Sorry, Hermes!

It seems that I have somehow angered the god of public transit. Those of you who have done the daily TTC commute, or its equivalent, will understand that commuting via public transit is rarely a walk in the park, but for the most part maintains a consistent level of inconvenience.

Not so much anymore.

For the past couple of weeks, every time I'm on my way home (never on the way to work, of course) something happens to make the commute more trying than normal. On at least 3-4 occasions, it has been the classic delay due to a mechanical problem or activated passenger assistance alarm on a train further up the line. One day, it was both.

Then there were the days with the irate streetcar passengers who in one instance got into a yelling match with the driver, and on another occasion with each other. In both cases, we ended up sitting at a stop until someone finally gave up and got off.

What's really gotten out of hand, though, is the constant invasion of personal space - even the public transit amount of personal space, which is much smaller than normal. It's acceptable, for instance, to squish in between two people on a three-seater bench if there are no other independent seats available. What's not acceptable is to then lean against one of those people in an overly familiar fashion and try to chat them up while reeking of alcohol.

On another occasion it was the leg sprawler. This is the guy (and it's always a guy!) who feels entitled to sit with his legs spread as far apart as they can go, regardless of the fact that this intrudes into the leg space of the person sitting next to them who is then forced to either contort themselves so that their legs occupy as little space as possible or accept the inappropriate amount of leg-to-leg contact with their neighbour.

My favourite, though, was the leaner. When the streetcar or subway is crowded, it will inevitably happen that the person standing next to a seated individual will have to temporarily lean over or even into them to make enough room for someone else to get past them. This is annoying, but acceptable. Yesterday, on a streetcar that was decidedly not crowded (there were still empty seats), I was sitting next to the aisle when I was joined by a guy who apparently thought it would be a good idea to stand so close that his legs were pressed up against my seat and lean on the pole at my shoulder. For the entire trip. If you've ever been in this position, you'll understand why it was so incredibly awkward. I had to lean away just so his stomach wouldn't touch my head. And whenever anyone needed to get by, he'd move so that he was actually standing where my legs would normally be.

Every day it's been something, so Hermes, whatever I did to piss you off - I'm sorry! So very, very sorry.

How to Use the TTC Without Being an Ass

Rule #1: Keep it to yourself.
If whatever you're doing reaches beyond the limited space that you occupy en route to your destination, for the love of all that's good, stop doing it. This rule encompasses a number of behaviours, including (but not limited to):

Having an excessively loud conversation, whether in person or on the phone

Cranking the volume on your iPod so that everyone else can hear it too

Clipping your fingernails (there's no way you can control where those suckers land - just, ew!)

Reading a fully extended newspaper (fold it up, folks!)

Eating smelly food

Rule #2: Don't block traffic.
Keep in mind that you're not the only person trying to get somewhere. When you step into the subway car, keep going! I've seen so many people stop just inside the door and consider their seating options while there are 15 people waiting behind them trying to get it before the doors close.

The same goes for any objects you're bringing with you, be they boxes, strollers, luggage or whatever. Don't stop at the narrowest part of the aisle, or right at the front so that everyone is forced to navigate around you. Move back, or at least out of the way as much as possible.

Rule #3: Never run for it.
It's not worth it - there will be another bus/streetcar/train along soon, and you risk plowing over anyone who might not be as speedy as you. If you're always feeling the need to rush, leave yourself more time to get wherever you need to be going. If that's not possible, take a long, hard look at your life.

Rule #4: Be helpful.
I know it's hard to step outside your city-shell and take the time to provide assistance, but do it anyway. Trust me, the lady struggling to get her stroller on the streetcar, or the person who has no idea how to get to their destination, will be incredibly appreciative.

Rule #5: Be gracious.
Every commuter has run into a situation where someone else is being an ass. It's inevitable. The solution, however, is not to contribute your own assiness. Now, I'm not against implementing a little passive justice, but it's not always possible to do so in a way that isn't more annoying than the original offense. Instead, allow for the fact that there may be extenuating circumstances and let it go.

Ole! Ole! Ole!

Growing up in the Maritimes - where no one really played soccer except that one kid who was kind of wierd anyway - I had never heard of the World Cup. It was swiftly made clear to me in the summer of 2006 that this put me in the minority on a global scale.

