We find ourselves in world where our dependence on connection, the umbilical cord to the familiar, is an eerie fulfillment of a prophetic catch phrase from a 1982 movie.
You haven't experienced Calgary, really, until you've been through the Calgary Stampede. It's not defined by one single event over this more-than-week-long period. Whether you grew up on a rural farm or in a dense metropolis, EVERYONE discovers that they are a cowboy at heart. It's not that the kickoff parade shuts down the entire downtown core for most of the morning that is impressive. Rather, it is the throngs of families that start claiming the choice spots on the sidewalks with their lawn chairs at 4 a.m., just to be better positioned for the parade that starts at 9. And then it begins. Pancake breakfasts every morning. Stampede lunches and "business" functions. Cowboy hats and boots of all shapes and colours. The rodeo. The midway. The food. The grandstand show. The Western hospitality. The nightly fireworks. The marquee concerts. There is a special energy that is created and willingly shared. And then it's all over.
It made sense to take the bus to the Stampede grounds, considering it picked us up right outside the condo. It was going to be a scorcher and so we prepared by lathering on the sunscreen, donning the cowboy hats (well, I've not quite adopted all traditions of Stampede, so I wore my running cap), and threw a couple of full water bottles into my knapsack. As we approached the bus stop, a bus was just pulling out and we thought that we would have to catch the next one. However, a quick wave to the driver and I was reminded once more of how blessed Western hospitality can be. The bus was full of other cheery Stampede goers, most dressed more fittingly than me. It was going to be a great day.
The light turned green and the driver proceeded through the intersection, following one or two other cars in front of it. I was using my arms to excitedly describe all the things I wanted to see at the Stampede, feeding off the collective excitement and anticipation in the bus. A LOUD BANG. All of a sudden, the bus was sliding sideways and even more all of a sudden, people were flung out of their seats. A sharp pain shot up my arm as two other passengers were thrust against me. At some point, my bag flew out of my lap and landed somewhere. I don't remember much screaming, but a lot of gasping. The bus eventually came to a stop. An elderly gentleman was slumped in the aisle between the two seats next to me. The window that he was just sitting beside, moments before, was smashed and the blood trickling on his forehead indicated what caused the damage to the window. Another passenger, a young teenaged girl was also on the floor near the rear doors. She was crying. Behind me, another lady was on her hands and knees, scouring the floor for something. SHE WAS LOOKING FOR HER CELL PHONE. When she couldn't locate it quickly, she bolted up, ignoring the pain in her twisted ankle. She cried out for someone to call a certain number, a number that neither contained 9 or 1 in it. The girl on the floor, in between heavy sobs, had her pink RAZR in her hand and was either texting an entire encyclopedia, or had difficulty dialing one particular number. Some passengers near the front started making their way back, asking if everyone was okay. The gentleman with the cut forehead was attended to. He kept muttering "I saw the red truck coming but it was too late..." What sounded like a swarm of sirens were quickly approaching. The girl finally got through to whomever she was dialing, but, hearing that familiar voice only made her sob louder. At that moment, I noticed that my knapsack was near this girl, by the door. Somehow, one of the water bottles had slipped out and was lying next to it. This was a good thing because it was drunk from by the gentleman, the frantic woman looking for her cell phone, and finally by the girl on the floor once she stopped crying. Others were on their phones as well, breaking out into tears once they connected to someone they knew.
It's always been an irritation to me when I observe people who have chosen to make their phone a permanent prosthetic for their head. I feel offended when someone picks up a call in the middle of a meal or conversation that I'm sharing with them. There is nothing wrong with the technology and the conveniences it provides; it's more about how it's made people behave that annoys me. I now have seen first hand how this technology has become a surrogate for live connection. I do wonder, though, if we didn't live in an age of cell phones, how it would have forced the passengers on this bus (who are sharing the same extreme experience) to relate to each other. Instead, I see how good we've become at phoning home.
