Out of the Black

I remember those old TV shows where someone would be driving home after an evening out with friends, but they'd never arrive at their destination.  Something nefarious was set in motion from the moment they sat behind the wheel, for there was a dark figure hiding in the backseat, who would accost them and eventually do horrible, terrible things to them.  As a young boy, I never understood how this was even possible.  "How did they not see someone hiding in the rear of their car, just inches from where they'd be seated?  Admittedly, these days, I will get into my truck, never peering into the backseat compartment.  The space back there, mind you, can be cramped and anyone of significant size would find it difficult to hide there.  However, I don't always drive my own vehicle and one such event occurred two nights ago and it's affected me in so many ways.

As a transit operator, my view of what is behind me is limited.  Many times, when I thought I was alone and began singing to a favourite song playing on the radio, I am surprised by the 'DING' of the stop request.  With all the security features that protect us drivers, sometimes you can't always see what or whom is seated directly behind you.  This is a huge problem for me as I've had many nightmares of questionable people stabbing me from behind.  It's a level of anxiety that I deal with on a daily basis.  So at the end of my shift, usually when I'm about to return the the garage, I'll pull over to the side of the road, secure my bus and walk the length of the bus, checking for lost articles or people left onboard.  The bus is always empty and I can shut off all the interior lights and be on my way.

Tuesdays are especially problematic for me.  I run an afternoon shift of the 40s.  Routes, 43, 45, 44 and 4.  The forties head out to Evergreen, Arbor Creek and Willow Grove and I do it all on a 60 foot articulating bus.  The size of this vessel can be a little overwhelming when you consider it's size, but in actuality, it's pretty easy to maneuver.  However, there isn't enough time to complete the routes in a timely manner and I often find myself 45 minutes to an hour behind, usually by no fault of my own.  First time was because I didn't have a working transit master (GPS) and I was unfamiliar with the routes.  Working off the book, it becomes increasingly difficult to read as the night grows darker and the interior driver light, overhead, is a freakin' joke.  The second time I drove the route, there was a car accident that blocked one of the two lanes heading into Sutherland and both occupants of the cars abandoned their vehicles, thus backing up traffic for hours. The last time, two days ago, the brainiacs with the City, chose to close College Drive, again, backing up traffic for nearly an hour.  It took me, in my elongated bus nearly an hour to travel three blocks and cross the College Drive bridge.  This put me behind almost an hour, so it was dark by the time I was rounding out my last loop, Route 44 (Willow Grove).  By this time, the transit master has gone blank because it thinks that I've completed my routes and it's gone to sleep, rendering me lost to figure out the route on my own.

As I approached one of my final stops before heading for downtown, I was stopped by a fellow operator who knows that I shouldn't be out so late, especially with the articulating bus.  This bus is mainly used for peak times when there's the potential for the most riders.  By this time I only had a handful of riders.  Krista, the fellow operator, boarded my bus and instructed all my riders to transfer to her bus, explaining that (I) was finished for the day and that she'd deliver them the rest of the way.  Krista walked to the articulating part of the bus, checking for everyone and urging them to transfer to the other bus.  I was double-parked, blocking the traffic behind me and neglected to do my own walk-through, believing that Krista had, indeed, cleared everyone for me.  I thanked her, shut off all my lights and continued on my way.

If you've read this far in my tale, I think you may know what is coming. 

Please bear with me.

I turned up my radio and began my arduous trek back to the garage, which is located outside the city on the west side.  Because there's a glare from the interior lights that reflects off the front glass, I like to shut off all the lights to allow me to see the road more clearly and when you're dealing with black ice as the temperatures drop to below freezing at night, especially driving a sixty-foot articulating bus which is notorious for jackknifing on frozen surfaces, I'll take all the helpful advantages that I can.

I was traveling south on Circle Drive at the posted speed of 90km/h, being mindful of the glistening ice crystals reflecting off the asphalt, in a pitch black bus when out of nowhere... A hand grabs my shoulder from behind.  My heart rate jumped from normal to a million in less than a second and I screamed at the top of my lungs and I swear that if I wasn't wearing my seatbelt, I would have exploded and skyrocketed out the top of the bus.  I began screaming at this person, telling them that they scared the shit out of me and asking WHY she didn't get off when she was instructed to?  She never answered she was almost as startled as I was and stepped back, disappearing once again into the darkness that shrouded the interior of the bus.  Frankly, it's a miracle that I maintained control of the bus on this icy surface.  I pulled onto the 8th Street exit and continued to berate this poor frightened woman.  I followed my tirade, immediately, with apologies for my reaction, again scolding her for grabbing me rather than speaking up and for not coming forward when the lights were first shut off, which was probably about ten minutes before this time.  I got her squared away at another stop that would take her the rest of her way to the downtown terminal, then continued on my way, taking an alternate route back to the garage, all the while, grasping at my chest.

