Where’s Waldo

Can you find the foreigner in this picture of the crowd at the bus station the day we were finally able to buy our tickets to head south. The push of the people was unbelievable. I stood in line for over two hours being knocked, pushed, bumped, hit, squished, crushed, crowded, and shoved. In North America the concept of lining up has so firmly been embedded in us since we were children. I remember being in elementary school and yelling when some one “cut” in front. But here the name of the game is cut off as many people as you can and get to the front of the line as fast as possible.

Half way through the wait, while I was in the thick of the crowd I started to have an emotional break down. My feet and back were aching from the number of times I had been crushed and jostled by the hoard of people. The closer I got to the front of the line the more I felt like cattle being herded. Whenever the lines were no longer visible the security guard would push his way though with a stick that let off shocks to those who got in his way. It was an inhuman experience. I seemed to be the only person out of several hundred of us cramped in this small area that realized how wrong the whole process was. Oh there I am, looking hot, tried, and completely worn.