweetest bus ride this side of the rainbow.

ok, i got carried away with that last line and it sounds facetious, but i actually pretty much mean it. ...dang gummit!

as we emerged, sucking in my friend's inner-suburban-galaxy-far-far-away's sweet, sweet air, i thought: perhaps i'll sway her cynicism. help this sisyphus find something to savour of her daily grind. i asked her: "so, what was your favourite moment of the transit ride?"

"when this guy made the guy who was hogging two seats have to shift over so he could sit."

well ok sure, i can see that. i hate those fucking seat hoggers. and i laughed, "i thought maybe you'd say the girl, or..." and she laughed and we laughed and she'd actually been sitting near the girl and told me all her cute ramblings despite her sad, hippie name. and i thought you know what, we all find our zen where we can.

cheers to you, sister!