Witch on Steeles

Last week, I met a real witch. I don't mean witch in the Wiccan sense; those that honour nature and are legend for stripping naked and dancing around fires. Nor do I mean witch in the Salem sense; being in the wrong place in the wrong time. I mean witch in the good ole fashion nasty sense -- the whole crone business; of nasty old ladies who cook children in ovens, cause princesses to die by spindle pricks and scare immigrants out of bus seats with their spittle of intolerance. You may not have heard of her, but the wicked witch of Toronto is well known to those who travel on the 53 Steeles Ave. E. bus, on weekday mornings. This witch usually board the bus at the Laureleaf stop. She's peroxide blonde; her stench disguised by expensive perfume; and her body glittering with precious stones. Being a witch in the new century is apparently lucrative -- which makes it a mystery why this hag doesn't have a chariot hauled by black stallions. Last week I had the displeasure of sitting beside this witch. She boarded the bus, walked up to the Chinese girl sitting beside me and told her she wanted her seat, because she was a senior, and the sign said so. There's absolutely nothing wrong with having reserved seats for the elderly on buses. It is a good society that respects and values those of the elderly persuasion. It's a good thing. The problem with this shrew however is that she's anything but nice; anything but deserving of respect. Outwardly, she doesn't appear to be old enough to be a senior citizen. Even if she is a senior citizen, opening with the demand, "I want this seat," is not a nice thing. Asking if she could have the seat would be a more respectful approach. The previous week, this crone came to the attention of my wife on the same route, when she demanded of another Chinese girl, her seat. After she had been given the seat, she then turned to an older Chinese woman sitting beside her and remark that Chinese people coming to Canada ought to learn to read English. Last week in my encounter, both my wife and I were sitting in the front of the bus. In fact, my wife had the first seat, I the second, and the Chinese girl, the third. Our witch skipped my wife and I, and attacked the Chinese girl. I'm sure there's a reason there for the passover of my wife and myself -- and any which way you look at it, those reasons aren't nice. I'm looking forward to the day this witch demand me give her my seat. I'm planning on being just as impolite as I push her into the oven.