volume one hundred and three

the 99 b-line

📍Written from an unseasonably grey Vancouver day which is offering a break from the extreme heat.

🎤 Upcoming shows:

Just Kidding Comedy, Fable Diner & Bar, August 3rd

Too Funny Stand Up, The Show Cellar, August 15th

LIVE PODCAST RECORDING! of My Dad Stole My Limelight at Vancouver Pride Festival

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She wouldn’t stop staring at me. Every time my mind wandered and my gaze followed to glance around the crowded bus, I would meet her eyes that were locked on mine. Both of us one arm above us hanging on to the yellow railing above, a few people between us, backpacks surrounding many of our feet. We were standing in the aisles of the 99 B-Line — the busiest bus route in all of Canada and the US — and I was stuck on it for the foreseeable future, in peak traffic, trying to get to work, a hangover lingering in the back of my throat that threatened to expel itself from my body every time the driver pumped the brakes, and she wouldn’t stop staring at me.

I wondered if there was something on my face. I wondered if my dry and dehydrated skin had once again rejected my efforts of under-eye concealer to hide my tiredness and allowed it to turn into cake frosting on either side of my nose. I wondered if I had food in my teeth, snot coming out of my nose, bird poo in my hair, or food on my shirt.

“I like your necklace!” she smiled at me. “Where did you get it?”

“Thank you so much! I got it at a market in Australia, actually.”

Actually? Why did I say actually as if I was correcting her? She never made a guess.

“Are you from Australia?”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Are you on a working holiday?”

“Do you plan to stay?”

“Your work is sponsoring you? What do you do for work?”

“Do you live in this area?”

“Are you on your way to work now?”

“What’s your name?”

She hung onto my answers, listening intently, wanting to know, before moving on to her next. Was this an interrogation?

I began to imagine telling my boyfriend about this, about the person on the bus who asked a thousand questions. I thought about how he would have scoffed at the audacity and wondered why strangers are so nosy. He then would have explained to me how uncomfortable it made him when people wanted to know so much about a stranger. I decided then not to tell him about her.

We arrived at my stop and we wished each other a good day. She told me “It was really nice to meet you, Lauren”.

The way she said my name let me know she was locking it in her memory and my heart lept in a way I had never recognised. It raced the same way it would when I got good news. 

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“How are you today?” my boss asked when I walked into work.

“I think the government sent a spy to check if my Permanent Resident application was legit. This girl on the bus asked me so many questions about everything: work, living here, how long I plan to stay. I think she was undercover.”

“Canadians are very friendly. You just experienced a nice person on the bus.”

“If she was a spy, I passed with flying colours.”

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I could feel someone’s eyes on me. I looked up and there she was, the spy. It had been a week or two and here we were, again on the 99 B-Line, headed in the opposite direction of when we first met. From the other end of the long bus, past the section that allows it to bend around corners and baffle me how that works, she smiled at me, discreetly waved and then lent to whisper into the ear of the girl next to her — her eyes remained on me — they were both spies.

We got off at the same stop, me from the front door and them from the back. I looked over my shoulder as I walked away to meet her gaze as she looked over hers at me. Her hand was intertwined with the girl next to her who looked straight ahead unaware of this exchange.

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I was on stage, in a dark room, the spotlight bright enough to only allow me the view of the front row, which was eight empty seats. The room was scattered with comedians awaiting their turn on stage, waiting hours for their three minutes. In the dark, I could see glasses reflecting back at me. The light caught them and I saw their lenses glowing, lit up, reflecting my face and the comedy club sign on the brick wall behind me, but could not see who owned them.

After my set, I took a seat up the back to calm myself and go over what worked and what didn’t.

She approached me, and at first, I assumed it was someone headed to the bathroom which was just past my where I sat. Her glasses and her face were visible now that I was on the dinginess of the club floor and out of the spotlight. She stopped in front of me.

“Hi Lauren, it is so good to see you, do you remember me from the bus?”

Of course I do and I knew I would see you again, I thought.

“What are you doing after this?”

Lovely reader, I would love to hear your “we met on a bus/train/plane” stories: friends, partners, employers, short chapters, collaborators... share them in the comments.

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I’m so grateful to those who read my substack 🧡 because I really love creating it for you. This substack will always be free, however, should you choose to become a monthly paid subscriber of this reader-supported publication, you’d be putting a little tip in my pocket as thanks for the work I put into every post.

🧡🧡🧡 Comments, likes, the chat, shares, listening to my podcast and kind messages are all other ways you can support me, too.

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here are three things I struggled with this week:

✏️ Making big changes always involves big admin.

🛒 Everywhere in my neighbourhood is out of sriracha sauce. This is an outrage.

⌛ Deciding to re-read The Time Keeper and being punched with reality.

here are three blessings from this week:

💗 The old journal entries that remind me how far I have come in my sober journey, and how none of it has been done alone.

🗞️ I am so out of the celebrity news loop and it is bliss. No social media really is a gift.

🍨 Sunday ice cream with one of my nearest and dearest involving napkin-scribbled notes of creative inspiration.

here are three goals for the coming week:

😏 Soak it all in.

🪩 Keep my finger on the pulse as I feel right in the grooviest of grooves finally, and big changes are upon me.

🐢One day, one hour, one minute, one task at a time.

here is something I enjoyed this week: 

Forever and always my enjoyment each week, my anchor, the place I will plug over and over: Writers’ Hour.

pics or it didn’t happen:

it’s giving new citizenship means new passport vibes

I love you. Now I am off to make very good use of the gift I got when I became a Canadian Citizen, giving free access to many venues, parks, galleries and museums.

LD

xoxo

🧡 get to know me a bit more over here