Following through a crowd pt.1

I hate crowds and it is the Christmas rush that brings out the worst in them.
People forget how to walk, they stand in the middle of an aisle gawking at their phones or staring vacantly into some over-tinseled display; It’s a wall of calendars not an art gallery, grab the first one you see and then take your thoughtless gift to be wrapped by the disinterested teenager at the counter.
I’m not bitter on the idea of Christmas but there’s just so much extra fluff these days, layer upon layer of extra gloss that is so opaque now that the original holiday is barely visible underneath.

The shops were busy, and I hated whoever designed this building more than the crowd it created. Two stories of an uninterrupted wind tunnel, dumped upon flat land and comprising the longest shopping centre that you could possibly imagine. Toilets placed at one end; the food court placed on the other.
Brilliant, give that man a doctorate in architecture!

It was 8:00 a.m., earlier than my usual booking, but there was no way my Sunday tradition of a café breakfast and the morning paper was going to be disturbed by a flock of pelicans who had all left their Christmas shopping to the very last minute.
I understand that I like routine, and I try to not let these inconveniences disturb me but having to walk fifteen minutes from a car space that took me thirty minutes to find had left me appropriately miffed.
I reached the café, I took a breath in, and I resumed my day.

Breakfast was quickly done and in what was to be a moment of reflection on my Sunday, I had suddenly felt the forgotten call of the WC and was immediately struck by its urgency.
Damn the crowd, who by now at 8:20 a.m. were reaching the level of plague status, damn my forgotten routine, damn the collection of beans on toast and a black coffee.

Discarding my paper, I tore from the food-court’s seating area with what I imagine to be the look of a madman in the throes of a seizure. 8:22 a.m. and the shoppers were only building in throng, their slow shuffling walk, no quicker than a zombified house plant or standing stone.
I cut through the crowd apologising gruffly along the way, ‘no, step left you fool,’ I would scream to myself as another pedestrian would perform an awkward dance trying to get out of the way, ‘like person would on the road, use your troglodytic brain and decide on a direction.’
Lord, a line for the escalator, I had to walk around the long way.

I was too slow, at this rate I would never make my destination and tragedy would befall me, I was sullen with defeat and jostled toward the barrier of a fish monger. But then I saw him.
Aha! At last, a man with clear thought in his skull!

A small man of nervous energy seemed to abhor these crowds and was doing his best to bully his way past the mass of people like a column of confidence. Good on you, I pointed toward him, following his tail, and enjoying the free movement of his wake; Good on you for being man enough to still walk with such determination and to be determined as to brush aside whomever my stand in your way.
He strode gloriously past the miss-aligned calendar stand, making a sharp left to weave his way toward the contraflow of the two laned shopping complex. My muse what foresight do you hold to jump sideward with such erratic exuberance? I, weakly gilded against the call of nature and so thankful of your mastery of the crowd must follow your wisdom in ardent step.  

He became a demon of movement, cutting right and left with increasing pace until we almost ran through the crowd, our beating footfall in rhythm with the heart of progress. Never before had I felt so linked to a man of common direction, did he lead the way for me out of his own volition? Surely not, but whatever his destination was to be, it was aligned with my own and in times of a freer bladder I would have thanked him profusely.
We charged forward, gliding up the crowded stairs with ease, we passed by the dreaded toy store district and summited the unlevel entrance to David Jones. With a speed I did not believe my old legs was capable of, we had managed to reach the centre’s bathrooms in record time.
At last, my salvation was within reach. The neat blue and white symbol was seen to be pointing toward the left and crisis was no longer hanging over my head on what should have been a restful Sunday.

Of course, our goals were aligned.
Darting into the first open stall my comrade latched the door behind him and there he remained, the last I had ever saw of him. I wished to thank him, of course, but after waiting for five or so minutes I deemed it impolite to wait any further and left him with a voiceless gratitude that I could never give personally.

I do often wonder why he looked so panicked though.
Too much fibre perhaps?      

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J. McCray
2021