The Christmas Bus

I'm sitting here in my apartment, with the curtains open. It's 10 minutes until 5 o'clock, and the sky is dark. There's just the last hints of blues that I can perceive near the mountains to the north of me, mostly hidden by the reflection of my dinning room chandelier. Behind me, my hide-away couch has revealed itself, and the comforting sight of a soft soaring eagle tempts me to curl up within it. I am seated upon a stool, the only object the right height and width that can fit between my living room bed and the wooden desk this keyboard sits upon. It is less than fully comfortable.

I'm sitting here thinking about all the things that I could've done with my day. I'm thinking about the people that I could've called and forced to hang out with me. I'm thinking about the book that I could've read, the letter I could've written, or the newbies I could have fragged. I'm thinking about how my whole day has been waiting for three people to call, whom I called first, who said that they were wanting to spend time with me today. I'm thinking about the TV shows I watched while I waited.

As I sit and think, I stare outside, my back hunched and growing sore. This stool is lacking in back support, and I lack in self discipline to sit up straight. The headlights of vehicles momentarily allow me the view of white and yellow painted lines. In one moment, a public city bus drives by. This bus has been decorated with Christmas cheer. Antlers adore the front and center of this fantastical contraption, alluding to none other than the red-nosed reindeer. The large shatter resistant windows on either side are bordered with blue and yellow lights, glistening and glowing in the freezing night air. From the outside, it appears like four quick dancing squares gleefully float past my view. From the inside, I'm sure, the added light causes reflection of the interior back to the passenger and driver alike. I'm forced to wonder if the accident rate of the public transportation system rises in the advent season. Anything else they see from inside must surely be tainted too blue and too bright.

It's interesting to consider the measures humanity goes through to celebration the passing of time. How much money is spent buying presents for other people that they may or may not fully enjoy? How much time is spent redecorating restaurants, houses, and city streets for three weeks of the year? What would happen if I forgot Christmas was December 25th and it slipped past, unnoticed? Would I feel a sense of loss, knowing that only 19 of my 20 December 25ths were spent reflecting on my presents and home cooked brunch, or would I simply shrug and say, "Oh well, I'll catch the next one", like the skytrain to Main Street.

Alas, one might argue that the Christmas/Advent season is about remembering the coming of Christ, and perhaps even the second coming as predicted by Stephen Colbert. I personally question whether or not Jesus would have supported exchanging hundred dollar gifts with other members of your upper-middle class white North American family or if he would have spent Christmas Day with the homeless in downtown Vancouver. Or whether he would have voted in favor of passing whichever bylaw allows public buses to "spread holiday cheer" like the Who's down in Whoseville.