Public Transit – The Better Way…

Yet another story courtesy of the ignorant asses that ride the GO train every day. The day started off in somewhat of a rush, I snoozed through my alarm the usual three (3), or was it four (4), times and still didn’t want to get up. Eventually I dragged by sorry ass out of bed and did my morning routine. When I got outside I was still behind schedule and I had to scrape the inch-thick (or so it seemed) frost off my windows and wait for the car to warm-up. I finally arrived at the train station and was “lucky” enough to have been on time for my usual train so I wander to my usual seat.

My usual seat is the two-seater on the top level of the coach. For those who ride the TTC it is similar to the two-seaters on the subway except there is leg room for normal size people. There is in fact lots of leg room and no-one sitting opposite to fight for the space. All mine.

We arrive at the last stop and the train is fairly full as usual, the seat beside me is still vacant though (I guess I am really that scary that no-one dares sit beside me. Do they know I am the top candidate at work for “going postal”, is it really that obvious? Or maybe it is the heavy metal music mixed with 1960’s country blaring out of my headphones that deter people from sharing the ride to work with me). Whatever the case the seat is usually vacant until the last stop. Finally, just when I was thinking I was not going to have a seat mate, a man roughly six feet tall, not exactly fat, but still covered with a layer of french fry created cushion, sat down beside me.

Ordinarily that would be the end of things and I wouldn’t be writing endlessly about the ride to work but of course today there is still more to tell. Instead of just sitting in the seat and trying not to bother anyone (being me) he squirmed and wriggled even lashed as if defending a rebound in basketball. Now you may think ‘what’s the problem here?’, but just picture two grown men, six feet tall, weighing a combined half ton sitting in a seat designed for five foot nothing people…there isn’t room to act like Michael Jordan. I would have shifted a bit in my seat except for the fact there was no room to shift.

He then rummaged through his bag, elbowing me and such as he went, and finally pulled out a newspaper, the Globe and Mail (well, at least he’s not a complete moron…or is he? The first section he grabbed to read was the sports section…the Globe and Mail is possibly the worst Toronto based newspaper for sports coverage, next to the National Post but that isn’t much of a paper anyhow). He settled down to read his paper and other than the occasional bump, he kept to himself. That is until his feet started shifting and he kept kicking me. I of course stand, well I guess it is more like sit, my ground and prevent him from infringing on my space and transforming my ride from slightly uncomfortable to totally unbearable.

The train, after what seemed like days, finally pulled into to Union Station and everyone debarked and headed to their work locations. I waited patiently for the guy beside me to get up and when he did, he had the gall to turn back and look at me as if I did something wrong. Hello, was I not just sitting there trying to mind my own business getting elbowed so much that the new NHL would have given him a match penalty for attempt to injure? I must be wrong, I guess I should have cut off half my body so he could be more comfortable, or maybe he was just irritated that I didn’t roll out the red carpet for him and kissed his ring. He was after all wearing a cheap suit, likely from Moores, the store that thrives on ignorance and disregard for those that they think are inferior to themselves, while I was (and still am) wearing a nice t-shirt and slacks from Marks Work Warehouse.