Lost in Transition
It had been getting substantially warmer over the last couple weeks and Mother Nature flirted about, mischievously hinting that maybe it would be the end of a cruel winter..And, then again, maybe it wouldn’t. The weather in southern Ontario has always been unpredictable and is especially so at this time of year. There is no doubt that climate change has a great deal to do with this issue but might I suggest we take a closer look at the meteorologists.
What if they are just bad at their jobs too? Just like the government representative who can’t speak either of our two official languages. Again, I’m not trying to suggest that they’re malicious people, but it seems to me that these television weather folks get paid handsomely to be wrong half the time! Has nobody else in our new all inclusive society ever taken note of this? Or are we all just mere cowards, turning a blind eye and pretending that the issue doesn’t exist? Has it gotten to the point that we have to openly embrace incompetency because we’ll appear to be cruel otherwise?
Let me just say it again: People are ultimately independent of one another and some are likely to have greater degrees of success than others in specific areas. This is why we get marked in school and this is why there is only one Olympic gold medal winner. If your fragile self-esteem suffers as a result then it’s too fucking bad! You can’t always get what you want and you definitely should not get what you haven’t earned.
I blamed the self-righteous counterculture for making me feel stupid, thus hurting my self esteem as I walked with Lenny on this gorgeous day. Why? Because I’d been informed earlier in the morning that there was a possibility of precipitation and figured that, it being February, I should wear my parka. As I sweated profusely, it occurred to me that, while we’re in the process of completely re-writing history, we could also replace the term “possibility” with something a little bit less ambiguous. I think “highly unlikely” instills more confidence than the suggestion of a “possibility”. This is especially true when it comes to dressing yourself accordingly for the outdoors.
Lenny adorned more appropriate spring attire and I felt awkward plodding alongside him. He had suggested walking to Red’s on this glorious afternoon in lieu of an Uber. The bar was within walking distance of his office but far enough away that it was “highly unlikely”, as opposed to a “possibility”, that he might run into a patient or a professional peer. He also seemed genuinely happy that I had decided on an attempt to quit smoking, proposing that a nice walk would naturally be in order.
“Walking is good for you.” He said matter of factly, intoning that my expansive girth was an indicator that exercise was still an undiscovered concept.
“Oh ya. I just feel stupid in this fucking parka.” I returned “It wasn’t this nice out at 6 a.m. this morning.”
“Of course.”
Lenny reached in his wind-breaker and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He turned to me sheepishly.
“Will it bother you if I smoke?” He asked.
I thought it was nice of him to ask and decided that I would have one of my cigarettes with him. It was still okay to smoke while I was on the Champix, as it was an inhibitor and I would likely find myself smoking less regardless. After almost three weeks it appeared to be working for me.
“Lenny, just because I wanna change something about myself doesn’t mean I expect the whole world to change with me..”
He nodded in firm agreement and stopped walking for a second.
“I gotta tell you, bud.” Lenny said “You were sounding a bit like Ted Kaczynski in today’s session. Please tell me that you’re not thinking of doing anything that drastic..”
Ted Kaczynski was, of course, the unabomber. Besides being a domestic terrorist of note, he was also very critical of the western culture. In fact he wrote “Industrial Society and its Future”, a manifest warning of the dangers of capitalism and consumerism. Personally, I think most of what Kaczynski wrote is true but voicing his discontent with a mail bomb campaign kind of makes it hard to get on board. I was hoping Lenny was joking with me. I don’t think that I am that mentally unstable to be capable of such violent protest. However, Lenny is both my shrink and my best friend.
“Of course not.” I assured him.
Lenny smiled and slapped me on the back.
“I know that. I’m teasing of course. I think any intelligent person with even a shred of integrity can relate to the exact same sentiment. Honestly, I feel that way myself. That’s why I need a change.. It’s been really pressing on me lately…”
Oh, I thought to myself, my first reaction was right. I think he does intend to quit drinking. He should’ve just told me on the phone and then I could’ve told him that I was thinking about quitting too. Instead we’re walking towards Red’s with inebriation high atop our list of priorities and I’m a bad influence on a good man. I opened my mouth to speak but Lenny held up a finger and cut me off.
Grinning and shaking his head amusedly he said, “I don’t know why you’d think I was going to quit drinking. I mean, do you think I should quit drinking?”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should tell him about my potential epiphany. That it was actually me who was wanting to cut back, but I was motivated to do this because I mistakenly thought that he wanted to quit drinking. I loved the man and I certainly hate to disappoint him either way, drunk or sober.
