This is a story detailing my annoying, yet interesting day of Thursday, May 14 2009. Mr. Van Dusen at school suggested I write it all down because I'm a good writer. So here it is - Part One:
Thursday, May 14 2009
I WOKE UP with a mild cough and a lot of tiredness. I woke to the sound of a radio jingle that said “CFRA!” along with bright music. I got out of bed and went downstairs after turning the alarm off.
Preparing breakfast was no problem. I put it in the microwave and took the opportunity to go to the bathroom. When I was done, the microwave finished and I took the bowl out. But after pouring more milk into it, and before eating it, I decided to wash my hands because they felt grimy and dirty from sleeping. They get like that, somehow.
By the time I was halfway through the oatmeal, it was pretty cold. The minute and a half I took to wash my hands had evaporated most of the heat away, and I was left with a lukewarm meal. As I was finishing, something terrible began to happen. Oh no.
I tried to stop it, but it ultimately came. Quickly squeezing my nostrils closed, I sneezed into my bowl. And when I sneeze while eating oatmeal, ninety percent of it ends up splattered back into the bowl. Gross. I rinsed it out and went upstairs to shower.
I walked briskly down the road toward the bus stop. After showering and getting semi-dressed, I put on the new golf shirt my mother had bought me in Montreal. It was purple with blue, green, and white striped sleeve cuffs and a collar coloured with the same strips. Right now I was wearing a red Vancouver fleece, but I’d be taking that off at school. The day was grey and threatened wet weather. It was also windy. I made it to the bus stop with my watch at 6:58 a.m.
Fifteen minutes later the bus arrived, eleven minutes late. It wasn’t the bus that normally comes; instead it was the bus that came after. The original bus that was supposed to arrive two minutes after seven o’clock simply hadn’t come. I was quite annoyed. Annoyed because by the time the bus arrived at Baseline Station, the 116 would have already long passed. And I was right. But as the bus drove up Woodroffe Ave. Fifteen minutes later, it passed Meadowlands, where I intended to get off, right in time for a 111, another bus I could take, to pull out of the stop I was heading for. And that 111 was my last good chance of either bus route for a while. Darn it!
Waiting there, at 7:34 a.m., I expected a horde of 86s. I knew that bus route was frequent, but it wasn’t good enough for me to take. I mentally expected three 86s in the next ten minutes and then, maybe, a 111 or a 116. Instead a 57, an express route that was perfect, came fifteen minutes later. Of course it lost its chance to make the left turn and wouldn’t be turning for the next two minutes, but I eventually got on. There was a small crowd of African-Canadian girls in the middle of the articulated bus, and soon they got loud in their expressions. Re-enacting an argument, they started emphasizing threats and swearing loudly and conspicuously. The driver stopped on the corner of Meadowlands and Viewmount and said through a loudspeaker, “ladies and gentlemen, foul language will not be tolerated on this bus.” The girls quietened down, but for the rest of the ride I was tentative and anxious, expecting those girls to start up again and the driver to associate all teenagers on the bus with them and throw us off. We pulled to a stop in front of the school soon, and most of the people, teenagers, got off, those girls calling out greetings and obscenities to others in the parking lot. God, what a lot. I got away from there and into the building, with four minutes to spare until the bell, unusually.
I still put everything away in my locker and walked off, with the clock at 7:58, to wherever. Normally, when I arrive at school, I like to wind down and get comfortable, walk around, say morning to people I know, just get accustomed to school before it began. If my bus has arrived I would have been there half an hour after I left home. Now, with this remaining time, I got as far as the foyer again before the bell rang, Henrietta Blinder said on the intercom, “get to class!” and I was due for English class. Glancing east down the A-wing hall, I looked for a girl dealing with her locker and stealing glances in my direction, but she wasn’t there.
To be continued......
Oh, and I never continued that CampbellTrain/Fred story of our quest for batteries:
We found them. And completed a few good scenes.
More tomorrow (on this story).