Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Ode to the Obnoxious Guy on the King Streetcar at 7am
I knew the streetcar was late and it was rush hour. So did you. I saw the driver get out, go across the street, get a squeegee from the flourescent gas station, wipe down his windows and take his sweet ass time coming back and getting comfy in his already comfy chair. I was thankful he didn't get a coffee as well. You would have none of it. You piped up. "Can we get a move on!" You shouted from the back of the street car where all the cool kids sit, except at 7am when it's the Bay street croud. I am convinced that the driver sat through 4 red lights because of your protest. I was shoved back to the cool kid sectoin and saw you slouched comfortably reading the Globe. You, sitting comfortably reading the Globe, kept whispering sweet nothings that were sometings to you to the stranger beside you. "Oh here's another light we missed.", "This is the worst steetcar driver of all time." and the poetically general: "This is rediculous!" We all heard you. We all knew that when you turned your head you were looking to see how many other TTC vehicles had piled up behind us. We all thought it was rediculous too. We didn't pipe up. We didn't see the point. We were all going to be late. We all had a valid excuse. I was set on enjoying the ride. It was difficult to block you out like an exboyfriend who cheated on you with your own mother, stole your dog, ate your last leftover Pilsbury turnover when he came to get his stuff, and spat on the empty plate with apple goo in his saliva.
We have Apple pancakes that don't shout obscenities today.
The omelette is a hodgepodge of zuccini, tomato, onion and cheddar.
Mixed berry muffins.
Yummy yummy potato leek soup.
I love you all.
Just the" I know the TTC sucks but just try to enjoy the ride and don't make it worse for other people" waitress.
I knew the streetcar was late and it was rush hour. So did you. I saw the driver get out, go across the street, get a squeegee from the flourescent gas station, wipe down his windows and take his sweet ass time coming back and getting comfy in his already comfy chair. I was thankful he didn't get a coffee as well. You would have none of it. You piped up. "Can we get a move on!" You shouted from the back of the street car where all the cool kids sit, except at 7am when it's the Bay street croud. I am convinced that the driver sat through 4 red lights because of your protest. I was shoved back to the cool kid sectoin and saw you slouched comfortably reading the Globe. You, sitting comfortably reading the Globe, kept whispering sweet nothings that were sometings to you to the stranger beside you. "Oh here's another light we missed.", "This is the worst steetcar driver of all time." and the poetically general: "This is rediculous!" We all heard you. We all knew that when you turned your head you were looking to see how many other TTC vehicles had piled up behind us. We all thought it was rediculous too. We didn't pipe up. We didn't see the point. We were all going to be late. We all had a valid excuse. I was set on enjoying the ride. It was difficult to block you out like an exboyfriend who cheated on you with your own mother, stole your dog, ate your last leftover Pilsbury turnover when he came to get his stuff, and spat on the empty plate with apple goo in his saliva.
We have Apple pancakes that don't shout obscenities today.
The omelette is a hodgepodge of zuccini, tomato, onion and cheddar.
Mixed berry muffins.
Yummy yummy potato leek soup.
I love you all.
Just the" I know the TTC sucks but just try to enjoy the ride and don't make it worse for other people" waitress.
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