Posts Tagged ‘transit’

So I pretty much jinxed myself into a dreadful Monday with my last post.  Seriously. It’s like the universe said,

“Oh yeah? You don’t like Monday’s?  Oh, it’s onnnn.  I’ll show you Monday.  It’s so on.”  

As I left work I was welcomed with some lovely wet snow.  You know, not rain, not snow, but hurts like hell when it’s hitting your face horizontally.  Of course because of this, the bus was late.  By the time I got on I pretty much resembled a wet dog – as did everyone else.  The bus was smelly and packed so I had some random man standing over me as I sat.  He was dripping all over me and his crotch was staring me in the face. Fabulous. After the longest ride ever, I hopped on the subway, and settled into my daily crossword routine.  Over my tunage I heard some clicking.

Click.  Click.  Click. Click.  

I assumed it was someone clicking their pen open, closed, open, closed.  

I turned up my ipod and tried for the life of me to figure out 23 across.  

Click.  Click.  Click.  Click.  

This time I searched for the clicker.  


I found her, and realized with horror that it was not a pen she was clicking.  It took me a second to register. I believe I threw up in my mouth a little.




The woman was clipping her nails on the subway.  Clipping her nails.  On the subway.  Nails. Subway.

Click. Click.  


That is one of the most revolting things I have ever seen.   It by far surpasses eating on transit.  By far.  For serious.  

Clipping her nails?

What on earth would possess someone to even entertain the idea of clipping nails on public transit? This is a bathroom activity, people! Do you shave on transit? Floss? Pluck nose hairs?  Bathroom activities are called “bathroom activities” for a reason. A good reason.  I don’t want your friggin DNA remnants on my coat, thank you very much.  Really.  I mean, when you clip your nails, they don’t always just fall gracefully. Sometimes they torpedo every which way.  I literally sat there in shock for the entire ride, semi shielding myself from possible nail escapees.



Right.  So finally I get to the next station and decide to make a pit stop at The Metro to buy food for dinner. You would think people where stocking up for a hurricane, as I’ve never seen the place so busy on a Monday.  I picked up four things.  Chicken burgers, pickles, wraps, and cheese.  I thought even with a line up, it should be semi-quick.  Plus, I thought a picked a pretty good line – only four people in front. Sweet.

Forty-five minutes later, I finally make it to the front.  




In line.  Four people.  

And there was no line switching opportunity for me either.  I was boxed in and with my luck, would have chosen a worse line – so I stayed put.  At one point I thought that if I tried to use my super-strength-mind-power I could make the conveyer belt thingy go faster.  All I wanted was to burn the nail clipping from my memory, put on some warm clothes and eat the best chicken burger wrap ever.  

Finally I got home and chatted with a friend for a bit on the phone.  I’m one of those people that walks around my apartment when I’m on the phone.  So there I was, and suddenly without warning, I somehow lobbed my phone across my apartment.  It crashed to the ground and part of the casing fell off.  I just got this phone back from ‘the shop’ after being fixed for a month. Thankfully it was okay, and when I called my friend back she said all of a sudden she could only hear me screaming…

“SERIOUSLY!!!!!????  Come. ON.  Seriously.  What the hell!” 

So, I eventually got down to business and made my awesome chicken wrap thing.  I think I’m a pretty skilled wrap maker – never too full… just right, you know?  So I made two wraps, sat down on the couch, took a deep breath and took a bite out of what I’d been waiting for all night.  

And splat.  

The wrap broke and it’s contents landed on the floor.  

At this point all I could do was laugh, because the alternative would have been me loosing my mind.  After I cleaned up I realized I still had another.  I handled it like it was a rare jewel.  I ate it.  All of it.  Slowly. It was so good. It was the best wrap that ever touched my mouth.  

Like always, it’s the small victories.  It’s like all of the crazyness that happened pre-wrap has been wiped away with post-wrap bliss.  

Much. Better.



