Miracle at the MacNab Transit Terminal

If you want to understand my hometown, you have to start at the MacNab Transit Terminal, the unofficial heartbeat of Hamilton—and the only place where you can witness commuter chaos, small miracles, and pigeon politics all before 9 a.m. It’s not just a terminal; it’s a stage. A place where timetables come to be ignored, announcements come to be misunderstood, and patience goes to be tested.

Yet one legendary day, something happened that turned an ordinary commute into the most memorable joy ride my hometown had ever seen.

It began on a Thursday—one of those raw Ontario mornings when the wind sneaks through your jacket and robs you of joy. People shuffled around in half-conscious states, clutching coffee cups like fragile life support systems. The MacNab pigeons strutted boldly, as if they owned the property rights.

Among the regulars were:

• The Human Statue, a man who could wait motionless for any bus as if meditating.

• The Bag Lady, whose bag collection exceeded the passenger count.

• The Guy Who Always Misses His Bus, even when standing directly in front of it.

• And Gus, a veteran bus driver with a mustache so grand it should’ve had bus fare.

Everything seemed normal—until Bay #10 began to hum.

Not a mechanical hum.

Not a “the bus is coming” hum.

No, this was a mystical, otherworldly, cosmic hum, like a celestial microwave reheating the universe.

People looked up.

The bus stop sign began glowing.

“Is that… supposed to happen?” whispered a teenager holding an energy drink large enough to power a mid-sized village.

“Not unless the city’s budget finally got approved,” muttered an older man.

Then the sign lifted.

It floated.

A full six inches off the ground, vibrating like it was receiving divine Wi-Fi.

The pigeons watched, deeply offended they weren’t warned in advance.

A single pigeon—wearing a tiny reflective vest—stepped forward with the authority of a traffic marshal. It tapped the floating sign with its beak.

Instantly, the humming intensified.

A swirl of golden light burst outward.

A soft chime rang like an elevator reaching the top floor of Heaven.

And then…

THE BUS ARRIVED ON TIME.

To. The. Second.

People screamed.

Someone fainted.

The teenager dropped his energy drink in pure shock.

Gus removed his hat and whispered, “I have seen the impossible.”

But the miracle was not finished.

The bus gleamed like a freshly waxed angel. Its doors opened with a heavenly sigh. Warm air spilled out smelling faintly of cinnamon rolls and good decisions. The interior looked brand-new, as if cleaned by fairy janitors.

The screen inside flashed:

WELCOME! ALL CHARGERS WORK TODAY. MIRACLES DO HAPPEN.

A woman cried tears of joy.

A man who never talks to anyone asked three people how their day was.

Even the Bag Lady smiled—and she never smiles unless collecting her 11th tote.

As people boarded, they found something even more unbelievable:

Every seat cushion was warm.

Not too warm—just perfectly warm.

Warm like laundry straight out of the dryer.

Warm like a hug from someone who respects boundaries.

The bus pulled out gently, gliding so smoothly that passengers suspected it now hovered three inches above the pavement.

For eight glorious minutes, the city witnessed transportation bliss.

And then—just as mysteriously—the magic evaporated.

The floating sign clunked back to Earth.

The glow faded.

The pigeon returned to normal pigeon business, which is mostly glaring at people who eat fries.

The very next bus arrived late, wheezing dramatically as nature intended.

But the story lived on.

People still talk about the day MacNab Transit Terminal was touched by the bizarre, the whimsical, the downright supernatural.

For one brief ride, we saw our hometown not as it is—but as it could be.

A place full of surprises.

A place full of humor.

A place where even the buses can be miraculous.

And that, friends,

was the greatest joy ride my hometown has ever known.