sic visum superis

So normally when I have to go back to my hometown, I take the train, since it’s more convenient, nicer, more relaxing, cleaner, Internet-capable and generally just better. However, since I am currently running low on funding, I decided to save some coinage and take the bus. I arrived at the depot about an hour before the bus was supposed to leave and got in line. The guy in front of me was clearly a gregarious fellow - he kept making little remarks to me as I tried to read an article on fracking in the December issue of The Walrus - and I could feel him turn to me, only to decide what he needed to say was actually unimportant, even more often. Anyways, I eventually put away my magazine, defeated and ruing social niceties, and acquiesced to his need to chat. We talked it up in line, which, if you know anything about my personality type, is not easy for me - I’m not someone who enjoys, or is generally good at, small talk (and by extension, flirting.) The bus filled up before we could get on, so we had to wait for a replacement (not an issue when taking the train, I might add) which kept the flame of our conversation alive longer than was natural.

Eventually, the new bus appeared and we boarded and I sat a row in front of Line Guy - we got on early enough that each person could take a seat by him/herself, even if we all knew we would eventually end up with aisle seat neigbours. Anyways, the bus was almost full when this couple - the guy prettier than his girlfriend, both looking like total divas - walked on board and were dismayed to find no two seaters left in which they could, I don’t know, cuddle or whatever straight people do. The audacious divas approached the the guy sitting in the row behind me - the same one I tolerated in line - and asked him if he would mind moving to sit with me so that they could sit together. He agreed, and we made the obligatory “we meet again!” comments as he seated himself beside me.

The bus pulled out of the station and I readied myself for some more magazine reading, when all the lights turned out; me and my seat partner both reached for our overhead lights only to find that neither of ours’ worked. I was less than pleased, but Mr. Lots-a-Talk looked at me said “well, I’ll guess we’ll just have to get to know each other!” This is when the disaster began.

For some reason, in situations when strangers start to talk to me, I get really contemptuous and feel the need to lie. I can’t say why - I’m sure a therapist might say I’m avoidant, or whatever, but that’s a matter for a different doctor - but it happens nonetheless, and it happened tonight. 

Lie #1: Seatmate asks me if I’m excited to be going back home. I tell him that “oh, I’m actually from Toronto.” I’m not. 

Lie #2: Seatmate asks why I’m going to London. I reply “to visit a friend,” which would only be true if me and my orthodontist were good pals, which we’re decidedly not. 

Lie #3: Seatmate asks where I go to school. I inform him that I’m a University of Toronto student. The best part of this lie? I had unzipped my jacket only moments earlier to reveal, in big block letters, “GLENDON” and “York University” emblazoned on my t-shirt.

At this point, Seatmate introduced himself  - I’ll call him M for the remaining of this piece - and offered me his hand. I had been fiddling with my hair with my right hand, and instead of pulling my hand out of my hair, I awkwardly offered my left hand. Except right before we shook hands, I withdrew, muttered “oh, wrong hand” and supplied my right. Smooth move it wasn’t.

At this point, I realized that M was in fact kind of cute, and I wondered whether his affable nature was not, in fact, just general friendliness but something more. Unfortunately, my gaydar is basically non-functioning, and I have no sense of what’s flirtation and what’s just friendliness. Actually, he didn’t really seem gay, except that he made a point of mentioning that Gore Vidal’s third novel - he was reading Vidal’s Creation, hence the topic - was one of the first American novels to have a gay protagonist. It seemed sort of forced, but maybe he was just, you know, being intelligent. On the not-gay side, the strongest argument to be made is that I’m just unused to people being nice and so I mistook his amiability for flirtation. That’s probably what happened, but we spent the rest of the bus ride talking about movies and books and the weird Korean reality show the guy in the seat across from us was watching. It was actually really nice.

Anyways, remembering his name just now, I decided I would look him up on Facebook. Miracle of miracles, I found him and then - BAM - four mutual friends. Only in London fucking Ontario. I feel a Seinfeld moment coming - wherein I get caught lying - but, like a true Gorge, I’m sure I’ll come up with something to explain away everything. 

Thought you oughta know, world.