I HATE THE EARLY MORNING COMMUTE!
I hate stupid drivers, no I loathe them, they're the bane of my existence, every single day, there's a new driver in toronto, who chooses to drive in front of me, not sure what/where "it"should be moving it's car to and rather than move off the damn road till it knows, it just seats there and does nothing and the damn light is in our bloody favour. Sheesh, the other day, I chased the dude in front of me with my horn, common sense, light is green its a busy street, you move. Not sure where you're going?, you park and call a friend, check the street name, get off the road and take a damn cab. (Happy place, happy place)
When catching the train heading downtown between 8:30 and 9:10am in Toronto, it is quite interesting to note that, for your money that is enough to buy a decent breakfast combo at Tim Hurtons, the luxury is not in getting a seat, No thats extreme Royalty - a private jet with gold sinks, luxury is being able to hold on to something while the train driver or whatever the overpaid TTC worker that conducts the train accelerates and brakes like he was driving a 2 seater tata car. Sheesh, and what about intimacy on the morning train! I get that we are all squashed into the train like sardines but must people face each other, turn away or something you know. So there I was squashed to the glass by the door, and some dude managed to squeeze in the train, he decided he would support himself with the glass I was leaning on (thats not a crime), the crime was when he decided to face me, it reminded me of those dances back in the day, (before the invention of grinding) when guys would dance a girl to the wall, place one hand on the wall, blocking the girl from leaving (yeah right!!!) while they toasted her.
Back then it was fun, you either knew the guy and was playing hard to get or just felt cool that someone was toasting you, now if you're stuck in the train with a guy who is oblivous of the fact that toothpaste and toothbrushes exist, coupled with his nasty black coffee and cigarette drinking habit with his coat giving off an offensive odour the mixture of sweat, mist and cigarette fumes with a whiff of stale basement, then that is not pleasure. That, my friends should be a torture method, (thank God he didn't have garlic onions and coke early in the morning, phew!).
And the annoying thing in that sort of situation that I was in is that I couldn't go anyway, I couldn't get off the train, I'd waited to get in one for almost 30 minutes, pushed my way like a proper lagosian to secure the perfect spot, and well in a courteous Country like mines its utterly rude to tell someone or insinuate that someone stinks! The moment the guy got off at Wellesley station, I knew there was a God and he was watching over me :)
I whine because I can, I need a private jet so that I can work in Saudi Arabia but go home at night to my private island somewhere close to the maldives....uhmmm. Wouldn't that be precious. I need a drink.