“No, I’m thinking you should do whatever you like..”
“I’m quitting my job!” He suddenly announced, indirectly cutting me off in mid sentence.
Oh, so somebody actually is quitting something, just not drinking. Good, I thought proudly to myself. Sure, I’ve demonstrated absolutely zero will power but, hey, I was right about somebody quitting something..sometime..Either way, my good friend and I were headed for beers!
My thoughts then quickly shifted on me. Wait! Lenny’s walking away from his job as an esteemed psychologist? What the hell’s up with that? I was inclined to ask Lenny that very question and I knew he was eager for me to ask because he had just cut me off in order to initiate that discussion.
“So what the hell is up with that?”
We had begun walking again and came upon the mall parking lot where Red’s was located. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the topic was completely brushed aside by a great spectacle that suddenly appeared before our eyes. It aggressively besieged our view and caused us to stop simultaneously, leaving us dumbfounded.
There was a fairly large group of people mulling about the parking lot directly in front of Red’s Smokehouse. A strange buzzing sound was emanating from the crowd and there would be the occasional angry yelp that would escape, crackling like a surge of static electricity. Two police cars and the familiar CKCO television news van were also at the scene. Neither of us were sure what exactly was going on.
Most sidewalk sales do not require a police presence or media coverage so we quickly ruled that idea out. There weren’t any midway rides and carnival music could not be heard. The bodies seemed to move about a little too casually, bereft of any sense of chaos that might be associated with gang violence.
Strangely, my first thought was how the two of us probably resembled my down syndrome grandson, our mouths agape in bewilderment. Myself in particular, inexplicably wearing a parka on this beautiful spring afternoon. I quickly concluded that being of the same lineage we were likely to resemble each other anyway.
“It looks like there’s some kind of protest going on..” Lenny muttered off-handedly.
As we started to walk curiously towards the crowd I could make out Richard, the hobo barfly, waving a fist and angrily yelling at Red’s Smokehouse. It seemed he was most displeased with Red’s vagrancy policy and had gathered up some of his fellow derelicts to help him express his outrage towards the establishment.
One of Richard’s disheveled cohorts was gripping a placard with both hands and shoving it in the direction of Red’s where it was likely to be ignored by anybody known to frequent the establishment. I couldn’t make out the intended message from my angle but I could see that “Cutbacks hurt Girls Volleyball!!” was boldly emblazoned on the back side of its surface. I found it interesting to note that indignation could actually be recycled. Once again making a strong case supporting reincarnation.
“Are you here to offer your support?”
We both turned to the voice, our faces probably still adorned in stupified perplexity. Before us stood two of the oddest looking people that you were ever inclined to see standing in front of Red’s Smokehouse. At first glance it appeared to be just another random couple, hardly a unique scene. A man and woman who may, or may not, be involved in any kind of relationship.
Quickly it dawned on us that it was most definitely unique. The man was wearing a dress. He also had all the accessories that one would naturally associate with the female species, including a smart-looking shawl that was certainly more practical than a parka on this day. He also had a full beard and a very pronounced adam’s apple that protruded from his throat. Clearly a juxtaposition of sexuality.
His companion had an appearance that was also most ponderous. This person was very clearly a woman in her mid to late 20’s who seemed intent on being recognized as a lesbian. Not a man. Most definitely not a member of the male species. But a woman who was determined to not appear effeminate. There’s a particular look that seems to resonate with some in the lesbian community and, being the year 2026, is commonplace in western culture. It’s the appearance of that sort of rough, albeit effeminate, teenage boy from the black and white days of Hollywood. There’s a Bowery boy meets James Dean kind of swagger that suggests the potential for a raging volatility, fuelled by a great swirling depth of emotional angst. And it’s highly unlikely that you would be seeing a penis from either the lesbian or the screen legends, as full frontal nudity was still taboo back then.
I can only imagine that is hardly indicative of all lesbians, having not experienced that lifestyle myself. Perhaps arrogantly, I just assume that they’re just girls who prefer to have sex with other likeminded girls rather than the bulkier alternative that does come with a penis.
“No. We’re just here to have a few beers.” I said.
“Oh, sorry then.” The lesbian replied sincerely, yet feeling compelled to establish her dominant role in the relationship by firmly maintaining a defiant unflinching gaze.
“We thought you guys might be a couple who had also come by to offer support.”
“Support for what?” Lenny inquired innocuously.
