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baksheesh

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Did I ever have a strange trip in to work this morning.

It started with hauling my rain-soaked (sorry!) bike out of the yard and making my way through puddly streets that were curiously lightly trafficked. As I rolled down a hill a fellow standing on the side of the street looked me in the eye and slowly waggled his finger at me. He kept doing it until I was almost upon him -- then I realized that he was signalling the bus that was riding along behind me. Relieved, I headed for the right-turn lane (a rarity on Toronto streets) and a motorcyclist blasted by upheld left arm as I signalled my turn. But he wasn't turning, he was using the separate right turn lane to "beat" the traffic waiting at the light which he blasted right through.

I turned right onto Dundas street and rode without incident for fifteen minutes save for encountering not one but two of those dudes who won't be passed -- guys who don't ride particularly quickly until you overtake them. They give me the willies.

At a portion of the street where a garbage truck had obviously made several sloppy spills of foul-smelling puke-like fluids, another fellow appeared at the side of the road. This one was clearly looking at me, bending low giving me a thumbs-up. "Baksheesh," he said to me.

What? Doesn't that mean - yup, he was looking for a hand-out. I left him standing in his truck-puke-strewn stretch of the street and carried on.

On Shuter I passed a third man, and Indian from the looks of him. But he was speaking loudly into a cell phone in German. Yes, an interesting morning in the city that continues to internationalize.