Here in Toronto, it is HUGE. There was no way I could have been prepared for the phenomenon that is TO during the World Cup.

Everyone had flags waving from their car windows, over balconies, in windows, on cubicle walls - basically anywhere they could think to put one. Little stores pop up on street corners selling merchandise. At work, every television (and many computer screens) was tuned in to every game, and there was always a crowd of people around each one.

By the quarter finals, it had become a massive, firm-wide event. The flags of the 8 remaining teams were hung at reception, and removed as each team was eliminated. Any games that took place during work hours were projected onto the big screens in the large boardrooms, where we had set up free wings and pizza, as well as fresh popcorn made in the carnival-grade popcorn machines the company rented for the duration (it was my job to make the popcorn - I smelled like butter for weeks!).

TC and I live near one of Toronto's Italian communities, and every time Italy won, we wouldn't be able to sleep at night because of the horns sounding in celebration from the myriad of cars driving up and down the street. And when they won the cup...whoo, boy! More than 20,000 people came to our area to party - and party they did!

This year is shaping up to be much the same, and I'm loving it! I was waiting for the streetcar after work today, and there was obviously some kind of delay as the line stretched all the way to the other side of the station. People were incredibly irritated, and fuses were short. When a TTC supervisor arrived on the scene, he was asked none too politely what the hold-up was. His response? "Mexico just won, and the street was blocked."

What followed is the reason I enjoy the World Cup. All of a sudden, no one was irritated anymore. It made perfect sense to everyone that the street had to be blocked in order to properly celebrate a victory. Complete strangers in line began discussing the merits of various teams, the results of the earlier game between Argentina and South Korea, the annoying-ness of the vuvuzela horn...you get the idea.

No other event that I know of brings people together like this - even the Olympics don't really come close. And it's fabulous to see :)

Maybe there's hope after all...

Sign of Hope #1

Conversation between 2 teenage girls overheard on the streetcar on my way home yesterday:

Girl A - Yeah, we had our concert already. I told them not to come because I was working backstage so they wouldn't actually see me. Plus, the grade 8 girls really butchered the ending.

Girl B - How?

Girl A - They were doing a routine to [insert name of Christmas song here] and wore, like, fishnet stockings and really short skirts.

Girl B - Eww. Why would they do that?!

Girl A - I don't know, it's so skanky. It's like Whatzername at Halloween - did you see what she wore?

Girl B - Yeah, like the cat outfit with the tights and tube top? So gross!

Girl A - I know. That was way too much skin. She needs to, like, respect herself.


Sign of Hope #2

A little girl playing with 2 dolls that I overheard yesterday in the doctor's office as I was sitting waiting to get my allergy shot:

Girl doll - I'm so sad. I don't have a date.

Boy doll - Well we could go on a date.

Girl doll - No, my mom won't let me go out on a date.

Boy doll - Let's go on a date.

[this goes on for a while]

Girl doll - Okay, my mom says we can go on a date - but no kissing!

Boy doll - Okay.

Commuting Awareness

Every weekday I spend about an hour and a half travelling to and from work. Most of the time it's a rather uneventful affair - walk to bus stop, take bus to subway station, transfer to streetcar, take streetcar to another subway station, take subway to final subway station, walk to work (or the reverse if I'm on my way home). I usually knit or crochet, some people read, and everyone carries on in the common purpose of getting wherever it is they're going. That's the norm.

There are some days, though, when things happen that for whatever reason break me out of my commuter coma. Sometimes those things make me laugh, and other times they make me want to hit people. Sometimes it's neither good, nor bad - it's just interesting. It seems that yesterday was meant to be a day for noticing things. Let me take you with me on my commute...

It began in the morning as I was standing in the little holding pen that's serving as a bus stop while my road is under construction. It was quite chilly out, so I thought it was rather odd that the car sitting at the red light right in front of me had two of its windows down. I then noticed that the driver was smoking, which explained it. No big deal - if she wanted to smoke in her car (she was alone), that was fine by me. I couldn't help but think, though, that it seemed a little silly to be driving around in winter with your windows down just so you can slowly poison yourself. But I digress...

