The bus becomes my crutch as I lean weary against the bus drivers seat compartment; seeking some stability in the midst of day-end, trek-home nausea. The crud and brown of the many tired hands around me reminds me of the working class burdens buses carry day in and day out; transporting poor people from crappy jobs to crappy homes.
One man’s fingers stand out amongst all the rest.
“Are you aware that you are turning blue?” I ask gently, smiling. The tired young man barely manages a sparkle in his eyes as he replies, “Yes my job is steadily turning me into a Smurf.”
He attempts unsuccessfully to smirk in the face of the predicament. Indeed his hands, face and fingernails are tinged a medium metallic blue. Slightly darker than his ocean blue eyes. Its hard to make out his red freckles from the stains on his face. I stifle my amusement as not to seem like I am laughing at him. He’s had a hard day; and as twistedly funny it might be to think about industrial work turning someone into a smurf – it didn’t feel right to burst out laughing at that moment.
There was something sad about the exhaustion evident on everyone’s faces on the bus that day. Each day a peaceful spirit broken, each day the alienation sets in deeper. The light once held in delighted children's eyes gradually replaced by the dull aching of a slowly murdered spirit in harsh industrial world. Perhaps I am reading too much into it...
One man’s fingers stand out amongst all the rest.
“Are you aware that you are turning blue?” I ask gently, smiling. The tired young man barely manages a sparkle in his eyes as he replies, “Yes my job is steadily turning me into a Smurf.”
He attempts unsuccessfully to smirk in the face of the predicament. Indeed his hands, face and fingernails are tinged a medium metallic blue. Slightly darker than his ocean blue eyes. Its hard to make out his red freckles from the stains on his face. I stifle my amusement as not to seem like I am laughing at him. He’s had a hard day; and as twistedly funny it might be to think about industrial work turning someone into a smurf – it didn’t feel right to burst out laughing at that moment.
There was something sad about the exhaustion evident on everyone’s faces on the bus that day. Each day a peaceful spirit broken, each day the alienation sets in deeper. The light once held in delighted children's eyes gradually replaced by the dull aching of a slowly murdered spirit in harsh industrial world. Perhaps I am reading too much into it...
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