Buffalobiian
Tue, 04-08-2008, 05:53 AM
Today I was heading home after uni like every other weekday. I missed the connecting bus (like most days) and had to wait half an hour for the next. I sat there, waiting, shivering as I waited for the next bus to come, secretly hoping the last one would roll up late. It was windy and dark; the start of a typical winter storm. As I sat there, wearing clothes that were obviously not designed to keep you warm, I looked around in hope for some distraction.
I turned at a sound, and saw a familiar sight. A group of seven or so guys and a girl who I see occasionally at the interchange rocked up, complete with nose rings, cigarettes and rat tails. I had nothing against any of those things, but you get the picture. Probably the neighbourhood wanna-be-gangster teens out to get pissed again, a few bystanders and I had to endure half an hour of their loud convos, of which every second word was f*ck, and the other c*nt.
Twenty minutes later, another girl and a few more guys showed up, and the groups exchanged friendly greetings; the guys did their gangster shakes, and the girls hugged everyone. Now that f*ck and c*nt were sounded at twice the fequency, I took out my ipod and turned it up as much as my eardrums would allow.
In the next ten minutes, I noticed one member was acting rather differently. The second girl, obviously drunk (and perhaps overdosed on whatever the hell she found), was waddling back and forth, waving her arm lazily, and not making much sense. (I couldn't hear, but you could tell from the other's faces.) They knew that too, and took the moment to bounce her around in circles, laughing at her effort to resist.
She finally sat down to take a rest, and the group resumed their exchange of insults. By this time the line for the bus had grown considerably, and I didn't know if I was lucky or not to have missed the first bus. The wind picked up, and I drew my shirt closer as indulged in my music, longing for my trip home.
The bus finally showed up five minutes before schedule, and the driver decided to take a break. The teens, finally deciding to line up, stood up and walked. All except one girl.
While the rest moved, the drunk girl sat with her head in her knees. She was obviously cold, dressing even less than I did, but she made no attempt to warm herself. One of her friends came over to wake her, but she made no response. Another shook her, but she didn't notice. A few more unsuccessful attempts followed, and they finally gave up. Gathering whatever change they had left from last night's booze, the teens proceeded to the end of the line.
A few adults, including me, looked worriedly between the girl and her friends. Some wondered what was wrong with her. Some seemed to know. But none cared enough to approach her. I noticed the teens would look over their shoulders every so often to see if she moved. My gaze darted from the girl to the gang, then to the driver, and back to the girl. When the bus driver put away his paper and started the ignition, I left the queue.
I walked back out of the station towards the shopping center immediately adjacent. I looked around for the security guards who patrolled the complex, and I located one near the taxi lane talking to a cabbie. I approached him, and noticed he was the same one that came by the stop earlier to check the kids. One of them, it seems, was infamous around here.
I tried explaining the situation to him, and he seemed to get what I was saying when I said "she's not responding." I brought him over to the bus stop and showed him the girl. After having a look at the girl, who remained silent, he called control center and waited for backup.
Having done my job, I lined up at the end of the now almost non-existent queue and looked forward to my long deserving trip home. The guard asked the teens a few questions, and I heard them speak along the lines of "yeah, we know her." and "We were gonna take her home." But without so much as a worried look, they hastily disappeared into the bus, eager to binge as much as possible before the night was over. By the time I reached the door, the bus was already packed, and a few old ladies and I had to wait for the next one, half an hour later.
I sat down again, and watched the guard do his job. A senior security guard arrived, and between them they managed to wake the girl, who claimed she was merely asleep. Not satisfied, the two guards stood nearby while they reported back via telecom. It was at this point that I resumed my music, and shivered at the grey, rumbling sky.
Later on, the unmistakable pungent of wine filled the air. One guard ran off towards the storeroom, while the senior one stayed with the girl and the red, splattered mess underneath her. When she was ready to walk, the guard shepherded her into the complex, while the other one came back with a bucket and mop.
So now I'm here back in my cozy room, thinking about what happened this evening. This was a rather valuable experience for me. A year ago, I witnessed a car accident at that very bus station. Back then, I was only staring at it, and as others rushed over to help, I had the role of looking after everyone's bags. Today, I was again, looking at the girl, wondering in my mind what, if at all, should I do. In the end, I called for help. Now I know that was the right thing to do. Next time, I think I would be able to do it with much less, if any hesitation.