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So, last night was the first snowfall of the season (excuse me while I vomit – yes, I’m a mean one, Mr. Grinch – and loath winter and winter related activities).  

Anyhoo, I’m going to take action and declare a national holiday, which will take part on the first snowfall of the year.  I mean, there’s a holiday for everything else, right? Last year Canada declared some day in February ‘Family Day’ since there was no holiday that month.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m not complaining, I’ll take any holiday I can get.  But then I’d like to create one too.  

How do they decide?

I can see it now:  “Hey, you.  Pick a holiday, er… and stuff, eh?”

Why, for the first snowfall you ask?

Well, it’s almost guaranteed that a switch goes off the first time it snows, and people become complete morons (myself included). They forget how to drive, walk, and generally function as Canadians.  I mean, it happens every year people, and yet still, complete chaos takes over.  

Let’s use myself as a perfect example.  

This morning I woke up confused (mainly because I was out late – which is not common for me during the week) and fully clothed on my couch.  I rushed to get ready and magically somehow still made it out the door at my regular time, not taking into account a fresh coat of that yucky white stuff that blanketed the streets and sidewalks.  I noticed the bus approaching the stop, and like any other day, started to sprint uphill to catch it.  For about 5 seconds it seemed as if I was on a treadmill – going nowhere fast.  

And then, splat. Right in the slushy goodness.


I figured Mr. Bus Driver would have laughed and kept going, but Karma seemed to be on my side, so instead he waited for me to pick my clumsy moron ass up and get on the bus.  To add to my glorious chilly, wet, morning, my commute increased to 2 hours, and will undoubtedly be the same on the way home.  

Hooray for winter. 

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I’m definitely not a morning person.  People that know me are well aware of that fabulous characteristic.  It’s best not to speak to me until I’ve had at least one grande americano.  Yum.  

Anyhoo, my morning started off with some irritation on the subway. Nothing new there.  

Please, someone enlighten me:

Why, oh why, must people that speak foreign languages scream at each other?


Even when they are sitting so close they’re practically attached.  Come on, now.  

It’s a serious question.  

Can you understand each other better if you scream at the top of your lungs?  

Do you just want other people to know that you can speak another language?  

Do you want people to think what you are saying is more important?

Is it a conspiracy? 

Is it?

I do not understand this phenomenon.  I really don’t.  

Why does the volume decibel increase ten fold?


I pondered these very questions this morning as two women who sat beside me literally blew my eardrums out.  I was trying so hard to concentrate on my book, but you know, it was pretty much impossible. I would have moved seats if there was an open one, but rush hour had other plans.    

Qu’est-ce que le fuck?

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I missed a lot yesterday.  I misplaced my keys, which led me to miss my bus, which led me to miss my first subway, then my second subway and in turn, my other bus.

Right.  So I figured my day was off to a fabulous start, considering the first hour and a half consisted of me missing just about everything, and eagerly craving my morning coffee. I guess Karma felt like throwing me a bone, as I ended up seeing my favourite random transit crush on the way home.  It amazes me how such irrelvant little things excite me, but you know, I get bored easily and need to keep myself mildly entertained as much as possible.

I hopped on the bus after an otherwise uneventful day at work, and took a quick scan at the passengers.  It was pretty packed and I gave up quick. Nope, no Mr. Super Fantastic.  Too bad, he’s my favourite of the bunch. He’s the one I really impressed with my superior gum chewing skills.   Yep.  

So there I am, staring blankly into the reflection of the bus window (it’s pitch black outside when I leave work now), and I lock eyes through the reflection with a cute…wait… Mr. Super Fantastic!!


I take a mental note that I’m chewing gum, and carefully swallow after every single chew, to ensure my attractive hacking cough doesn’t make a second appearance. We both get on the same subway train, sit close but not facing and I wonder whether I should read my book or do my daily crossword.  I think about it like it’s an important and relevant decision. Hmmm.  I’m really enjoying the book I’m reading, and I know that in this specific circumstance, if I start to read, I’ll retain absolutely no information. So I opt for the crossword. He pulls out a book and starts reading. Okay, good, no mishaps.  

