The Kiss

When the streetcar pulls out of the Dundas West station it travels for half a block on a tiny side street before it turns south onto Dundas West. It is nearly 5:00, and rush hour traffic is making it hard for the driver to find an opening in the traffic. He is admittedly crowding the intersection as he waits (and waits) for the opportunity to ease the big streetcar car onto the street to start its journey.

 

We passengers in the crowded car wait patiently for him to make the turn. I notice a well-dressed woman standing on the corner, eager to cross the street once the behemoth of a streetcar moves out of her way. And as I watch, she stands on tiptoe, brings her fingers to her lips slowly and blows an exaggerated kiss to someone on the streetcar. At first I think perhaps she knows the driver, since the gesture seems to be directed toward him. Then she does it again, sweetly and slowly. And I realize that this is not a gesture of love but of irony. Or sarcasm. She is saying, in a manner much less rude than the more ordinary finger would have been, "You are blocking the intersection, you oaf, and have been for the last three minutes. Get this effing streetcar out of my way!"

 

 

Copyright © Ann Tudor

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