I quickly realized that I had not told him about my last visit to Red’s and the bizarre circumstances that I had bore witness too. It was now obvious that Richard had spun his alcoholism and questionable sanity into a completely different scenario and he was willing to spin his delusions into a human rights issue that other minorities would collectively stand behind in a show of solidarity.
The lesbian gestured towards Richard and his hobo henchmen.
“It seems this establishment presents a hostile environment towards the homeless community because they happen to be less fortunate.” She explained to Lenny.
“What?” Lenny was flabbergasted and I quickly took my turn in cutting him off.
“That’s not true at all,” I said to the couple, “this guy is an alcoholic just like the two of us… Who are both not gay, by the way. I thought, in full transparency, I should put that out there..”
I’m still not sure if it was homophobia or honest-to-goodness sincerity that obliged me to state that, but I was glad that information came to light.
“They only defended their business when he started disrupting it by pestering people to buy him beer..You can’t expect people to just automatically give you money for beer..That’s deviant behaviour!”
“What are you implying with deviant behaviour?” The bearded man in the dress demanded to know.
Somehow, as soon as the word deviant escaped from my lips, I knew there was likely to be a backlash of sorts. Ultimately it would be decided by this person’s desire for conflict. I could’ve suggested that Richard’s motives were “stupid”, “fucked up”, or even just “plain wrong”. This transvestite definitely had his “Karen” act together.
“I mean misguided.”
Same meaning, different reaction. I pointed across the parking lot at a Walmart.
“Let’s say there was a dress that you fancied over at that Walmart..” I began.
“Oh my God,” the bearded man exclaimed in repulsion, “how gauche! I would never buy a dress at Walmart.”
I actually found that sentiment vaguely familiar to me, having a somewhat empathetic understanding of the female perspective due to the wives, daughters, and mothers I’ve encountered.
“Sorry,” I immediately apologized, “I should’ve known better by the shawl..Which is very nice, by the way..”
My unashamed flattery seemed to work and the transvestite smiled modestly and batted his eyes. He seemed quite reposed in the female behavioural aspect and I could actually see why he would be wanting to be treated as a member of the gentler sex. The full beard mystified me though. He must realize that it makes it difficult for others to embrace his choice to be recognized as a woman. Unless, of course, you’re a featured performer at a travelling circus in the late 19th century.
“You must’ve worked hard to earn the money to buy that shawl.” I continued, squirming my way out of this awkward moment.
“It’s not like you can just expect others to buy that shawl for you..”
The lesbian invoked her “Rebel with a clause”.
“Hey,” She snapped, “I bought that for her.”
“And displayed exquisite taste, I might add..”
Finally, it was Lenny who intervened and spared me from further humiliation. He pointed at Richard defiantly and crossed his eyes, enraged.
“That guy is a fucking asshole!” He asserted passionately “No more, no less. He’s made poor choices and he’s trying to avoid accountability at all costs. He’s not worthy of yours or anybody else’s support.”
Lenny had gotten rather animated and quickly lowered his tone towards the gay couple.
“Look, I know this guy. And believe me, he wouldn’t support anything if there wasn’t something in it for him. Now you two seem like a very nice couple..”
There. That seemed to warm them up immediately. Acknowledgement.
“Why thank you.” sighed the man wistfully, invoking the southern belle gentility of a Margaret Mitchell novel.
I then told them of the incident from a couple weeks prior and, as this was news to Lenny, the three of them listened intently. Lenny himself would interject on occasion providing snippets of information for a much more expanded perspective of the back story.
“My God! That’s bloody deplorable..” He bemoaned, shaking his head.
He then offered up a solemn expression and adjusted his tone accordingly. It was like he was the consummate professional colour commentator to my play-by-play announcer.
“How much of this is on him? He used to own a condo just over here and worked as a tech guy for one of the big insurance companies. He’s not stupid. He just refuses to accept responsibility for his alcoholism. ”
It was like we were the John Madden and Pat Summerall of human drama and the couple seemed thoroughly engaged by our rendering of “The Legend of the Hapless Hobo”.
The Alpha female then informed us of how Richard had posted on Facebook and asked for support from some of the other activist movements.
“That’s why we thought you were a gay couple like us.” She explained.
I’ve always been a curious person and I have been accused of crossing boundaries or, as our new generation puts it, “invading people’s private space”. Hell, it’s not like I’m attacking Iraq, I just want to understand something.
“Are you guys considered a gay couple?” I asked them innocently “I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just not sure..”