We get off and shuffle down the massive stairs to the next subway, and yes my friends, you’d be proud, no horrific stair incidents today. It must be my lucky day, right?

So we both get on the same train again.  This time he sits, and I stand pretty much directly across.  He pulls out his book, and I think what a great opportunity this is to go through my mental checklist:

No ring – Check.

Intensely reads book – Check.

Nice smile etc etc etc – Check. Check. Check. Check.

Just caught me staring at him – Check.

Wipe drool from the corner of my mouth – Check.

That didn’t bother me though.  I mean, come on.  I’ve had much more embarassing moments.  

It just so happens that the seat next to him becomes free at the next stop.  I take a deep breath and make my move. I visualize my path and step towards the seat only to be intercepted by a man with a pretty accurate George Costanza impersonation. That’s right. George totally ass-bumped me out of my path and blocked the open seat, but didn’t sit in it. He put my olympic metal ass-bumping moves to shame. Brilliant. I thought about drop kicking him out of the way, or even a possible tackle, but instead I resorted to wobbling gracefully and pulling a not so subtle 180 degree pivot. Thanks for coming out, George, and ass-bumping me right out of my innocent little plan.  I was hoping that Mr. Super Fantastic missed that, but I was defeated yet again. He looked at me and chuckled, as I stood red-faced in my original standing spot.

Deja vu? 

Strike two.

I’m on a roll people. A roll, indeed.





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One of the stations I pass through on the way to work is a major transit hub. Mainly because it’s the ‘end of the line’ for that subway line.

Sometimes, my bus arrives at the station at the same time a train pulls in. As I head down to the train, there’s an up escalator and a set of stairs. Whenever a train comes in the same time I’m heading down, it’s like attack of the swarming black coats.  

Many people choose the stairs over the escalator, and fair enough, since escalator etiquette and the idea of ‘walk left, stand right‘ must be rocket science. So the stairs it is. Some people literally sprint up them, which always confuses me.  I mean, who in their right mind is actually in a rush to get to work? So in addition to these people being off their rockers, they also don’t seem to understand that stairs are not a one way street and some people actually need to get down them.  

Oh, what a concept!

It’s literally a game of shoulder checks, and sometimes, when needed, a swift tackle.  

Yesterday, I stood at the top of the stairs, took a deep breath, and faced the swarm of sprinting coats.  Most of the time I try to follow that one brave, lonesome transit rider heading down, so I can follow the path they’ve opened up.  No luck yesterday, though.  

About half way down, and a few shoulder checks later, one woman coming up the stairs stopped directly in front of me.  So, I stopped too.  She just looked at me, like a deer caught in head lights.  I raised my eyebrows and didn’t budge.  

She told me to move, and might I add, in a very rude tone.  Bad idea on a Monday.

I replied, ‘And where exactly would you like me to move to?  You have 8 lanes coming up the staircase and I don’t have a single one to go down. You move. Seriously.’  

She continued to stare at me.

I’ll admit, the thought of pushing her down the stairs did cross my mind, but you know, I’m not that mean, mostly.  So instead, I gave her the evil eye and stood my ground.  

She was obviously unaware of my condition – only childitis combined with supreme stubbornness.  I give in for no one. Take my word for it, I could stand there all day.  I believe she swore at me in some language, then gave up, and disappeared into the swarm.


It’s the small victories, it really is.

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‘Tis the season for winter coats.  As much as I absolutely loath winter (I can’t stress that enough, seriously), I do find joy, and mostly comfort, in a warm and toasty yet stylish winter coat.  Since big city slickers like to blend into, I don’t know, the concrete, with their huge colour selection of black, grey and the occasional brown, I try and mix it up with a different colour.  

