[Missouri-l] Crowd Control and Other Olympic Sports
freespirit52 at charter.net
Mon Jun 7 20:41:01 CDT 2010
I got this from a friend, what a great writer this guy is.
Crowd Control and Other Olympic Sports
March 3, 2010
My pals and readers who live beyond the 4 square blocks I tend to restrict
myself to, they've been asking how It all went, life in the Olympic city. To
them I can only say this.
The Olympics were here?
Wouldn't have known it it in my neighbourhood. For that I'm grateful. Last
thing I wanted to suffer was all the guidance. I can just see it. Crowds of
red mittens grabbing at my elbows, trying to exercise some patriotic
do-gooderness on the local blind guy.
But I did venture downtown once. Once. That was enough. Almost didn't make
One afternoon I took the Skytrain to Granville Station. Wanted to pick up a
fancy mixer at the Bay for Tracy for Valentine's Day.
Before you scoff, before you denounce my dippy choice of romantic gifts -
yeah, yeah, nothing says love like a muffin production gadget - let me say
Tracy has had it on her wish list for some time now. It ain't just a mixer.
This thing is a GPS, editing suite and a mobile surgical facility in a box.
And my plan was to get it for my gal, all those winter sports hooligans be
The numbers weren't on my side, though. Sure were a lot of those folks
around. Enough so that they packed the Skytrain like never before. So when
we arrived at the Granville station, getting off wasn't the usual breeze.
The crowd slowly spilled out. Toothpaste-like.
I was that last guy, the one who the doors close on. Only the doors didn't
close on me exactly, they closed on my white cane. Think of two teeth biting
down on a toothpick, but sideways.
I wrenched and yanked, but couldn't get my mobility aid out. The handle
remained inside the car with me, but about 3 feet stuck outside, pointing in
the direction I'd meant to go.
And then the train took off.
"Hey, that thing stuck?" an Olympic enthusiast asked, tapping me on the
shoulder with his red mitten.
I gave up yanking and instead tried to lever the cane like an oar. No give.
"Well whaddya know," I said, and wrenched again. "Who'd of thought."
Three feet of cane continued to jut from our car's door and greet the tunnel
we were about to enter.
"Do you think it'll clear the wall?" I asked.
"Uh oh," said the red mittens.
We both stepped back from the cane's handle, and waited to see what would
happen. It was sort of like observing a feral animal that might be dead, or
could be ready to pounce.
But the handle just hung there. The outside half didn't seem to graze
anything, or spark, or snap off. Not yet.
"Think you're okay," the mittens finally said.
As we pulled into the next station I imagined what it must have looked like
to folks waiting on the platform, this cane sticking out of the door,
cutting along like a scythe.
But no decapitations followed. Not that I know of.
Finally the car stopped, the doors opened, the cane fell into my hand, and
what had been a scythe now returned to its gentler nature.
Now I could cheerfully be pissed off, about being lost at the wrong station
and all that. Bloody crowds, bloody cane. Wait'll I'm carrying an
industrial-grade food processor, I thought.
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