I was pleasantly surprised by the candor offered up by our new found friends. They seemed to be genuinely enthused by my query.
“It’s interesting that you would ask that.” The bearded lady said “By definition of the term, I suppose the short answer would be no. We are considered queer.”
“Oh, that’s like the Q in the LGBTQ+..” I said eagerly.
I actually might’ve seemed a bit too enthusiastic. I certainly wouldn’t want to appear desperate for acceptance, hoping to be acknowledged as some kind of cultural brethren from days past. An obvious senior citizen, yet still insistent on the pony tail like some displaced refugee from the 70’s.
“Precisely. Now if we were to undergo transition…”
James Dean snorted and smirked at her partner, insinuating disapproval at sharing such personal information.They actually were a perfect couple but their roles were just in complete opposition to the status quo. They struck me as being no different than any other couple. It was already made abundantly clear by their appearance, who wore the pants in the relationship.
“Why transition?” I asked sincerely “You already seem to be in love. Maybe your defined roles in the relationship are a little different..But you’ve already got the tools and the skills to use them..”
Lenny grabbed me by the arm and led me rather forcefully toward the entrance of Red’s Smokehouse.
“Good luck, you two! It was nice meeting you both and we wish you the best.” He said pleasantly, while pulling me along behind him like the autistic brother from “Rain Man”.
As we were coming in, Lenny continued to hold the door open for a middle aged black couple that was just coming out. The woman held a handmade poster of her own and the man seemed rather incensed.
“This is bullshit! This ain’t no rally..” The black man muttered under his breath “I ain’t gettin’ behind some goddamn wino!”
We both nodded at them affirmatively as they marched past us and I resisted the urge of informing them that their lives definitely mattered to most people that I knew.
After taking our usual seats at the bar, Mary walked over with two pints of draught beer. It appeared that she was not in the best of moods and, considering the nonsense that was transpiring outside, I could understand this. I wondered if she’d had any lighter moments since the last time I’d been in her company.
Nick, the slovenly proprietor of Red’s Smokehouse, stood beside Mary and beamed proudly at the scene unfolding outside his door. He seemed overjoyed at the prospect of his reputation being tarnished by the angry mob. When Lenny asked him about his strange reaction, Nick had a simple explanation.
“Hey, it’s free advertising,” was his rationale, “they’re just spreading the message for us and it costs me nothin’.”
“So what’s the message, Nick?” Lenny gently prodded.
Nick looked at Lenny like he was confused by such a simple question coming from what he figured to be a “pretty smart guy”
“Come on, Lenny, you know. Nobody likes bums! How’s a guy supposed to enjoy a sandwich and a beer when he’s surrounded by a bunch of scraggly homeless people?”
“But Nick, you’ve been letting him come in here all along provided somebody covers his beers.” Lenny chided him. “Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”
“Hey, I’m a small business owner. I don’t even know what that means.”
There was a sad truth in that. He probably didn’t know what it meant and yet other people’s livelihoods were dependent on him nevertheless.
“Their money is the same colour as everybody else’s.” Nick continued and then paused to wink at us.
Another misnomer from old Nick because in Canada the money comes in varying shapes and shades. Nick, being a Canadian citizen, likely just picked up that line from an American television show and was probably waiting for the perfect time to drop it. Despite rumours to the contrary, not all Canadian citizens are that smart or that cool.
Lenny, being the professional antagonist that he is, was about to speak but I grabbed his arm and smiled at him.
“We’ve probably had enough protesting for one day, pal.”
“Ya, you’re probably right.” He agreed.
Nick walked away rubbing his hands together in delight.
“This could be busier than St.Paddy’s day!” He squealed, slipping back into the nether regions of the kitchen and Mary leaned over when Nick was out of earshot and whispered “Tell me, are all men that stupid?”
“No,” I said flatly, “just all the men that you know.”
“Well I know you, don’t I?” Mary was sharp.
“I never claimed to be smart.” I answered smugly.
“Touche.” It was nice to see her smile for a change.
I took a rather large gulp of beer and held the pint up, staring at it like an old familiar friend.
“Ahh, that does taste good!”
Lenny looked at me inquisitively and took a generous mouthful of his own beer. There was silence and I assumed that Lenny, like myself, was taking the required time to consider the past few minutes of our lives. So much had just transpired in a spectacularly short amount of time, leaving a vast well of untapped information that was still to be considered. By consideration, incidentally, we’re actually speaking of a judgement. Before judgement is rendered, the arbiter must be both confident and sane. They have no doubt addressed that age-old existential conundrum and found themselves impartial enough to judge.