Can a person literally be scared to death, I pondered as I struggled to calm myself.  I managed to get myself back to the garage, a choice that I continue to question to this moment, because what occurred next is still bothering me to this juncture.

When I came into the supervisors window, I saw the acting supervisor who asked if I was alright.  I was white as a ghost, had difficulty catching my breath and I was clutching my chest.  It was decided at that point that I should take a seat and 911 was called. 

The EMTs arrived within about 20 minutes and my heart rate had not slowed.  They hooked me with more than a dozen sensors and tested my heart, to make sure I wasn't having a heart attack.  Thankfully, I was not.  They urged me that I should go to the hospital for further testing and in retrospect, I wish I had taken them up on their offer as in the two days since this incident, I've had an uncomfortable pressure in my chest, which increases with fatigue.  I joked to a co-worker, that I believe I may have "blown a gasket".  I'm going to call my personal physician today for a follow up.  Last thing I need on my plate, now, is a fucking heart condition.

Tuesday night, all I wanted to do was go home, hug my cat and be thankful that I was still alive.

Apparently this woman, who was dressed all in black, was seated at the very back of the bus, out of the view of both myself and Krista, the other operator who'd vacated my bus.  The woman, I believe, didn't speak very good English and may not have understood the words that Krista was speaking, but to sit in the back of this bus, in total blackness, not knowing where she was going or what was happening, is still inexcusable, no matter what country she was born in.  Then to just grab someone, in absolute silence, was just evil.  She may not have intended her actions to be considered as such, but it was a terrible thing to do to anyone.

Ninety-nine point nine times, I check and clear my bus before returning to the garage.  The one fucking time I don't, this happens and it's affected me mentally and physically.  It's a lesson that I will not forget and like most life lessons, it's one that I've learned the hard way.

Calgary Expo - Day One

Woke up early this morning, packed the truck full of shit and rushed across town to pick up friends before heading out west, Calgary bound, intent on attending the 2015 Calgary Comic Expo.  This is the second such event that I have attended, the first being in Saskatoon, but in comparison, the Saskatoon version is pretty small.  I had heard stories of what these larger events entailed, so I've entered this scenario with predisposed thoughts, but so far, while scaled up in size, I can't help but think, I thought it'd be bigger.

Granted, it is only the first day and we've had limited exposure.  Tomorrow we're going to tackle a whole other venue we discover via a highly confusing event map.  Also happening tomorrow, I'm going to meet the Hardcore Legend, Mick Foley.  I've been stoked all week long, dreaming (and wondering) just what the hell I'm going to say to the man.  As the minutes and hours pass by, I will admit I'm becoming more overwhelmed with anxiety.  I hope I can hold it together when I do finally meet him.  I have a great deal of respect for the man, as a pro wrestler, a writer, an entertainer and an all around genuinely nice guy.  I know from personal experience that sometimes our heroes let us down when we meet them, but I know in my heart that Mick is the real deal.  More on that subject in the coming days.

The one thing that I do know for sure, is that Calgary, in the sense of maneuvering about in traffic, is insanely moronic.  I don't know who the dumb f*ck was who decided on the meandering streams of traffic, but it is confusing as f*ck.  So confusing, I might add, that the GPS in my friends phone, was barely able to provide a definitive route in order to get from point A to point B.  Either that or it was "the reader", but I'm sure she'd flat out deny that.

Over all, Day One has been uneventful.  Just an opportunity to get our bearings.  We have three more days of this insanity.  Now I'm chillin' at the hotel, headphones on and listening to Bert Kreischer's Bertcast with MMA fighter, Brendan Schaub, disrespect the physicality of professional wrestling, using the my most hated word in the English language....: Fake.

Death Ride

They say that if you die in your dream, you die in real life.  I don't know who "they" are, but they sure as f*ck don't know shit!  I've died many many times in my sleep and have woken up each and every single time.

There was a point when I was younger that I died a different way in every dream I had over the course of about a week.  One involved riding a rickety old roller coaster that jumped a high sharp turn.  I had one where I'd jumped on a grenade.  There was one that involved another amusement park ride, where the arms spun round-and-round, as well as up and down, the little pod at the end, of which I was riding, went up and kept going up into a cascading arch, before plummeting into a nearby parking lot.  There were a couple of dreams where I was trapped in a vehicle sinking underwater.  Those ones I've never been very fond of, having a healthy respect for the water.

