When getting on the TTC, all young so-called men ought to get a slap upside the head and told to get a clue and stop sitting on people (WTF?!), putting their bags or coats in unsuspecting people's faces, sprawling all over three seats -- yes, I said three -- and putting their great big dirty shoes on the seats. Could we get a clue already?
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Using the TTC makes me grumpy these days. It used to be I'd happily ride the rails in Toronto, London, New York, wrestle with the weird door-opening rules in Paris, and watch the screaming in Rome, but now Toronto manages to turn my happy humour into fowl, um, I meant foul. It's bad enough someone sat on me -- like, do I look like yellow vinyl? -- and I have to wade through litter on and off the train, such that a clean platform really stands out, but watching black rat number 4 race around the tracks as I waited interminably for the train today was one ewwwww too much.
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The TTC was fined today, intoned the news anchor. For the rats, I sat up in anticipation of hearing. Nope. For bad labour practices.
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Using the TTC makes me grumpy these days. It used to be I'd happily ride the rails in Toronto, London, New York, wrestle with the weird door-opening rules in Paris, and watch the screaming in Rome, but now Toronto manages to turn my happy humour into fowl, um, I meant foul. It's bad enough someone sat on me -- like, do I look like yellow vinyl? -- and I have to wade through litter on and off the train, such that a clean platform really stands out, but watching black rat number 4 race around the tracks as I waited interminably for the train today was one ewwwww too much.
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The TTC was fined today, intoned the news anchor. For the rats, I sat up in anticipation of hearing. Nope. For bad labour practices.
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