Bus 35

As Peter and I boarded the 35 Jane St. bus last weekend, we were a little anxious. Would we be able to survive our volunteer 6-hour shifts at the Canadian Open Golf Tournament? Would the tournament entice enough guests when the roster of players was missing some of the top US players? And would bus 35 get us to our destination safely and in time?

As we found seats on the bus the very first day, we couldn’t help but notice that we were amongst people from all over the world. Their clothing often revealed their origins: Muslim-garbed women wearing hijabs and long flowing gowns, Asian ladies in flip flops and straw hats, Italian construction workers dressed in paint-splashed jeans and steel-toed boots, Latin lovers wearing tight shiny pants and studded leather jackets, older folks wearing whatever mismatched items they grabbed from the closet. It was a daily costume parade.

It was a daily display of salon activity too: hair in braids with sequins, or an intricate up-sweep with streaks of purple and gold, nails the length of claws in shades of red, pink and orange, men with Mohawks, or bald on top with dreadlocks hanging down. We couldn’t tear our eyes away from the show.

The bus was crowded with the riders’ accessories: tool boxes, shopping carts, canes, Walmart bags, pizza boxes, suitcases, purses full of make-up, walkers, baby strollers. This caused traffic jams at the stops. Invariably the double stroller would be in the middle of the bus and its owner had to navigate through the crowds to the exit. Or the senior with the walker would have trouble getting up the steps at the entrance.

Nevertheless, on every trip we took people were respectful, friendly, even kind. Not once did I lack for a seat. Gestures like this were evident everywhere: giving up seats to those in need, rescuing a lost baby shoe and returning it to a thankful mother, offering a granola bar to a fidgety little boy, helping a senior carry a box of plants off the bus. The drivers were respectful too; opening doors a second time for latecomers, forgiving fare shortages, helping lost people with directions. Each trip was a lesson on multiculturism at work.

Our shifts at the tournament were good. Peter was a Marshall again and enjoyed his rotations around the 6th hole – a lengthy par 4 of 539 yards. I was an Ambassador, kind of like a Walmart greeter, welcoming guests, giving directions to the free tequila booth, and later saying good bye. Everyone was cheery and grateful, even on the rainy days.

By Sunday we were exhausted and watched the last round of golf from the comfort of our living room sofa. The final shot – a putt that even Tiger Woods would have envied – was spectacular. For the first time in about 70 years a Canadian player, Nick Taylor from BC, has won our National Championship.

We kept thinking back to our multicultural riders on Bus 35. They now have one more reason to be proud of their new Canadian home.

Sue

Nick Taylor and his trophy