Nope!  I'd say who ever the scholastic "they" are, they don't know shit about dreams.  Or if their synopsis is correct, then I'm an exception to the rule, perhaps.  Whatever the case, I've died a great many times and I've awoken every time.  The reason I'm addressing this, here, is I had another one just the other night.  Only this one was exceptionally strange.  In all preceding death-related dreams.  My death would come in the natural pace that it would.  The roller coaster car making contact with the ground, then I'd calmly wake up.  The grenade explodes under my torso and after a brief pause in my head, I'd open my eyes and be safely within the four walls of my bedroom.  As for the sinking vehicles, I was surprisingly calm before waking up safe and dry.  This dream the other night, though...  Troubling.

I'm unable to remember the events leading up to my tragic end, the other night.  I can only recall driving my pick-up to a location just outside a city that I've never been to before.  After sometime at this place, I was dispatched to drive back into the city to visit another locale, only they people gave me a car to drive back.  It was a nice car, if I remember correctly.  A sleek black sedan with bright LED and Xenon lights on the front that were bluish in colour.  It may have been a BMW, but that's not an important factor in this story.

I set out on my mission, the night quickly approaching and the world growing more and more dark.  I headed north, I think, on towards the amber glow of the nearby metropolis.  The roads that took me there weren't paved, thick with gravel that made driving a little more challenging in the sedan that it had been in my truck.  I was close, though, and soon found myself gliding along smooth concrete surfaces.  This mysterious place definitely was not in Saskatchewan, as I've never traveled such gloriously smooth highways anywhere in  my home province of Saskatchewan.

The GPS, that had been programmed by my hosts, directed me to cross an overpass that dissected a train yard.  There was no traffic on the roads so I never bothered to slow down at the flashing amber light.  I signaled left and sped up the brightly lit roadway that lead straight into the darkened sky.  The speedometer needle continued to climb up the dial, even after I found my wheels had left the safety of the roadway.  It became all to apparent that the overpass was still under construction, after I glanced to my left and realized there was nothing there, but a few straggling re-bar.  My attention returned to the view in front of me as the nose of the car began to bow towards the ground.  I braced for impact, like that was going to help reduce the pain for falling a couple hundred feet.

It never happened in slow motion, although the events that followed did seem to move at a slower pace.  I remember making out the grey stones that made up much of the ground in this train yard.  I remember the front of this luxury sedan folding up like a cheap suit, the moment it made contact with the ground.  I remember being jarred in my seat and a sharp pain zipping up the right side of my spine, like a shock of electricity.  Then I remember quiet.  Absolute silence, interrupted a few seconds later by the sounds of steam and the car settling into it's new resting place.

I sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to comprehend just what the f*ck happened.  Conjuring up the memories of what lead me to this moment in time.  I hadn't seen any traffic signs indicating that the road was closed due to construction.  I couldn't move.  I was pinned behind the wheel of the car.  Light from the flickering GPS made shadows dance across my face and the cabin of the car.  I reached up and turned the key off, despite the engine being quite dead.

A few more moments passed, but they seemed like hours.  I now found myself outside the car.  Standing across from the bright headlamps that were still operational, I assessed the damage.  I looked up to see a gathering of people looking over the edge of the defunct overpass.  To my right, I saw rescuers making their way down the embankment, with flashlights in hand.  I tried to approach them, but was unable to move.  I was confused, but more so once the people made it to the car.  They began trying to open the driver door, all the while reaching in and screaming at me.  "SIR!  SIR!  CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

They were obviously calling out to me, but their attention was directed inside the car.  In fact nobody bothered to look my way at all.  I called out to them, but no one responded to my pleas.  Finally I was able to make my way to the front of the smoldering car and take note of myself unconscious behind the wheel and the rescuers checking my vital signs.  "It's too late..." I overheard one of them mutter to another.

I continued to stand there watching, confused by what I was witnessing unfold, but completely calm.  Aside from their incessant chatter, I could clearly hear my own breaths.  Deep inhales followed by heavy sighs.  I felt at peace.  One thought did cross my mind that didn't involve the happenings unfolding before me.  "What's going to become of my sweet little boy [cat], Monkey?"  On that single thought, I heard the alarm on my cell phone going off.  I turned away from the car and found myself awake and hitting snooze.

Once more, after being killed in my dreams, I awoke to live out my dream life.  Working a job that doesn't appreciate me and living with my sweet cat, Monkey, who does appreciate me.