The rest of the trip to work was uneventful - I got 2 or 3 rounds of my Jaywalker sock knit, which is a good showing for one trip. On my way home, I needed to pick up some mozzarella at the grocery store, which is located in the complex above the middle subway station. As I came outside to wait for the streetcar, there was a guy with a guitar standing at the street corner, playing Christmas carols. It took me a while to figure out what exactly he was playing, though, since his tempo was way off - sort of like this:

Sil - - ver - - beeeeeeeells - - - -

Siiiiiiil - - ver - - bellsIt'sChristmastimeinthecity - -

Ring - - aaaaaaaaa - - ling - - -

Hearthemringsoonitwillbe -

Chriiiiiiiiist - - masday

I had to laugh - this was either a guy who had had a bit too much to drink or who had read the music but never heard the songs before. Or maybe it was his artistic interpretation? Whatever the cause the effect was highly amusing.

Eventually the streetcar came, and I got on and sat in the front of the back section (if that makes sense). It was pretty quiet, except for this lady and her son sitting somewhere behind me having a conversation. It. Was. Hilarious. Their conversation consisted of Junior telling Mom about his day, and Mom spouting reams of advice. Comme ca:

Mom - So how did things go at your dad's yesterday?

Junior - Well, I broke his box of chocolates.

Mom - How did that happen?

Junior - I knocked it over and it broke open and everything fell out on the floor. So I hid it.

Mom - Don't you think you should tell your dad about it?

Junior - Why?

Mom - Well, a box of chocolates can be replaced, but when you decide to lie or hide things from people, that affects who you are and that's a lot harder to fix. And you know that your dad would respect you for telling him the truth about it and be a lot less disappointed than he would be if he found out you hid it from him. So how did things go at school today?

Junior - Whatshisname was picking on me again.

Mom - Isn't it only Whatshisname's second day at your school?

Junior - Yeah.

Mom - Well, I know if I were Whatshisname, I'd be feeling pretty nervous about being in a new school with a lot of people I didn't know, and maybe I'd want to be friends with people but I'd be too afraid that they didn't want to be friends with me, so I'd be mean to them first so they wouldn't have the chance to be mean to me. You should be friendly to Whatshisname, and I bet he'd stop picking on you and start being your friend.

This went on for the duration of the trip on the streetcar! Every time the kid mentioned anything, the mom had all this incredibly well-articulated, reasonable advice to deliver in this lovingly patronizing June Cleaver-esque voice. I felt like I was an extra in an after-school special. Freaking hilarious. This kid is going to grow up to be either the most well-adjusted person on the face of the planet, or a psycho with a vendetta against TV moms.

Then, as I was waiting in line for the bus that would take me on the last leg of my commute, I noticed an older man who didn't seem to be quite right. He was rather loud, and continually attempted to carry on conversations with anyone he made eye contact with. Now, my initial response in this kind of situation is always twofold. First, my heart hurts for this person who obviously is broken in some way. Second, I studiously avoid making contact, not because I'm uncaring, but because if I'm alone I don't want behave irresponsibly or in a way that puts my safety at risk. Yet I always feel guilty about it, and this time was no exception. I sat there and hoped that this guy had someone who cared about him.

Finally, on the walk home from the bus stop I go past a wall of windows that look into a brand new Italian restaurant. Being subject to the same whims of human nature as everyone else, I am always compelled to look in and see what's going on. And every night it's the same thing - one or two people sitting at a table, and that's it. But yesterday the cook saw me (the kitchen in this place is visible from the seating area - and the windows), caught my eye and grinned at my unashamed voyeurism. I grinned back and then I was past the restaurant, smiling the rest of the way home.

Cubing

I saw something rather amazing yesterday on my way home from work. As I sat down in the subway train, I noticed a guy a little way down from me playing with a rubix cube, which in and of itself isn't that remarkable. What caught my attention was the way he was flipping it around like he'd been doing it his whole life. He then proceeded to mix it up and then solve it 7 times in the 20 minutes that I was on the subway with him. He even took some time in the middle to make different patterns with it, like having the 4 corner squares on each side the colour of the opposite side. Everyone in the train was watching him, to which he seemed oblivious. I couldn't help thinking that he was either an exceptionally gifted person or someone with way too much time on his hands. Probably both. In any case, it was fun to watch!

