Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
A Letter to OC Transpo
I don’t normally post about this kind of stuff on here, but as it’s something I wrote and my blog will reach the highest number of people possible, I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.
To Whom It May Concern,
I wish to make a complaint about one of your drivers. Today (Wednesday May 20th, 2015) he was driving the 1 Ottawa/Rockcliffe at 3:02. It was bus number 5172.
The driver is normally rude and belligerent with passengers. I’ve watched him kick off multiple people for various reasons and even threaten to contact the police against a young adolescent. I realize that bus drivers have a stressful job, but that doesn’t excuse his behaviour.
This afternoon an autistic teenager got on the bus with his caretaker. He noticed a transfer on the ground so picked it up and tried to hand it to the driver. He had really poor motor control so he just kind of threw it at him. You have to understand: this teenager could barely speak, had difficulty walking and no control over his body.
The driver stopped the bus and told the kid and his caretaker to get off the bus. The caretaker explained that he was severely autistic. One of the things he likes to do is clean, so he was trying to be helpful. This was how the rest of their conversation went:
Driver: I don’t care, I don’t like s**t thrown at me.
Caretaker: Look, he has special needs. He’s autistic.
Driver: I don’t f*****g care, I don’t like f*****g s**t thrown at me.
Caretaker: Look, I get it. You deal with people every day. I get that. But you’re not looking at the bigger picture.
Driver: Go sit down.
The caretaker said it wouldn’t happen again.
When they went to get off, the caretaker said “Thank you for letting us stay on the bus.”
The driver made no reply.
I know that drivers have to put up with the public and that many of us can be rude or dismissive of bus drivers. They have to deal with many stressful situations that often bring their lives into danger. They do a job that I wouldn’t and couldn’t do.
However, no one, and I repeat, no one deserves treatment like I witnessed today. It was rude, terribly unprofessional and perhaps one of the meanest things I have ever seen. A special needs child was just happy to take the bus. He wasn’t doing any harm. Neither him nor his caretaker deserved that kind of treatment.
Bus drivers deal with the public on a daily basis. As such, they should treat riders as they would wish to be treated. Drivers are responsible for keeping their passengers safe. How safe do we as riders feel when we witness treatment like that? This is but the most recent in a string of bad behaviour from this driver. My only regret is that it took me so long to say anything.
I know that I will likely not get a response to this letter. To that end, I am posting this letter to my blog, Facebook and Twitter. It is my hope that someone sees this letter and does something about it. My opinion of OC Transpo wasn’t great to begin with, but it fell quite far this afternoon.
Yours truly,
Jamieson Villeneuve
Who I Had Become – A Poem
I hadn’t been
through the suitcase
for some time.
It had sat
forgotten in my
storage locker. I
unzipped it and
found many forgotten
items. Among them
was an engagement
ring that a
man from my
past had given
Its shine
was gone, its
lustre dimmed. I
did not remember
who I had
been when he
had placed the
ring on my finger.
I could picture
him though: a
little lost, afraid,
surrounded by people
in the bar
where he had
given his proposal.
There was never
any question in
his mind that
I would accept.
I wore the
ring but after
only a little
time, it felt
too tight, as
if it was
burning my skin.
This was not
a fear of
commitment, but only
what I would
become when I
was wedded to
him. I remember
one of the
first things he
said when meeting
me face to
face for the
very first time.
“Well, you can stand to lose a little weight, you’re quite fat. I’ll design a workout for you though.”
There were no
terms of endearment,
only criticisms. He
would look at
me after I
had said something
off the cuff.
“Oh, my little freak. Who’s my little freak?”
As I came
to know him,
I realized how
little we had
in common, how
little we had
to talk about.
“Why do you read so much? Would you please put down the book and stop ignoring me?”
That was his
constant bitter refrain.
“What joy can there be in books, my little freak?”
When I found
the ring, all
this came rushing
back to me,
condensed into a
single memory, as
if there was
a time lapse
camera inside of
my head. I
saw who and
what I had
been. It was
made even more
clear to me
what I had
become. I was
stronger, I was
more whole and
made complete by
the love of
a man who
loved me unconditionally,
who loved everything
about me, who
cherished every thing
that made me
all of who
I was. I looked
at the ring
with no remorse
for what had
transpired, no hate
towards that man,
nor did I
hate who I
had been. Instead,
I looked at
the ring and
said, softly:
“Thank you for showing me that I was worth more. Thank you for showing me what I didn’t want. Thank you for showing me that I was stronger than I thought I was.”
Then I let
the ring fall
from my fingers
into the trash,
along with who
I had been.
I turned away
and instead focused
on who I
had become.
Bus Guru – A Poem
He sat on 
bus in the
front seats. He
had his legs
crossed, and thus
he had three
seats to himself.
He had long,
shaggy black hair
and he wore
sandals on his
feet that were
falling apart. Even
from my seat,
he smelled of
something akin to
rust and dirt,
as if he
carried the scent
of earth and
grass with him.
