It’s 7am, time to zone out to a podcast, my usual routine. (Usually This Week in Tech or MacBreak Weekly). Mac this, blah blah blah pc that.
Just after Ellerslie Highway I notice a man to the right of me across the aisle with a Banana box. Strangely he’s got it covering his hands and up to his chest so I can’t see what’s in the box. Of course this gets me extremely curious.
What’s in that box and why does he have it with him on the bus? What’s in it?
It’s not like he’s homeless and needs a box to keep something dry, quite the opposite: He appears to be quite well put together and well off. He isn’t fidgeting and doesn’t look extremely nervous so I’m not concerned, just curious. Black jacket, khaki slacks, black shooes, black hat. Banana box. Strange.
The bus, on its usual route, gets on Great South Road headed North (Ironic, aye?) and goes past the mid century and newer homes and small cafes that line the street dutifully. Nothing happens and the man doesn’t move.
I fight the urge to stare at him to try to figure this out. I can’t stare even though I want to because it will be patently obvious and I’ll get caught in an uncomfortable exchange, “I wasn’t doing anything!” “Yes you were.” Awkward. Can’t expose my interest in this man’s box. Don’t want to be threatening, just an observer.
No idea still what’s in the box. The bus rumbles along, hitting a pothole every once in a while, picking up several passengers at each stop. I can stare at them for a few seconds while they sort out their fares, but not at Banana Box Man; the one I REALLY want to look at.
Finally, we approach Market Street and Banana Box Man decides to get off, still clutching the open box to his chest as if he’s got something in it, or he’s protecting something from the non-existent rain (it’s a perfect, sunny day).
Then I see it. As he walks toward Market on Great South, past the antique shops and cafes I see it. There’s abolutely nothing in that box except his hands.
One big giant mitten. Choice.
(photo credit: Papakura District Council)