In the end, I didn't regret leaving the queue. I didn't think it was unfair I had to wait in the cold for an hour. I just hoped when that girl sobers up, she realises just how caring her good friends were.
I turned at a sound, and saw a familiar sight. A group of seven or so guys and a girl who I see occasionally at the interchange rocked up, complete with nose rings, cigarettes and rat tails. I had nothing against any of those things, but you get the picture. Probably the neighbourhood wanna-be-gangster teens out to get pissed again, a few bystanders and I had to endure half an hour of their loud convos, of which every second word was f*ck, and the other c*nt.
Twenty minutes later, another girl and a few more guys showed up, and the groups exchanged friendly greetings; the guys did their gangster shakes, and the girls hugged everyone. Now that f*ck and c*nt were sounded at twice the fequency, I took out my ipod and turned it up as much as my eardrums would allow.
In the next ten minutes, I noticed one member was acting rather differently. The second girl, obviously drunk (and perhaps overdosed on whatever the hell she found), was waddling back and forth, waving her arm lazily, and not making much sense. (I couldn't hear, but you could tell from the other's faces.) They knew that too, and took the moment to bounce her around in circles, laughing at her effort to resist.
She finally sat down to take a rest, and the group resumed their exchange of insults. By this time the line for the bus had grown considerably, and I didn't know if I was lucky or not to have missed the first bus. The wind picked up, and I drew my shirt closer as indulged in my music, longing for my trip home.
The bus finally showed up five minutes before schedule, and the driver decided to take a break. The teens, finally deciding to line up, stood up and walked. All except one girl.
While the rest moved, the drunk girl sat with her head in her knees. She was obviously cold, dressing even less than I did, but she made no attempt to warm herself. One of her friends came over to wake her, but she made no response. Another shook her, but she didn't notice. A few more unsuccessful attempts followed, and they finally gave up. Gathering whatever change they had left from last night's booze, the teens proceeded to the end of the line.
A few adults, including me, looked worriedly between the girl and her friends. Some wondered what was wrong with her. Some seemed to know. But none cared enough to approach her. I noticed the teens would look over their shoulders every so often to see if she moved. My gaze darted from the girl to the gang, then to the driver, and back to the girl. When the bus driver put away his paper and started the ignition, I left the queue.
I walked back out of the station towards the shopping center immediately adjacent. I looked around for the security guards who patrolled the complex, and I located one near the taxi lane talking to a cabbie. I approached him, and noticed he was the same one that came by the stop earlier to check the kids. One of them, it seems, was infamous around here.
I tried explaining the situation to him, and he seemed to get what I was saying when I said "she's not responding." I brought him over to the bus stop and showed him the girl. After having a look at the girl, who remained silent, he called control center and waited for backup.
Having done my job, I lined up at the end of the now almost non-existent queue and looked forward to my long deserving trip home. The guard asked the teens a few questions, and I heard them speak along the lines of "yeah, we know her." and "We were gonna take her home." But without so much as a worried look, they hastily disappeared into the bus, eager to binge as much as possible before the night was over. By the time I reached the door, the bus was already packed, and a few old ladies and I had to wait for the next one, half an hour later.
I sat down again, and watched the guard do his job. A senior security guard arrived, and between them they managed to wake the girl, who claimed she was merely asleep. Not satisfied, the two guards stood nearby while they reported back via telecom. It was at this point that I resumed my music, and shivered at the grey, rumbling sky.
Later on, the unmistakable pungent of wine filled the air. One guard ran off towards the storeroom, while the senior one stayed with the girl and the red, splattered mess underneath her. When she was ready to walk, the guard shepherded her into the complex, while the other one came back with a bucket and mop.
So now I'm here back in my cozy room, thinking about what happened this evening. This was a rather valuable experience for me. A year ago, I witnessed a car accident at that very bus station. Back then, I was only staring at it, and as others rushed over to help, I had the role of looking after everyone's bags. Today, I was again, looking at the girl, wondering in my mind what, if at all, should I do. In the end, I called for help. Now I know that was the right thing to do. Next time, I think I would be able to do it with much less, if any hesitation.
In the end, I didn't regret leaving the queue. I didn't think it was unfair I had to wait in the cold for an hour. I just hoped when that girl sobers up, she realises just how caring her good friends were.