Kate buys a new Opus card

I noticed not long ago that my Opus card was about to expire, so as I was passing through Berri-UQÀM today, I stopped to get a new one. At the machine I was reminded I had some tickets on the old one, so I went to the service counter to get the contents swapped over.

I figured it should take, what, five minutes or so, to do what must be a routine process for the people behind that glass.

A man and a woman were at the wicket, talking intensely with a previous supplicant. When that person left, my number did not immediately come up. The pair of them chatted for awhile, then eventually summoned my number.

I explained my request, and the man and woman conferred again intently. The man took six dollars from me, took my old Opus and put it on the reader, then swapped it for a new card, then repeated the swapping a few more times. He turned to the woman, who got on the phone and had an apparently complicated conversation, while the man waited.

I wondered if I could’ve somehow picked up a stolen card and was about to be cuffed and dragged away.

Finally she got off the phone, and he took a little pad of forms, on which he carefully copied down the number on the back of my old Opus and the reason for my request, and the date, and had me sign the back and note down my phone number.

“Did I ask you for money?” he inquired.

“Yes, I gave you six dollars,” I told him.

Then he printed out a receipt, and stamped it. I looked at it later: it says “Vente Finale”.

Later when I was buying a few items in a store up St-Denis, the person before me asked the cashier if she knew where some nearby business was, and the cashier took out a phone book to look it up.

I think my time machine is on the fritz.