Nasal overload

One of the hazards of using public transit for those of us with scent allergies is that you are guaranteed at some point in your journey to be assaulted by the overwhelming perfume/cologne/etc. worn by far too many people. And there is no escape, unless you get off at the nearest stop, but then you'll just run into the same thing on the next ride. So here are my tips on how to avoid the worst of it.

Tip #1 - Avoid sitting or standing near black women.
Now before you get upset, let me explain. The fact of the matter is that the majority of black women use a significant amount of hair product, which is usually very heavily scented. There are, of course, exceptions to this, so look to see if the woman's hair is straight or looks like it's glued in place - those are the ones to avoid. Anyone with a more natural-looking hairstyle is probably safe.

Tip #2 - Avoid sitting or standing near teenage girls.
This one shouldn't need much explanation. Without a great deal of perfumery experience, it's easier for them to overdo it. As a bonus, you don't have to sit and listen to a conversation riddled with the word "like."

Tip #3 - Avoid sitting or standing next to anyone wearing animal prints, fur, or with extra-long fingernails.
This goes for both genders, folks. These are the people who think more is better - trust me, you want to stay far away.

Tip #4 - Try to sit or stand next to people with small children.
People travelling on public transit with small children are either: a) environmentally conscious yippies (that's a cross between a yuppie and a hippy) who wouldn't wear such chemically laden products, especially around their children, or b) too busy or sleep-deprived to even remember such frivolities as perfume and hairspray.

Tip #5 - Try to sit or stand next to people dressed in work clothes.
Anyone dressed in work clothes, and I don't mean suits and ties, is going to be doing some significant labouring and generally doesn't bother with scenting themselves. That's saved for when they clean up after work. There is one exception - if the work clothes are covered in paint, you may want to avoid them unless you'd like to get a passive high en route to your destination.

Tip #6 - Try to sit or stand near a window or door.
That way, if you are unable to avoid the three categories of people mentioned above, or a seemingly innocent-looking person turns out to be a walking scent bomb, you can at least get a brief whiff of fresh air on occasion. Another bonus: if you're sitting next to an open window in the winter, chances are no one is going to want to sit near you anyway. Just make sure you bundle up!

I can't guarantee that following these rules will keep the scent assaults at bay, since there are always exceptions, but I've been riding the TTC with allergies for three years now and can attest to the fact that every little bit helps!

Welcome to the Dark Side...

I'm going to let you all in on a secret - I have a rather well-developed passive agressive streak which likes to manifest itself whenever complete strangers do something that annoys me. Like this morning on my way to work. The first part of my commute takes place on a bus, and today it was full enough that I was standing in the back corner, hanging onto a pole and reading the highly amusing fine print at the bottom of a car advertisement. If you've ever ridden public transit, you've probably seen those people who, when the bus draws near to its destination, feel compelled to move toward the door at least 5 minutes before so that they're the first ones off. Normally this doesn't bother me, though I do laugh to myself at their pointless hurry (do those extra 10 seconds really matter?).

Well today I did not laugh as the man who was sitting in the back corner decided he needed to be one of those people. The problem was that the bus was rather crowded, so in standing up he had to step on my feet and shove me ahead of him, but there was nowhere to go after that because of all the people. So he stood there, basically on top of me, chomping at the bit to get ahead of everyone and out the door (all of this is taking place, of course, before we had even come to a stop). And I probably wouldn't have gotten annoyed if he had just mumbled an apology, but that didn't happen, so up reared the passive agressive streak.

As we pulled up to the last stop for the bus, I reached out and hung onto the poles on both sides of the bus under the guise of keeping my balance and then stood in such a way that I managed to effectively block Mr. Get-out-of-my-way-I'm-in-a-hurry in behind me. I then politely allowed everyone standing or sitting in front of me to precede me out of the bus, making him the last person to exit.

Does that make me evil?

Sundry Snapshots

One of the things that I enjoy most about living in Toronto is public transit...at least most of the time. Nothing gives me greater pleasure that watching the people around me as they go about their various lives.