Is my life so uniquely different from all the others that it somehow affords me this great right to final judgement? Is my opinion worthy enough to warrant a narrative? From my perspective, as an individual thinker, it certainly appears to be that way. Perhaps I could have provided a spoiler alert but ,seeing as how it is my opinion, I chose not to. I am judgemental and so is everybody else. It could be no other way.
“Was it you that once told me that all humans are contradictory by nature?” I asked Lenny, sipping my beer. “That definitely sounds like something a psychiatrist would say.”
Lenny again looked at me strangely and began to quietly chuckle.
“Psychologist.” He corrected “I offer words of encouragement. If you’re looking for drugs then I could pass you along to a psychiatrist.”
He then nodded his head and grunted, “I don’t know, I suppose it might’ve been me that said that but it’s not like some great revelation that you haven’t already considered. It’s like suggesting that water can make you wet. It’s kind of an established fact.”
“So if we’re all contradictory by nature than how do we establish if somebody is truly fucked up or if they’re just different than we are..”
“If they pose a threat to another person or even themselves, then society considers them mentally ill. That’s when it becomes my job to pass them along for diagnosis and a viable medical solution.”
I pondered that for a moment and looked back to Lenny.
“Jesus, man. I could never do your job.” I said sadly.
I immediately began to feel guilty because I’d never fully considered the sheer mental exhaustion of his job. It could not be very easy having to endure tales of woe and misery for hours on end. Not to mention that, for the most part, they were complete strangers. I personally find it tough enough just dealing with people on an everyday basis and I couldn’t even fathom having to do this professionally. Every single weekday for 8 hours straight, you are asked to consider concepts that may be completely foreign to your way of thinking and then make judgement. Folks like our newly discovered queer couple, Richard the alcoholic hobo, people like Nick and Joan..and me.
“Now you get it.” He returned ruefully “I don’t want to do the job anymore.”
“Fuck.” I muttered ashamedly “I feel so bad. I let everyday people drive me so fucking crazy and then I expect you to hold my hand and tell me that I’m all right. What a complete asshole I am. I’m so sorry..”
Lenny began laughing once again and I wasn’t sure how to read his behaviour. Was he laughing at me? I had been completely oblivious for the last five years and never even considered the toll it may be having on him. It couldn’t be easy having to carry other people’s emotional baggage around like some sort of psychological valet.
“Jesus..” I started to apologize once again,”what kind of friend am I? I get so wrapped up in my own petty bullshit that I overlook the people that matter..”
I jumped up from my barstool and opened my arms to give Leonard Timleck a well deserved hug. He raised both palms of his hands towards me and shook his head sternly.
“No, no. We’re not having any of that.”
Embarrassed, I plopped back down on my barstool. Lenny must’ve taken note of my shame and, grinning, patted me on the back.
“Come on, bud, you know me better than that. I’m not a big hug guy. Funerals and weddings only..”
“Sorry..”
Lenny displayed that familiar grin once again and I was damned if I didn’t see his eyes well up.
“Chris, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” he said “We’ve known one another for an entire lifetime and have been friends throughout. When I discovered that your daughter had died, I was devastated for you. I did what I expect a friend does. I offered my help..”
“And it helped a lot..” I said solemnly.
“Not as much as it helped me,” Lenny replied, “I assure you that.”
As Lenny is uncomfortable with hugs, I am equally awkward when it comes to receiving praise. I kind of chuckled dismissively.
“Man, I was running from my life when I moved to Kitchener.” Lenny continued “Yet another failed marriage..Two adult sons who were probably having a hard time identifying with me because of my own hang ups.. Afraid of maybe being exposed as a sham, a fraudulent father. Some kind of narcissistic huckster..”
“What the hell, Lenny. You’re none of those things.” I quickly countered “And I’m not blowing smoke up your ass..”
Lenny raised his hand and cut me off yet again, as he had been prone to do over the course of our many years together as both friends and confidantes.
“Let me continue..”
I nodded passively and obliged him.
“Knowing your past as well as I do, having actually been there with you throughout a big part of it..And then for you to have to experience the unimaginable tragedy of losing your child..There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, my friend.”
He offered up a sly grin and continued,”There’s a little bit of Ted Kaczynski in all of us. It’s completely easy to get disenchanted in this everchanging world. I assure you, you’re far from crazy..You’re fine, bud.”
