It’s not a day like any other, I’m taking public transit for the second time this year to get to work. I live in the Rosemont district and I teach in Montreal North. Like the majority of the inhabitants of this district, we have chosen to keep a single car, first for economic reasons, then for ecological reasons. For me, public transport is stressful. Exam period at my secondary school in Montreal North, fortunately, I have no supervision today.
First, in the evening, I check the weather forecast: 80% chance of rain, my stress goes up a notch. I have a meeting at 9:30 a.m. for the classification of my reception students who I must integrate into the regular next year, a meeting that I had to move for fear of arriving late. I know, you’re going to say that I have time, but, what do you want, my routine is disturbed, so we imagine everything. Then I asked my husband to drop our son early at daycare.
I leave the house at 7:45 a.m., the SRB Pie-IX bus corner Mont-Royal/Pie-IX leaves at 8:05 a.m. This new fast line saves me a lot of time and goes to my place of work , not too many transfers to make. It’s already started to rain heavily, it doesn’t matter, I’m not far from the bus stop. At 8 am, I am at the stop, and there, surprise, on the screen, it is displayed that my bus arrives at 8:14 am. I wonder if I missed the one at 8:05 am! It doesn’t matter, I still have time.
In the meantime, I observe a gentleman who was in all his states, maybe he is late for his work! He scans his cell phone, calls the emergency number while stationary, then gives up. I did not understand. Does he work for the Société de transport de Montréal? Is he in danger? Does he want to complain that the bus is late or early? He keeps pacing. Several questions cross my mind. I look at a lady who looked as surprised as me. She approaches me to explain to me that she takes this line every day and that it’s never the same, the schedules change all the time and there is no coordination between the buses and the schedule displayed on the screen off. Sometimes there are even two buses arriving at the same time.
I expressed my empathy to her and to those who are forced to do so every day. 8:14 am, my bus finally arrives. I go up, it is full, there are no seats. I’m disappointed because I was hoping to sit down to continue reading my novel by Tahar Ben Jelloun out of nostalgia for my youth spent in my native Maghreb. By the time a seat becomes available, I observe the people on board, I tell myself that Quebec is really welcoming, all nationalities are present.
There, I hear the sound of an English radio. I tell myself that this person has no right to impose what they listen to on others, after all, we are in a public place. As a French teacher in the reception class, I always tell my newly arrived students that if they want to succeed in Quebec, they must learn French. Deep down inside, I’m not very convinced, because I myself am trying to learn English because in Montreal, we communicate more in that language.
I chose to settle here because it is a French-speaking province, but over the years, I realize that it is just a decoy. My English-speaking friends who don’t speak a word of French are doing very well too. On the other hand, I, the pure and hard francophone, sometimes have difficulty communicating. I finally understood that the sound of the radio was that of the bus driver, who takes pleasure in turning it up as the passengers get on to hear well.
At this moment, other questions are added to my mind, especially in this period of debate on the place of the French language in Quebec. Does he have the right to impose that on non-English-speaking occupants? Do we have to listen to his English radio without understanding anything? Are we really in a French-speaking country? I get off at the terminus, but first I ask the driver a question: “Sir, do you speak French? He replies yes, adding: “French, English, everything. I then understood that to live in Quebec, we must speak French and English.