Take Enoch, for example. He's a little old black man who often gets on the same bus that I do, and he's always reaching out to the people around him, asking them how their day was and trying to say something nice to them. Or if no one is sitting handy enough for that, he'll sit and sing hymns to himself.

Then there was the young man, who looked like a hoodlum, dressed in his baggy pants and bling, listening to his music blaring loud enough through his earphones that everyone within a 10 foot radius could hear it. But he was the first one to offer his seat to a little old lady, and to help her lift her little push-cart full of whatever onto the bus.

Whenever I'm on my way to the Walmart, I pass a Catholic church, where the old Italian nonno's are always sitting out in front on a park bench, arguing and laughing and feeding the pigeons. Two benches down, all the nonna's sit and chatter away in rapid Italian, probably talking about their children and grandchildren, and who has died and who is sick - like every other group of grandmothers on earth.

One night, as I was walking home from the bus stop, I noticed a young boy, probably around 8 years old, walking along swinging a plastic bag holding four or five cans of pop and stopping to examine every nook and cranny that he came upon. About 15 feet ahead of him was a woman carrying a couple of pizza boxes, who turned around and called, 'Come on Zach! The sooner we get home, the sooner you get pizza!' At this prompting he closed the gap by about half, and then proceeded to be fascinated by the concept of centrifugal force as it was demonstrated by the cans of pop being swung with increasing force in the plastic bag on his arm.

Not everyone is pleasant to encounter, like the man who got on the bus reeking of alcohol and started giving the bus driver a hard time about the recent deal made between the unions and the TTC. And the man on the side of the road, I assume waiting for someone to come pick him up, yelling about how he hates having to wait and that people should be on time, all the while taking his frustrations out on a poor, unsuspecting newspaper machine.

Regardless of whether they're pleasant or otherwise, I love watching all these people - trying to imagine what their stories are and how they came to be in the place they are now. Where are they going? Who do they consider their friends? What do they think of the people around them, if they notice them at all? It's incredibly fascinating. On a bus or subway car full of people, each person is part of a complex social web, none of which would intersect at all except that for this brief time they share the same purpose of getting from point A to point B using the same means of transportation.

Вы говорите на русском языке?

I have never wanted to speak another language as badly as I did this morning on the way to work. Just as the streetcar started leaving the subway station, a lady came up to me and started speaking to me in a language I couldn't understand. She repeated herself several times, and then looked at me and said, "Russia?" I shook my head and apologized, telling her that I didn't speak Russian. Do I look Russian? Why, on a streetcar full of people, did she single me out as the person most likely to speak Russian?

Anyway, this poor woman didn't speak any English, except to say "I don't speak English," and was trying to get to a particular intersection. She was obviously lost, and was starting to get rather upset (worried upset, not angry upset). After trying to talk to me, she just kept turning to someone else and saying the name of the intersection, and everyone on the streetcar did their best to communicate to her where she needed to go, but she couldn't understand. The streetcar driver even made an announcement asking if anyone on the streetcar could speak Russian, but no one could. The project then became communicating to the woman that the streetcar driver had radioed ahead to the next subway station and arranged to have a translater meet her there, but as soon as we stopped, she rushed off.

I wish I hadn't been on my way to work, or that I didn't have to be there by a certain time. Then I could have tried to escort this lady to her destination, but it just wasn't possible today. I did learn something while watching this scene play out, though: the people in Toronto are incredibly helpful when given the opportunity to be. They just seem unfriendly because of the city-shell that they've had to develop in order to live in such close proximity to so many people. If you can get past that shell, which can be as easy as making the effort to speak to someone, they're just as friendly and willing to help as any Maritimer I know.

Overheard on the streetcar...

"Go ahead, try it - there's, like, no sugar."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it says right on the front."
"That's wierd, cause it usually has sugar."
"No - see, it says right on it: 'No sodium.'"
"So?"
"Sodium and sugar are the same thing."
"No they're not - sodium is, like, salt or something, isn't it?"
"Oh, well there's still no sugar or anything in it - it's organic."
"Organic doesn't mean no sugar."
"But it means it's supposed to be healthy, right?"
"Yeah, but it only means they didn't add any chemicals and stuff. It still has sugar."
"Oh."

Is anyone else somewhat disturbed by this conversation?