Backpacks are lethal (Dec 24)

NOTES FROM THE SCOTCH COLONY

Another bus trip to Montreal – and back

                                    by Robert LaFrance

            Where did the year 2019 go anyway? This is the mystery every year this time. No, wait, last year wasn’t the same. I just checked my digital files and what I said a year ago was: “Where did the year 2018 go anyway?” (I try to be accurate and am often a fanatic about it.)

            This time it is different though, because in a short time we will all have perfect vision. 2020, get it?

            A couple of weeks ago I realized I was getting way too much sleep and decided to go on a 9-hour bus trip to Montreal and visit my daughter and her family. If I remember right, she and her husband have a 16-month-old daughter, but that wasn’t the main reason I wanted to visit. There are silly people who think I even like my grand-daughter.

            As I write this, I have been back in Victoria County for almost a week. Eighteen hours on a bus, although, to be fair it was four different buses or busses if you prefer. I had a seat to myself in each case, thanks to my ingesting many cloves of raw garlic. I arrived in downtown Montreal just before the morning rush hour and jumped into a taxi that was waiting along the street. So far I haven’t used Uber although I have the app on my smartphone.

            The driver, who proved to be a Haitian who said he had emigrated from Iran (figure that one out!) twenty years ago, said that indeed he did go to Verdun where my daughter and family live and invited me to look at his company’s name in big letters on the dash. Verdun Taxi. That gave me a clue.

            Although Verdun, itself formerly a city and now a borough of Montreal, is quite a distance from downtown that seemed to be a construction zone, we were there in jig-time. My daughter and grand-daughter waved to me from their second floor apartment but wisely refrained from coming outside onto the metal balcony to help me bring in my three steamer trunks, five suitcases, and three kit bags. It was sure nice to see them. I am not referring to the luggage, and, by the way, I may have exaggerated the amount of that luggage. It was a small suitcase and a small kit bag. In my travels decades ago across and up and down Canada, I had learned how to pack.

            (Not to mention any names, but one person who lives in this very house often packs two suitcases for an overnight stay.)

            My grand-daughter, who often gets up for the day at 5:00 or 6:00 am, was a little shy at first, but within a few minutes she was on my knee as I read and sang “The Wheels on the Bus”. How she could be cheerful at that hour of the morning is beyond me. We had Cheerios and warmed up chicken stew for breakfast.

            Before I go any farther on the subject of my delightful visit, I will revisit the subject of luggage. A few minutes ago, I just finished up a letter to my recently elected Member of Parliament; the subject was deadly luggage.

            I refer to backpacks. I cannot think of a more deadly weapon than the backpack, unless it is the bagpipes as their carriers swing around wildly in crowds. (Curious about the similar spellings.)

            At the Riviere du Loup bus station, I watched half mesmerized as a young woman carrying a backpack spun around as someone called her name and struck a toddler alongside the head. Luckily the little chap was tougher than old shoe leather and soon bounced back to his feet, just in time to see the young woman’s boyfriend turn around quickly so he could race to the bus; the victim that time was an older gentleman. That would be me.

            During my eighteen or twenty hours on various buses I saw at least eight instances of backpack assault. Rarely did I hear an apologetic word and there’s never a cop around when you need one.

            The MP should get my letter any day now and I sure the anti-backpack legislation will be sitting in a House of Commons committee room by early January. A minority government should ensure quick passage if the Senators can be aroused from their post-holiday slumber.

            Back to my holiday, my grand-daughter made sure I never got bored. Whenever she saw me not busy, she grabbed a book and brought it over to me. By actual count, I read 3,442 books in four days. I sure hated that. We went shopping several times, went to the nearby park half a dozen times, went walking and just went. I sure hated to leave her but when I did depart she was sleeping, or I may not have been able to go.

            A few other comments about my trip not including a description of ‘taking a leak’ in a moving bus’s washroom:

            Although signs in the buses all said they had WiFi available, it was only half available on each of the four buses I rode on. My smartphone said ‘connected’ but it wouldn’t go anywhere. It wasn’t a big deal; YouTube is practically all Donald Trump anyway.

            You know how expensive things are in airports and train stations? Like $18 for a paperback novel and $9 for an anorexic’s sandwich? Guess what? Bus stations are in the same ballpark. At Riviere du Loup I wanted to buy four AAA batteries and found that the total cost was a mere $12.98. I told the cashier that was a bit “riche” for me.

            I mentioned that the whole city of Montreal seemed to be in a construction zone and there were flocks of panhandlers all around; on my return to home I noticed that it wasn’t the case in Victoria County. My favourite potholes were still in place and getting bigger and the only panhandlers were those who handled pans.