Now, I’m not a complete coat snob (coffee snob – yes, coat snob – sorta), since I do own a black coat that gets plenty of wear of those nasty snowy/rainy days, or days where I feel my clumsyness oozing out and ready to strike with a fresh stain of whatever I get my hands on.

I just enjoy being different. I am an artist, remember. It’s imperative that I wear something different than everyone else, be it a piece of jewelry, (I sport a pretty sweet domino around my neck…always), a cool hat, or a funky something or other.  So, you know, stand out a little but not too much. Story of my life.

Where was I going with that?

Oh, yeah.

Winter.  Hate it.  Cold.  Coats.

My most favourite winter coat ever was a baby blue peacoat.  I wore it so much (and didn’t take care of it properly) that the lining is now literally in shreds, and not surprisingly still hanging in my closet, with the hopes that someday it will magically repair itself and/or I get off my lazy ass and get it fixed.  

Last year my coat was white and pretty damn awesome, but definitely not warm enough for my island-lovin’ blood.  So this year, thanks to mummy dearest (because you know, artist = broke-ass), I acquired a pretty sweet warm long white coat.  It’s a beauty. I was in the market for a red one, but hey, what can you do? No complaints here.  

There is definitely some serious thought that goes into wearing white. Especially with me, since I tend to spill or drop anything and everything (pretty much a guarantee here) and although this post may make me seem like some kind of high maintenance city slicker, I’m really anything but.  So for that reason, I carry a trusty OxyClean ToGo (much more effective than TideToGo, take my word for it) in my purse at all times, ready for that special embarrassing moment.  I noticed that when I wear this coat, I’m much more cautious of what’s going on around me, because, well, in all honesty, I can’t afford to buy another one.

Yesterday on my first bus, I chose to stand rather than sit next to a stinky man with a stinky backpack, so that the retched thing (the man and the backpack) didn’t touch me, and most importantly, my coat.  On my last bus, I scored a sweet seat and bounced to my tunage as the bus filled up to the rim. Of course, Girl-Who-Shouldn’t-Be-on-Transit-with-a-Beverage, stood directly overtop of me.  She loosely held the pole with one hand, and her napkin wrapped coffee cup with the other. This particular station the bus leaves from is full of twists and turns, so as it happened, of course, Girl-Who-Shouldn’t-Be-on-Transit-with-a-Beverage, twisted and turned with the bus.  At one of the twists a glob of coffee escaped, in slow motion, and missed my white beauty by a millimeter.  I gave her a look that said, 

‘You are soooo damn lucky that didn’t land on me and if you try and pull a stunt like that again it will be the last coffee you ever drink.’  

Apparently she understood, and held her coffee away from my coat.  Good. I’m glad my looks are readable, and I don’t have to subject myself as being know as ‘that crazy one’ on transit, mostly.  Only time will tell.


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So today I hopped on the bus and scored a sweet seat beside some random teenager.  I saw him fiddling with something but was in too much a zombie sleepwalk to really notice or care.  Then, over my rockin’ tunage I heard clicking sounds.  I glanced over and recognized that crazy coloured cube from back in the day.  


Who knew that even in our crazy technological savvy world, the Rubik’s Cube would still entice a teenybopper?  I remember the first time I ever saw one of those.  I was at school when a friend gave it to me to try, and double dog-dared me to solve the colourful puzzle.

 No problem, I thought.  That’s easy.  

I remember twisting and turning the squares for probably about 5 minutes until I got fed up.  I left for recess and came back with the puzzle solved. Everyone thought it was incredible that I could figure it out, and of course, I let them believe it.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, after I realized that I could never, ever, ever possess the patience to sit with this stupid cube and match all of the colours, I hid on the playground and took off every single little coloured sticker and strategically placed them back on so that the puzzle was solved.


Leave it to me to take the easy way out.  Eventually, people caught onto my little trick.  Oh well, my artificial brilliance was good while it lasted.  

Back on the bus, Smarty Pants had solved the Rubik’s Cube (the ‘correct’ way) by the time we pulled into the station.  Damn.  

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