I’ve been gone for some time, work-shopping a story at some other sites and reciprocating reviews with my thoughts on their stories. It all takes time, as anyone who participates in online workshops knows. I’ll write another post about it.
I haven’t had the time to come back here and share more transportation stories about people I meet traveling to and from work. One recent incident didn’t happen on a bus but it was on my way to work so that should count for something.
Sometimes I stop at a little corner coffeeshop for my morning caffeine fix. The woman who works behind the counter is an elderly woman who is pleasant enough but moves so slow that not only can I take time to smell the roses but plant the seeds and watch them bloom before she makes it to the cash register to ring up my order. Imagine when there is someone in line ahead of me. I can cash out my retirement plan savings with no penalty by the time she asks for my order. I don’t mind the waiting. I usually get there early and have plenty of time before I have to be in the office. And she’s friendly and grumpy at the same time. I like that. None of this saccharin, “Hello miss, I’m Super-Happy-So-I’m-Talking-Fast-and-High-To-Show-You-Just-How-Really-Happy-I-Am-To-Serve-You” crap so early in the morning. This woman is the perfect mix of what do you want and the cups are over there.
Pigeon - photo by Alan D. Wilson, http://www.naturespicsonline.com
One morning I walked in the opened door of the shop, scattering a flock of pigeons roaming around the doorway. The woman behind the counter yelled and waved her arms at me to back away. “You don’t stomp when you see pigeons at the door! You must walk slow and let them move aside. You don’t stomp at them.” I didn’t know what to say, and stood frozen, looking at her and at the pigeon in line in front of me.
She opened the flap-door of the counter and stomped to the pigeon. It ran toward me, then ran toward her and, trapped, it spread its wings and flew over the counter onto the pastries in the window. I watched in horror.
The moment the bird flew into the window, that woman raced through the open counter space and leapt into the air, hands raised above her head. In one magnificent movement she’d captured the pigeon in her hands and met the floor like a Olympic athlete sticking the landing. It was an out of body experience, as if this little old lady had suddenly morphed into the spirit of large, predatory cat and bounced out of the shop with prey in hand.
But, she was angry. These pigeons had been taunting her daily, standing in line waiting for orders with other customers, and she was fed up with their bird brain habits. “I hate pigeons, they are always coming in here,” she kept saying, “I hate them.” And she stood on the sidewalk outside, with both hands raised high above head, and swung her hands downward with such force the pigeon whacked the sidewalk. It was a sickening sound. I couldn’t move, not really registering what I’d seen.
People on the street stopped to look at the woman and the unmoving bird lying on the hard sidewalk cement at her feet. No one said a word. The woman realized people were looking at her. “I hate them,” she said, loud. Talking about the pigeons. But people continued to stare. She walked to the pigeon and nudged it with her foot. I was sure it was dead, from how it sounded hitting the pavement and the way its neck seemed to bend on impact. The whole thing made me feel queasy.
But the pigeon flapped its wings. The woman lifted it up with her shoe. It stood up, as if just waking up, and after a timid step or two, opened its wings and flew off as if nothing had happened. I almost clapped my hands at the sight. Thankfully, that poor little pigeon was going to be fine. The woman, who’d by then realized how wrong she’d been, was redeemed.
She walked back into the shop and it was business as usual. The cups are over there she told me when I ordered coffee. And a pastry. She went to the corner of the window where the pigeon had been moments before.
“umm,” I motioned to her, “I don’t want to be eating anything with a fresh coat of…”
“oh yes,” she said, “good idea,” and checked the bag she’d been handing to me. “It’s okay,” she said with a smile.
I don’t think I’ll be returning to that coffeeshop any time soon. And now, in the mornings, when I’m walking along the sidewalk, I slow my gait and step lightly around groups of pigeons. That woman helped me see them with new eyes, not as messy, annoying birds always in the way, but as an innocent group of creatures that happen to share the city with us. When did it become okay to kill something because it’s an inconvenience to be around? Aren’t we the ones with bigger brains? You’d think with all that brain power we could figure out simple things, like how to close the door.
Bang Head Here 