Thoughts on the Toad and Other Extemporanea

Toto, we’re just so NOT in Kansas anymore.

In case you can’t see the fine print of this poster we saw on a bus this past Thursday, we’ll spell it out for you. “SPITTING ON OUR STAFF WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. IT IS AN ASSAULT. All drivers now have DNA spit kits to trace the person responsible. Passengers who spit on our drivers will be prosecuted.”

Okay, spitting? Seriously?

T.’s dad drove for the San Francisco Municipal Railway for years, which is, on a good day, peopled with camera-toting tourists, weary commuters, the homeless, the wildly drug-addled, clinically insane people, truant thugs, and reeking drunks. And to the best of her knowledge, he was never spat upon. Of course, that’s been years ago — but he drove through the Haight and the Mission and Bayview and Hunter’s Point. These are districts where people sell drugs on the corner and get shot, and nobody was spitting on him. Of course, this could be because he was the type of driver who was aggressively protecting the rights of other passengers and he routinely ejected rowdy, drunk or high people — but spitters? Oh, no. (They probably were too scared. Dry mouth and all. Word to the wise, people: do NOT get T’s father angry. Bad idea, that.) And the city of Glasgow, as a remedy for disgusting and assaultive behavior, supplies the drivers on FirstBus lines…DNA spit kits.

Wow. Just… wow. Life in a crazy-big city like this… is just surreal sometimes.

The American writer, Garrison Keillor summed up this whole idea of living cheek-by-jowl with humanity pretty well in his musings this past week. Disturbed by the noisiness of Washington D.C. over Memorial Day Weekend, he spoke of times when “vulgarity squats on you like an enormous toad and won’t get off.” Sometimes that’s what city living is — an enormous, crouching, vulgar toad — that spits.

While this wasn’t our worst move, it also wasn’t been the best. T. was pretty traumatized by one of the movers, a man with some obvious issues who spent most of the morning pelting her with rhetorical questions about ‘how was he supposed to pick up boxes that heavy,’ and cursing her roundly for the weight of them, and her ‘disgraceful’ packing. D. was treated to forty-five minutes of waiting around for the property manager at the old flat to count the teaspoons to be sure nothing was missing. (And yes, they’re charging us for a missing spoon, which we don’t have, but WHATEVER.)

After having our paperwork for acquiring the new flat delayed for two weeks (subsequent phone calls were responded to with mumbles or “Oh, Gareth will get right on that,” or “Gareth’s off today,” or “Someone will get back to you”), we were suddenly rushed into it the flat last Friday — only to find that there’s no heat (which, in a sandstone building, can be a little cold at night, even in June. It has rained Sunday, Monday and Tuesday…), the furnace is broken, the oven doesn’t close, the washer door flies open in the midst of the spin cycle, and there’s mildewy black-furred dampness on a wall in the corner. Ah, the toad, the toad. It spits.

But we are still so grateful to be moved into the new place. Those thick old church walls block out sound from the road, which is, for the most part, a very quiet street that sees a lot more pedestrian foot traffic. The noise level in the building reminds us of living in a dorm. There are voices outside that allow us to know that other people exist, while inside our little house, all is quiet and peaceful. Our ‘sanctuary house,’ as we call it, is an especially tranquil place which must be filled with the echoes of hundreds of years of church services, and we got a kick out of playing a John Rutter choral CD as loudly as we dared last night. Booming organ and requiems fill the old church once more!

Tomorrow we go to the airport at 6:30 a.m. for another round of exciting interactions with our fellow man, and probably with the spitting toad, too, but the toad’s just part of life. We’ll be happy to see you when we do, and look forward to eating GUACAMOLE EVERY SINGLE DAY. (*cough* Okay. We look forward to seeing our dear families and watching our beloved niece graduate, and visiting our church and seeing all of our cherished friends in lovely California. And guacamole. And cheap summer fruit. And all manner of food like you would not believe. You are hereby warned. All we’re coming for is to eat you out of house and home.

We’re just sayin’.)

Wishing you safe travels for all of your vacations, great times with family and friends, and all the goodness of the coming summer season. And plenty of antiseptic wipes for the toad spit.

– D & T

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