I have a new commute during the work week. I no longer travel to the downtown core every day. No, my new commute takes me to the Downtown East Side. I think my office is technically in Railtown but I affectionately call the area Sketch-ville.

Initially my primary concern with the new commute was the extra travel time (I now have to take an additional bus along East Hastings to get to my destination). But I’ve accepted that. Then my second concern was one of safety. However I haven’t encountered any unwelcome attention to-date (knock on wood). And the other commuters are actually a dynamic, colourful bunch. Sure, there are always a few drunken bus-riders at 8:30 am or the odd meth-head. And for the most part they just stick to themselves. But a high percentage of the other commuters are hipsters and UBC students. So I can’t say my safety or perception of it has been compromised at all.

It’s only been a couple of weeks with the new route and already I was thinking I was adapting quite nicely. I’ve always prided myself on being adaptable, and I’ve never viewed myself as being a prima donna, high society-type. Instead I would like to think I can blend in with any crowd and be comfortable in almost any surrounding. But then something happened last week that caught me off-guard. No, I didn’t witness someone puking at the bus stop (seen that) or some public urination in an alley (also seen that). No, it was much more unexpected than that.

I was about to get on the bus leaving the DTES and a older man was getting off the bus. He had a slight build and grey, greasy, ratty hair. His skin was wrinkled and grimey and his denim jacket and jeans were absolutely filthy. He was harmless enough and when he walked passed me, I started to move up the stairs of the bus. Suddenly I felt someone gently grab my arm. I turned to face him but I couldn’t look past the smally, wiry hand on my forearm. His fingernails were yellow and sharp and his skin was so incredibly, unbelievably hot to the touch. It is seared into my memory. I hated to admit it, but I felt revulsion and a single thought went through my mind, “How dare you touch me.” Shudder.

He smiled to expose his nasty teeth which reminded me of his fingernails. “There’s a stroller coming out. You might want to just wait a minute.” His message to me was nice enough, he was being considerate. But I could still remember his hot, clammy fingers in contact with my bare skin. I smiled in spite of myself and stepped aside to let the stroller through.

Just like that, I had comfort zone shrinkage. Cool with my surroundings one minute, then instantly wanting to run and escape and have a shower. It’s embarrassing on my part, for sure. I guess I’ll just have to grow some thicker skin.