My Encounter with the TTC

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?


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.


The TTC was fined today, intoned the news anchor. For the rats, I sat up in anticipation of hearing. Nope. For bad labour practices.


Anonymous said…
How did someone sit on you?
He had his back to me, kept hopping and bopping on his feet as he looked to the empty seats across and down, then deliberately not looking behind, sat. He knew we were there as he faced us when he got on. Clearly that was HIS seat -- and he was going to take it. I did exaggerate, as he was only half on me and not more cause I shoved over fast as much as I could, then I popped out and went to another seat. Other than that, he didn't look like a complete nut. Looked like any typical university or college student. I have to say it was a first, and I thought I was pretty visible!