FFWD Weekly
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Good Listener by Ian Doig "Jonathan, you’re crazy for takin’ the bus. Muh, muh muh muh muh muh, what’s all the fuss?" So sings Jonathan Richman, one time Modern Lover, and There’s Something About Mary star. He loves taking the bus. Why? Partly because bus is so easy to rhyme – gus, pus, we accept you one of us. More than wordplay, it’s the people, all sorts of different people, that make public transit great. If it’s people watching (and listening) ye seek, the bus is like, awesome, but light rail transit has a higher turnover. Plus, anyone can ride the downtown train all day in an endless loop – for free! So call me crazy, but I’m takin’ the train. "That’s why I don’t take the train anymore," grumps a man to his wife as they stand on the platform at the Olympic Plaza LRT Station. "The time you can waste waiting for buses and trains." They part with a kiss as the train pulls up. That’s romance! You take the train, I’ll do our children’s children the favour of warming the Earth another half-degree going cross-town in my SUV. Speaking of kids.... Manoeuvring a large three-point stroller, one baby and two more tykes, a young mom gets on board at the next stop. The train travels a few metres and halts for traffic. "Do we have to get off now?" asks one of the children. "No, not yet," mom smiles. "Do we have to get off?" asks the other. "Is this where we get off?" asks the first again. They repeat the question two more times each as the train moves on. The oldest, a little girl, is troubled. "All the trains are supposed to have a bell. All these trains should go like, mmmng!" "Is this our stop?" asks brother. That’s why buses and trains require all the waiting noted above, sometimes they don’t mmmng on time. Ba dum bum! Exiting the train at its last downtown stop, I cross the avenue and await the next eastbound. As it arrives, several people press up to the doors. As one young couple takes a seat, the woman swats at her partner’s ear. "Wh?" he questions, swiveling his head around. "Mmmm," she explains as a moth flies up from his collar. They rear their heads back to avoid the insect. They relax but look a bit embarrassed – half of the train’s passengers seem to be watching even though the moth attack is over. Now you may be thinking "Wow, the train sure must be boring if that’s all it takes to get folks’ attention!" Uh... hey, didn’t you see the blood-thirsty way that thing ate their vowels? Rrrrr! Further along, a teenager asks two older women, "Is this the Anderson or the Whitehorn? I’m going to Anderson Station. I’d hate to wind up in Whitehorn." A bookish gentleman next to me calls to them, "I know what that’s like. I’ve done that, heh." He turns to me. "Thank the Lord that the week is almost over. It’s weeks like this that I thank the Lord for the Calgary Hitmen game that’s coming up. Releases some of the built-up stress from the short work week." He refers to the Monday having been a holiday. Presumably, the prescription for a five day work week is even stronger: Take in some Radz Roller Hockey and call me in the morning. Many roundabouts of the downtown core later, my train car rolls along almost empty. It stops. Two guys in jean jackets and long black hair get on. "Well helloooo," says one to nobody in particular. They choose to sit with me. "I just met (A-Channel Meteorologist) Dar Maqbool." says the first. "Oh yeah?" sez me. "He’s a great guy! Wanted to know how I was doing. Great guy, I asked him for a smoke. He told me the weather’s nice. Thinks the weather’s gonna stay nice." "Is he big?" asks the friend. "Big?" "He seems big, y’know, tall." "Big!? Fuckin’ sasquatch! Hey, you got a smoke?" "Nope," says I. They depart at the next stop with a loud, sing-song "Maqboooool!!!" The Vicious Vowel Moth reappears and flits out the door after them. It’ll cut this big weather man down to size. Like Maqbool, it’s the people who make the train great. At my last stop, a tired woman holds two girls by their hands. One sways wildly on Mother’s arm. She sings, "Ooboo oodla poo, ooboo oodla poo." And it’s the people who feed the moths.

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