Bad Bus Driver

           

            On Thursday, July 7^th, for lunch I ate the rest of the Swiss chard I’d sautéed the night before. It was too hot to use the stove, so I just ate it cold and it was good.

            That evening I was riding east along Bloor Street, about a block west of Ossington, when a TTC bus stopped in the centre lane. I began to pass it on the right when suddenly the door opened and a passenger stepped out in front of me. I clipped him with the right side of my body but didn’t knock him hard. I lost my balance though and fell over in front of the bus. The passenger came to see if I was alright. I asked, “Why did you get off here?” because they were a block away from the bus stop. He told me he didn’t know why the driver had let him off there. He’d just opened the door and let him out. A guy from Latin America, who’d seen the whole thing, also commented about the driver letting someone out where there was no stop. Busses are supposed to let people off at the curb. The driver must have known that this was his fault but even though I had been knocked down in front of his bus, he didn’t get out to see if I was all right. As soon as I was up and out of his way he drove on. I wasn’t injured and my bike was okay but it could have been a lot worse. I considered reporting the driver but nothing came of the complaint that I’d made the year before of a bus on Queen’s Park almost clipping me so I figured it would be a waste of time.

            It was very muggy and I was sweating more than on any bike ride so far this summer. I continued on to Parkhurst and Bayview and then took Parkhurst to Laird, exploring the streets on its south side as I went along. I stopped at a bar and grill on Laird to ask if I could use the washroom and the friendly waitress said, “Of course!” That’s what I like to hear.

            I saw the homeless East Asian woman again at Yonge and St Clair. After a second look I don’t think she’s as old as I thought. She may actually be quite a bit younger than me.

            For the first Thursday that I remember, Sundar, the super, didn’t come to take the garbage to the curb. The bins are about to overflow. I put a bag on top of the pile, and then put the lid on top. The bags in the bin are too high for the lid to close, so it just sits balancing precariously like the ill-fitting hat of a rice farmer in Cambodia. Some maggots fell from one of the other bags onto the floor of the deck.