A Canadian Experience

He sat across from me in the waiting lounge. He had a dark tan, too dark, and long dirty brown hair twisted in wiry dreds with a bandanna made of what I could only guess to be cheese cloth. Well, that is what it looked like. His sandals were plain. It was the end of December in Canada. Was this guy for real?

A green canvas hiking bag with a rolled up straw mat slumped on the seat beside him carelessly. My own was tucked between my knees so no one could take an interest in it. His companion was a tiny potted plant with a couple shoots that looked like they had seen better days. So did his holey clothes.

I honestly thought he belonged more in a monastery in China with Buddhist monks instead of sitting across from me in the Calgary Greyhound bus depot. I was headed for Medicine Hat, but the bus went all the way to Winnipeg.

Maybe he was searching for himself and was trekking from West to East coast. Those Canucks can be a pretty weird lot. Maybe he had already been to China and was now on his way home. Those Winnipegers were just as weird. Maybe he didn't have a home and was just ... weird ... or maybe ...

"Hey take a look at this guy!" Rude laughter erupted from a group of teenage boys, "What does he think he's all about?" Many "ohm" jokes followed.

Calgarians are so ugly.