Fishbowl.
We pulled into the 7-11 and eased the ambulance into the distant regions of the parking lot. Sitting next to a wall, in front of a dumpster, and beside an alley, we tried to blend the bright orange and white, boxy, ambulance into its surroundings. It was daytime, and not yet dark enough for us to find a secluded hiding place away from all of humanity. Plus, it was these hours of the day we enjoyed sitting there in our little office watching the characters of everyday life pass in front of us. 72" of windshield framed the frenetic characters dancing around us like a big-screen television. It was better than HD, it was real life.
But the tables were soon turned. The hunter quickly became the hunted. The voyeurs suddenly were the objects of desire.
I saw him across the street, in the crosswalk. He stood there pushing the round, silver button on the large light pole like a button on a joystick. He concentrated on the red, no-walk light as if he were an owl pearched in a tree searching for mice. He was determined to witness the colors change from red to green. It switched, he proclaimed something out loud, and contrary to all his previous actions, began to slowly mosey across the busy four-way intersection.
He was talking, a lot, to himself. Hands were moving and gestures were articulated as though he was in a high school debating contest. All this animation caught my eye and made me sit up from my scrunched position in the ambulance to study him further. He was prime people-watching material and both my partner, and myself, prepared ourselves for the show that was surely about to ensue.
Then suddenly, like a cat stalking a mouse, he quickly shifted his gaze and locked his radar on the ambulance.
"Ohh, shit," I said. "I think he's seen us."
He continued crossing the diagonal walk at his own ease. He had no intention of moving quickly now and, even though the light had already turned green, and the traffic to his right was beginning to push forward, he stutter-stepped his way to the sidewalk.
"Please, oh please don't come over here," I said.
And like sonar on a submarine, he changed his coordinates and zeroed in on the ambulance. He was now walking quickly. He had a mission, and it was orange and white with two paramedics in it.
He passed the gas pumps, lost his bearing and gradually swayed towards the front door of 7-11.
"Maybe he's just going to get something to drink?" asked my partner, already knowing the answer to his hypothetical question.
He regained his bearings and stomped each foot in front of one another and aimed his body at my window.
"Please go to your side, please go to your window," I mumbled, like a ventriloquist, to my partner without moving my lips.
Again, radar locked on to weakness, he approached my window. He gestured to me to roll it down and I complied.
He said nothing. He smiled, gave us a thumbs up, and fixed his pompadour blowing in the wind. He moved to the front of the ambulance and pointed at the light bar.
"What do you think he wants?" asked my partner.
"I don't know, you think he wants to see the lights?"
My partner reached his right hand along the black row of switches and like Jerry Lee Lewis on the piano, slid his hand from right to left. The lights clanked above us and he again smiled, said nothing, and gave us another thumbs up. He then pointed at the hood.
"What does he want now?" I asked.
"The siren?"
"Uhh, sure. Give him a little toot."
My partner slid his left foot from where it was resting and tapped the little button hidden on the floor well that sounds the airhorn.
One sharp blast like tug boat sounded and the voyeur jumped back, fixed his faltered pompadour again, and then he smiled and gave us another thumbs up.
He approached the ambulance. Looked at every light and touched the silver, indestructible, airhornes on the side of the hood. He went to the side door, slid open the tinted patient compartment window, pushed his nose into the screen and inhaled deeply.
"What's he doing? I can't see him," I squirmed.
"Uhh, he's sniffing the ambulance," my partner said.
He felt the orange stripe along the side as the walked around the back. He took in every detail of the ambulance. It was almost as if he where from outer space and had never seen such a thing. He continued his journey towards the driver's door, being sure to examine every light on the ambulance closely.
Again he got to my partner's window, gestured that he roll it down, and then with a big smile gave us a thumbs up. No words spoken, he walked off into the distance.
We sat there in our little fishbowl as he crossed the street and disappeared into the rush hour foot traffic.
I couldn't help but feel that now everyone that entered that parking lot was staring at us.
We were two fish swimming in a fishbowl for everyone to see.
But the tables were soon turned. The hunter quickly became the hunted. The voyeurs suddenly were the objects of desire.
I saw him across the street, in the crosswalk. He stood there pushing the round, silver button on the large light pole like a button on a joystick. He concentrated on the red, no-walk light as if he were an owl pearched in a tree searching for mice. He was determined to witness the colors change from red to green. It switched, he proclaimed something out loud, and contrary to all his previous actions, began to slowly mosey across the busy four-way intersection.
He was talking, a lot, to himself. Hands were moving and gestures were articulated as though he was in a high school debating contest. All this animation caught my eye and made me sit up from my scrunched position in the ambulance to study him further. He was prime people-watching material and both my partner, and myself, prepared ourselves for the show that was surely about to ensue.
Then suddenly, like a cat stalking a mouse, he quickly shifted his gaze and locked his radar on the ambulance.
"Ohh, shit," I said. "I think he's seen us."
He continued crossing the diagonal walk at his own ease. He had no intention of moving quickly now and, even though the light had already turned green, and the traffic to his right was beginning to push forward, he stutter-stepped his way to the sidewalk.
"Please, oh please don't come over here," I said.
And like sonar on a submarine, he changed his coordinates and zeroed in on the ambulance. He was now walking quickly. He had a mission, and it was orange and white with two paramedics in it.
He passed the gas pumps, lost his bearing and gradually swayed towards the front door of 7-11.
"Maybe he's just going to get something to drink?" asked my partner, already knowing the answer to his hypothetical question.
He regained his bearings and stomped each foot in front of one another and aimed his body at my window.
"Please go to your side, please go to your window," I mumbled, like a ventriloquist, to my partner without moving my lips.
Again, radar locked on to weakness, he approached my window. He gestured to me to roll it down and I complied.
He said nothing. He smiled, gave us a thumbs up, and fixed his pompadour blowing in the wind. He moved to the front of the ambulance and pointed at the light bar.
"What do you think he wants?" asked my partner.
"I don't know, you think he wants to see the lights?"
My partner reached his right hand along the black row of switches and like Jerry Lee Lewis on the piano, slid his hand from right to left. The lights clanked above us and he again smiled, said nothing, and gave us another thumbs up. He then pointed at the hood.
"What does he want now?" I asked.
"The siren?"
"Uhh, sure. Give him a little toot."
My partner slid his left foot from where it was resting and tapped the little button hidden on the floor well that sounds the airhorn.
One sharp blast like tug boat sounded and the voyeur jumped back, fixed his faltered pompadour again, and then he smiled and gave us another thumbs up.
He approached the ambulance. Looked at every light and touched the silver, indestructible, airhornes on the side of the hood. He went to the side door, slid open the tinted patient compartment window, pushed his nose into the screen and inhaled deeply.
"What's he doing? I can't see him," I squirmed.
"Uhh, he's sniffing the ambulance," my partner said.
He felt the orange stripe along the side as the walked around the back. He took in every detail of the ambulance. It was almost as if he where from outer space and had never seen such a thing. He continued his journey towards the driver's door, being sure to examine every light on the ambulance closely.
Again he got to my partner's window, gestured that he roll it down, and then with a big smile gave us a thumbs up. No words spoken, he walked off into the distance.
We sat there in our little fishbowl as he crossed the street and disappeared into the rush hour foot traffic.
I couldn't help but feel that now everyone that entered that parking lot was staring at us.
We were two fish swimming in a fishbowl for everyone to see.
Comments
Now, feel better?