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Last night was Crazy Night here in Toronto...everyone with a weird agenda to push was out to spread some insanity. Amy had a late-night Fringe show, so she went to work around 10pm. She was twice approached by creepy men between home and the streetcar stop...a distance of about twenty or thirty yards. There were plenty of people around, so she wasn't in danger, but it was obviously going to be that kind of night so she called and asked if I would escort her home when her shift ended. Her Fringe show started at 11:30pm, meaning she'd be done and waiting for a streetcar at around 12:45am. Since I was just going to spend the night reading anyhow, I hopped on a streetcar and headed for the theatre around 10:30pm. This ought to have gotten me to the theatre by 11 o'clock at the latest. I figured I'd find a coffee shop nearby and wait there. It's a good thing I did so, because Crazy wasn't finished that evening. About half way to my destination a woman got on...I could tell immediately that she had issues. There's an atmosphere around the mentally unbalanced - excess shuffling of bags, little rituals of movement - small things that just scream "I speak to my toaster!" This woman carried a handful of flowers, sorting them and re-bunching them, pulling this one and that from the bundle and holding it above her head. She had a large, shapeless bag that she kept adjusting and moving. All sorts of crazy going on. I didn't see how it all started...I was reading. By the time I looked up the woman was shouting, the driver was shouting, and everyone on the streetcar knew we were in for trouble. The woman was hollering about Africans abusing Africans (though her accent was clearly Jamaican and the driver obviously born in Canada...no more African, really, than I am) and demanding that the passengers rise up against the driver. "Shame on you Toronto, letting a black man rule your city!" Oy. At this point the driver stopped the streetcar and called the police. This is never good, for anyone involved. I don't know if the police just don't take these things seriously or are too busy or what, but when a streetcar driver calls them it's 45 minutes before they arrive. Not only does the streetcar involved have to stop, but all the streetcars behind as well...they ride on rails, so they can't exactly go around. Nobody has fun in these situations. I wasn't going to be late but my fellow passengers had places to be and things to do. It was hot and oppressive and everyone was ornery. And so began the revolution. There's always someone, usually sitting way at the back and thus badly informed about the situation up front, who decides that he or she will be the "voice of reason." Sometimes they argue with the driver, sometimes with the offending passenger. Neither choice ever makes any difference, aside from ratcheting up the tension on an already tense situation. In this case several would-be-lawyers attacked the driver, then one another, trying to sort out the knots of who's to blame and what ought to be done. In no mood to join the fray, I sat and tried to read. I had little success. The woman's shouting had turned into a keening cry..."Oh, Lord Jesus, move dis streetcar! Move, in da name of Jesus Christ!" As a student of theology, I admit that I was relieved when the streetcar remained stationary. Try working that into your personal spirituality. Finally the woman demanded to be let off. After a couple failed attempts, when the doors opened but she missed it while adjusting her bag or shuffling her flowers, she made her exit. All attention now shifted to the driver...now that our troubled and troublesome guest had disembarked, why did he not move? People began to get out of their seats, advancing as if to physically force him to drive. They were becoming almost as insane as the crazy woman, and she had the excuse of schizophrenia. It was a charged atmosphere...surly TTC riders were ready to snap, the driver was calmly filling out an incident report, and through the windows drifted the continuing polemic..."Toronto! You do not stand up to da black man! I am ashamed of 'dis city! Torontoooooooooo!" Finally, a reassuring lurch and we were moving again. The aggressive passengers sat smugly down, all sure that it was their involvement that solved the problem. The driver became hostile to the whole car, refusing to announce stops. I returned to my book. Just another Crazy Night in Toronto. |