His hands were
together as if
he was in
prayer. There were
a stream of
words coming from
his mouth that
I couldn’t fail
to overhear from
my seat. I
leaned in a
little closer while
everyone else kept
as far away
from him as
was humanly possible.
“They say God doesn’t exist, but I know that God is many things, he’s the ground we walk on, the clouds we walk under, the sky they are painted on. He has many names, so many names.”
A woman sitting
closer to him
than I was
let out a
snort of laughter.
He didn’t stop
flow of words.
“See how they laugh at you, how they choose not to know you. Even the most un-religious person must agree that our home came from someone. The angels tell me you exist and so you must, my faith is that strong.”
He kept his
eyes closed, but
still managed to
look peaceful as
if he were
talking to a
friend. Perhaps he
was. Maybe there
was a link
between him and
a higher power.
The woman laughed
this time instead
of snorting. The
man turned his
head towards her,
though he still
didn’t open his
eyes. He pointed
a finger at
her and she
almost shrunk into
her seat.
“You are married to a man who you do not love. Love him or let him go.”
She gasped and
put a hand
to her mouth.
He pointed to
a man sitting
behind the woman.
“You are too angry. People are afraid of you. Let the light in to chase the darkness away. Only then will you be happy.”
The man made
a sound like
he was clearing
his throat and
coughing at the
same time. He
turned his head
and pointed at
me. I wondered
what he would
say, what wisdom
I had to
learn, what God
or the angels
had to say.
He was quiet
for a moment
but then spoke,
ever so softly.
“Sparkle on.”
He said. It
was as if
the whisper came
from someone else,
sounding different than
his normal voice.
I wondered if
one of the
angels spoke through him.
“Sparkle on.”
A Joy All Her Own – A Poem
They greeted each 
other like old
friends. They sat
in the front
of the bus
and I was
only a seat
away from them.
The woman spoke
first, the smile
on her face
giving joy to
her voice. She
motioned to the
man as if
he had already
spoken to her.
“I’m on my way to see someone at the office that runs the shelter. They say they might have an apartment for me.”
Her eyes lit
up with undeniable
happiness, giving a
glow to her
dark skin. The
man across from
her was older
and kept readjusting
his ball cap.
He gave her
a toothy grin.
“You’re on the way to get an apartment. That’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you!”
“Yes, well, I’m a little worried.”
“Why, you should be dancing! I danced for an entire night when the mens shelter found me an apartment. A whole home, just for me!”
She thought about
it for a
moment before responding.
“That’s what I’m worried about. There are one hundred and forty of us at the shelter. I won’t have to fight for the shower anymore!”
She smiled at
this simple gift.
“Imagine that, not fighting for the shower!”
“Or the toilet. Or wearing flip flops to the bathroom!”
“Oh, won’t that be nice.”
She said, her
face filled with
childlike joy so
potent the front
of the bus
seemed to shine.
“I wonder what I’ll do first.”
She said happily.
“I think maybe I’ll make the bed. Won’t that be wonderful? Or maybe clean the place from top to bottom.”
Her face crumpled
slightly and the
joy slipped a
little from her
face. When she
spoke next, her
voice was softer.
“I’m afraid though.”
“Why are you afraid? You’ll have a place all your own!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I haven’t been alone for so long. There has always been someone nearby, sometimes too close.”
“Then you have to get to know yourself. This is a gift, a joy!”
I watched the
woman nod enthusiastically.
“Do you live with anyone? Is there someone waiting at home for you?”
The man nodded.
“My fiancée.”
“Oh, what’s her name?”
“She hasn’t told me yet. But she will.”
It was then
that I realized
they didn’t know
each other and
were just meeting
for the first
time. I wondered
why they would
just start talking
to each other
as if they
were old friends.
Perhaps they saw
the same spark
in each other,
the same otherness
that set them
apart from everyone
else. The woman
rang the bell.
“Are you getting off here?”
“Yes, you going straight to their office?”
“Yes, to be shown my apartment!”
Her whole face
smiled. Gently, the
man shook his
head as they
moved towards the
door. He held
out his hand
to the woman.
“No, your joy. A joy all your own.”
Her face smiled
more brightly than
before and she
took his hand.
“Yes, my joy. A joy all my own.”
The bus stopped
and I watched
them for as
long as I
could, before the
bus zoomed away
leaving the woman
and her joy
behind me but
with me at
the same time.
Elemental Man – A Poem
You are the sun to me,
bright like Fire.
Every time I look into your eyes,
my world is brighter and
filled with light.
You are the wind to me
Every time you speak my name,
it’s like a soft breeze
caressing my face.
You are the Earth to me,
supporting me with each
step that I take.
You are water to me.
Every time you tell me
that you love me,
my body and soul are
nourished by you.
You are the Element
that brings all of me to life
and you make my Spirit
whole.
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Jamieson Wolf has written a compelling story about navigating multiple sclerosis and cerebral palsy. His story will touch your heart, make you cry, then laugh, and inspire you. A touching memoir with a bit of magic…and tarot! ~ Theresa Reed, author of The Tarot Coloring Book
Jamieson Wolf 