Reading Randomly

When reading a book of short stories, whether they be from the same author or a bunch of authors I usually read the stories in the order they are presented. It could be because I usually read novels and skipping around willy-nilly could be at best confusing or at worst a disaster** (see below). It could also be that I believe, rightly or wrongly, that there was probably some reasoning behind the order of the stories and who am I to mess that up.

Currently, I am reading two books of short stories. The first is Binge by Douglas Coupland (surprisingly, I have read quite a number of his books, but JPod is my favourite). These are purportedly short stories, but since several characters seem to repeat themselves, I suspect there is more to it. The stories don’t have titles and are just numbered. I think this discourages me from going off course.

The other book I am reading, which is titled the Kindness of Strangers, recounts various meetings with strangers who generally help the person in the story. There are at least 17 different stories and none of them are particularly long. They take place all over the world and (so far) are all quite fascinating.

Where am I going with all of this–because I do not often do book reviews despite reading quite a bit? The funny thing is that this last book somehow got me to change my modus operandi. I have been jumping around in this book reading stories randomly. I have selected by title or just opened the pages and flipped to the start of a new story. It has been quite liberating. I’ve read the last story but I haven’t read the first. I have even forgone the introduction (by the Dalai Llama himself) to check out some opening paragraph that struck my fancy.

In a book of short stories, do you read them in order or do you let some other logic dictate what you will read? I would love to hear your comments (anonymously is fine despite the page telling you to log in–just ignore it) and if you have a book of short stories that you adore, please mention it.

Weirdness Magnet

Do I just run into complete weirdness, or is it because I am looking for something to write about that I tend to notice it more than others? Am I somehow attracting this weirdness, or is it there for all of us to see? Let me relate something I sort of stumbled upon early last week, and you let me know why it is that this kind of thing happens to me.

At the bus terminal where my bus ride ends and my subway journey begins, I often stop to use the washroom (restroom in case you are unfamiliar with the Canadianism). It isn’t particularly dirty, but it isn’t particularly clean. Since the start of the pandemic the chairs in the other parts of the building were taken away and the only other thing in the building is a convenience store which mostly does brisk business in lottery tickets and serves as a place to load up your fare card. There have been a larger number of homeless people bunking there, but nothing else.

On Monday, I sauntered into the washroom (because how else would you enter) and discovered a man brushing his teeth. He had his luggage open and a variety of his clothes were folded neatly on the floor (in front of the urinal). It all seemed vaguely organized, albeit a tad disgusting. I guess I should point out the other remarkable thing. He was only wearing his underwear.

As per custom, we didn’t speak, but I obviously left a bit confused.

Your thoughts?

When the Bus Door Opens to Random

I shouldn’t have been going to work, but I was. I had volunteered to substitute teach for one of my colleagues.  I am not sure whether I volunteered out of friendship or the desire to make a few extra dollars, though I am leaning more towards the profit motive as time goes on.

I should also be clear that Today’s Perfect Moment won’t be the flurries that happened shortly after I boarded the bus for work. Yeah, they were beautiful, but I’ve had enough.  I want winter over and done with.  I have already written about the Last Gasp of Winter and I really don’t want to do that again.  I guess I can stick to a technicality.  The Last Gasp was a bona fide snowstorm with actual accumulation.  These were just flurries and don’t really hold a candle to a true winter snowfall.

Today’s Perfect Moment is instead a moment of beautiful randomness. That you can see evidence of a snowfall in the picture may contribute to the randomness of it all, but should not be considered an endorsement of winter.  As I have already hinted, I want to out on my bicycle ASAP.

This is the story. I boarded the bus some time before eleven o’clock.  I haven’t taken the bus at this time in quite a while, but I do remember that at this time of day there is a different breed of public transportation user on the bus.  Though it may seem like it (as I have a well-known sarcastic tone) different is not being used as a euphemism for weird, but merely unusual.  Today was an exception and the bus was mostly filled with average people without a trace of sketchiness about them.  The bus trip itself was rather weird though,because we had two driver changes in the same trip–one near the beginning and one near the end..  It annoys me when there is one; so you can imagine how I felt when they had two.  Seemed like poor planning to me.

I spent the early part of the trip looking over the material I was going to have to teach. While the flurries caught my attention, they didn’t hold it.  I needed to concentrate on the material for some time.  At some point, for reasons that I am not entirely sure about, I looked out the door at one of the stops.  Maybe something caught the corner of my eye, or maybe I just needed a break from the material in the text.  Whatever the reason, I certainly didn’t expect to find a moving dolly occupying my view outside the door.