The emotions began to stir again for both of us. Perhaps I’d become so jaded and worn from discussing my late daughter’s death that I no longer had a hard time talking about it. I certainly didn’t want to seem glib about it and I can assure you that I don’t have a calloused soul. It’s just that the mourning period has passed and, while I will always remember Crystal, I now insist on taking the time to appreciate what I have not lost. It does touch me deeply though when I see how difficult it is for others to deal with. There’s a level of discomfort that they exude while trying to broach the subject with me. I realize that they’re fearful of stirring up a melancholy in me and it’s their concern for my well being that resonates in my heart.
“The way that you’ve been able to come back from, not just losing Crystal, but your marriage..Everything! It’s impressive, Chris. It’s inspirational to me..”
Again with the praise. I could feel tears welling up and I was feeling vulnerable. Being that I’m a man, I looked to see if there were any nearby walls that I might be able to punch in a primeval attempt to negate my emotions.
“I want to do the same, pal.” Lenny told me “I think I need to go back and rediscover that zest for life just like you have..”
“I don’t think it’s a zest for life..” I said, shrugging.
“Yes it is, bud! You got Melissa and all the grandkids..” he continued, “and as much as you may hate to admit it you still feel a relevance to your existence..”
“Well you’re relevant too, Lenny. You’re my best friend.”
“I know I’m relevant!” Lenny beamed, “You’ve made me remember how good it feels to be relevant.”
For a brief moment it seemed as though Lenny was about to reach over and swallow me up in a big embrace but quickly recalled his firm stand on hugging. Instead he waved Mary over and cheerfully ordered up two more pints.
It was about 4 months later that I did actually get a hug from him. It was at the Pearson International airport in Toronto. It was just seconds before he passed through the terminal gates and boarded the plane that took him to Ireland.
Lenny had recently sold his condo in Kitchener and temporarily moved back to Toronto. He was determined to reconnect with his sons before embarking on what he had dubbed a “spiritual journey”. Sarcastically, I referred to the whole thing as an “exotic pubcrawl”. I still couldn’t be sure if I was proud or envious. I didn’t know what to feel. While there was definitely that part of me that wanted him to stay and continue hanging out at Red’s Smokehouse, there was that other aspect. That deep, unwavering commitment to another soul where personal feelings be damned, and the only thing that should matter is your unconditional support for a person that you love. Either way, he was flying off to Dublin and I couldn’t be sure when I might be seeing him again. Or even if I would be seeing him again.
The Elton John song “Daniel” played in my head as the airplane skirted along the runway and gracefully lifted itself upwards toward the skies. The familiar melody drifted about gently and the lyrics seemed rather poignant and almost personal.
Oh-ohhh, Daniel my brother you are older than me
Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won’t heal?
Very quickly, however, the words and melody were overpowered by an entirely different tune that was being brought to the attention of my subconscious by a female voice:
I’m leaving on a jet plane
Don’t know when I’ll be back again
“What?” I caught myself saying out loud incredulously, “I don’t even like that song!”
I turned away from the airplane and left it slowly continuing to fade away, off into a distant memory. It had always seemed like such a grand gesture in the movies. Standing in a solemn hush and wistfully offering that final farewell to a significant time that has come to its inevitable end. I just felt I should leave and spare myself the prospect of Steve Miller offering up another “jet” song.
An hour later I was on a crowded bus back to Kitchener where I was squished between two other individuals. One one side there was a morbidly obese man who was, not surprisingly, eating a cold slice of pizza that he had taken from his backpack. I’m thinking that the majority of the contents in the backpack would probably be different things that you could also eat.
On the other side of me sat a middle aged woman who felt it necessary to bring her support dog onto a crowded bus. The woman was not blind, indicating that she probably suffered from some sort of anxiety disorder. Her dog was already on edge . Being the lone canine in a sardine can, packed with an entirely different species can have that effect.
Support dogs utilize their senses to allow them to most effectively aid a disabled human. Practical things like smell and sound. There’s a whole lotta sights and sounds on an overcrowded bus. I wonder if the owner of this dog might also be incredibly dense, having apparently not considered the ramifications of this. There’s no doubt that this woman’s unsteady nerves could likely be attributed to her inability to think. Sadly, her unsteady nerves were about to get even wobblier. Perhaps two support animals?
Fuck it, I thought to myself, as long as the dog doesn’t bite me then I’ll be fine. Could it possibly have been any other way? I chuckled quietly and stared out the window across from me and tuned out. I have come a long way since that very first session with Lenny.