![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Oct. 20th, 2005 05:13 pmThere was this fellow sitting on the bus this morning, perhaps in his late twenties, short-haired, sharp-faced, in a rumpled suit; I'm not very good at gauging these things by accent and complexion, but I think that he was somehow middle eastern. At one point he took out a large wad of money, and as he began to sort through it, a loonie fell to the ground. He picked it up, dropped it again, and leaned to pick it up again. At this point I guess I turned away for a while; somehow it followed that he managed to come to be sitting on the loonie, and unable to find it, until a woman sitting across from him helpfully pointed out that he might find it if he stood up.
He did so, and then, perhaps by way of embarrassed explanation, he tried to start a conversation with the woman. Unfortunately, she clearly found his accent impenetrable. The exchange went something like this:
"I am not from British Columbia. I am visitor here."
"Mm?"
"I am visitor to your city. [Something else that I couldn't quite make out]"
"What?"
"I am from capital of Canada. House of Commons, you understand that?"
"What?"
"House of Commons!"
And he scowled and turned pointedly away from her, just as though he were the one who had just been subjected to an obnoxious tourist. After a minute or two of sitting like that, twisted toward the front of the bus, he (checked his pockets suspiciously to make sure he had all his change and) went up and asked the bus driver if the latter could "let him off" at Burrard and Georgia (I think he also said something about an 'embassy', but I'm not sure what). The bus driver assured him that this would be in keeping with the general practise. Then the fellow came back up the aisle and paused to announce to all of us, in an expansive way,
"I am from capital of Canada! House of Commons!"
It was about this point that I began naturally to suspect that the man was actually some sort of fantastically inept spy, who had chosen for his cover story citizenship of a city whose name he actually didn't know. I listened with fascination as he proceeded to the back doors and began to talk loudly on his cell phone, but all I could gather was that he was talking about a plane trip he planned soon to take. Astonished murmurs regarding the fellow swelled between my fellow passengers; eventually, we reached Burrard, and he got off as promised.
The next stop was mine; as I got up to go to the door, I could have sworn I saw the woman he'd been talking to speaking, quietly, into her iPod. So I guess she was also a spy. I'll bet her side is winning.
The buses may or may not be shut down tomorrow, though at least one of my classes will be going ahead despite the prospective teachers' strike. I guess we'll see if I can go in.
He did so, and then, perhaps by way of embarrassed explanation, he tried to start a conversation with the woman. Unfortunately, she clearly found his accent impenetrable. The exchange went something like this:
"I am not from British Columbia. I am visitor here."
"Mm?"
"I am visitor to your city. [Something else that I couldn't quite make out]"
"What?"
"I am from capital of Canada. House of Commons, you understand that?"
"What?"
"House of Commons!"
And he scowled and turned pointedly away from her, just as though he were the one who had just been subjected to an obnoxious tourist. After a minute or two of sitting like that, twisted toward the front of the bus, he (checked his pockets suspiciously to make sure he had all his change and) went up and asked the bus driver if the latter could "let him off" at Burrard and Georgia (I think he also said something about an 'embassy', but I'm not sure what). The bus driver assured him that this would be in keeping with the general practise. Then the fellow came back up the aisle and paused to announce to all of us, in an expansive way,
"I am from capital of Canada! House of Commons!"
It was about this point that I began naturally to suspect that the man was actually some sort of fantastically inept spy, who had chosen for his cover story citizenship of a city whose name he actually didn't know. I listened with fascination as he proceeded to the back doors and began to talk loudly on his cell phone, but all I could gather was that he was talking about a plane trip he planned soon to take. Astonished murmurs regarding the fellow swelled between my fellow passengers; eventually, we reached Burrard, and he got off as promised.
The next stop was mine; as I got up to go to the door, I could have sworn I saw the woman he'd been talking to speaking, quietly, into her iPod. So I guess she was also a spy. I'll bet her side is winning.
The buses may or may not be shut down tomorrow, though at least one of my classes will be going ahead despite the prospective teachers' strike. I guess we'll see if I can go in.