Sure, there was/is a lot of construction being done on the road to make room for dedicated bus lanes, left turn protocols, and signals to facilitate those protocols. However, none of this heavy construction equipment requires a dolly—a huge construction crane or backhoe maybe, but not a dolly.

I am so happy I was able to take a picture before the bus started moving again.  And, I suppose it isn’t weird, but it certainly struck me as random. Why was a dolly parked there?  Who left it?  Were they coming back for it?  As I look at the picture now, I can clearly see tire marks of a truck.  This brings up other questions that I didn’t ask at the time.  Had they used it to load or unload the truck and then simply driven off without it?

I didn’t have much time to ponder it after taking the picture because a lovely older woman sat down beside me and started a conversation with me. As this happens rarely, I maintained my side of the conversation and turned off the interior monologue.  However, the image of a lonely moving dolly abandoned in a field stayed with me for the rest of the day.

If you liked this post, I recommend you read about some of my other bus encounters.

The Two Fisted Drinker

Scenes from a Rainy Day

A Welcome Invasion of Personal Space

The beautiful weather we had in the afternoon of a clear sky and mild temperatures was probably created by the dismal dark and rainy morning. That morning also spawned Today’s Perfect Moment.

I trudged my way up the subway steps, hoping that the rain that pelted me from the bus stop before I entered the subway had magically subsided. While it had slowed to a drizzle, it certainly hadn’t stopped.  I had to wait for 3 stoplights to change to navigate the construction confused intersection at Yonge and Eglinton.  At each corner the rain was somewhat different.  I had an umbrella but hadn’t opened it yet.

Suddenly, a complete stranger sidled up next to me and covered me with her umbrella. This thing used to happen a lot when I was younger and this random act of kindness was not seen as an invasion of space.  People shared umbrellas with strangers in need.

Of course I thanked her and enjoyed standing under her umbrella. I knew, perhaps instinctively, perhaps I heard something in her voice, that she was from another country.  She didn’t say much so I suspected that her English level was not very high.  I also wondered if she was a student at the school I taught.

She left me after crossing the intersection and proceeded to walk in the same direction I was going. She walked at a good pace that I could only keep up with and proceeded to walk to the door of my school.  We shared an elevator up to her floor and smiled at each other as we parted.

I am reminded of How I Met Your Mother when Ted finally met the mother and they shared an umbrella on a train platform. I may have hated the end of that show, but I loved that scene.

I digress

As I said before, this thing used to happen a lot more often in the past. Now it seems like good manners and courtesy are rare.  I still hold doors and elevator doors open for people.  I give up my seat to people in need.  I don’t play my music so loud that it bleeds out of my earphones.

Oh, wait, now I sound like an old person struck with nostalgia for their time complaining about how life was better in the past…..

Okay, sadly, all of that might be true, but at least someone shared their umbrella with me.

 

Random Things

On my way to meet my friends, a woman approached me on the subway.  It was after traditional dinner time, so I probably shouldn’t fault her for being heavily intoxicated.  She claimed to be a biker, but that didn’t really jibe with her riding the subway.

I met my friends at a bar called Hemmingway’s.  Whenever we go there, I wonder what it would have been like to be a writer then.  Did they have it easier than we do now?  Was there a more willing audience?  Were publishers more willing to take a chance on someone unknown?  Without facebook and instagram, how did they pester people into buying their work?

My friends asked me about my blog.  I explained that I enjoyed writing it, regardless of how much response I get.  I might not be a published author, but I am writing words that people are reading.  I am getting a chance to get my voice out there.

I also explained that writing takes practice, and the blog provides practice not only in writing, but also editing, rewriting, and marketing.

On my way home, waiting at the bus terminal for the bus that would eventually get me home, I heard a tap tap tap sound that pulled me away from the book I was trying to read (Kerouac’s Dharma Bums).  I imagined that it was a strong female wearing high heels and dressed in a power suit.  I imagined that she had on a trench coat and probably vaped.

When the tapping grew louder, I craned my neck to see if my observations were right.  She was a beautiful tall woman in rather tall high heels, dressed in black and looking severe.  I had been wrong, but somehow, I didn’t mind.

On my bus, a woman boarded with three young boys who were out past their bedtimes.  They had obviously been to the Blue Jays game (sadly for the boys the home team lost).  They looked as if they had had the best experience of their young lives.  They were exhausted, but their smiles couldn’t be erased.

I left the bus with fantastic music playing in my ears.  My front door and then my bed beckoned….and I thought I should blog rather than sleep.  I won’t know if I was right until tomorrow morning.