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One of the not-so-great things about living up in North York is my complete and utter reliance on the TTC. Now Toronto's public transport system is pretty good, and a damn sight cheaper than the cavalcade of taxis that form the transportation infrastructure of other, less metropolitan human-dwellings. Still, the bus-subway-subway combo which is required to get Anywhere downtown often glitches my evenings.

Last night the TTC was faster than usual, and so I sat by myself at the bar at Hemingway's while I waited for people to show up (no cellphone doesn't help, as much as I hate to admit it). The hostess inadvertently called me a loser in offering to find me a table for one: "It happens all the time." We laughed, and then I watched the Blue Jays lose on TV, and then Natalie and her boyfriend showed up and we talked about such frivolous things as Gilgamesh and interior design school. After Tim, the man of the hour, finally showed his bald birthday head I was vindicated in the eyes of hostess-girl and much merriment was had.

"What time is it?" I asked, in the middle of some rant about how awesome Final Fantasy is. 1:35... dangerously approaching the TTC's zero hour. And so I departed to undertake the familiar and slightly annoying challenge of trying to pound my way back home through the closing act of the subway system. A token machine ate my last $2.75 and I was required to force myself on a poor Chinese boy: "Machine-ate-my-money-can-I-come-through-with-you?!?" Terrified, he let me squish behind him into the rotating turnstile and then ran, rabbit-like, away from me: the Violator.

Sometimes life sucks and you get to the platform just as your train is pulling away - the train you know is the fabled Last Train because it's now 1:45. This was not the case last night, as I managed to hurl myself between the rapidly closing doors at Bay, and once again at St. George. The St. George train entry was less than graceful as I was forced to Superman dive through the doors, Indiana Jones style, and everyone on the car looked disdainfully at the Desperate Boy Who Had No Money For a Cab sprawled happily on the floor.

Here I knew I was home free, so I read about the possible forthcoming death of Harry Potter in my well-traveled MacLean's. Apparently Rowlning can't kill Harry, that would be un-children's-literature-like! At Downsview one final challenge remained: did I have time to evacuate my bladder and still rush upstairs to catch the very last bus home? Since my subway reading of Harry Potter had been somewhat sidelined by drunkenness and the infamous bouncy I Need to Pee jitters, the bathroom seemed high priority at that moment. It was totally worth it, let me tell you. And then I rushed up the motionless escalators and once again hurled myself between closing doors, for what would prove to be the one memorable night the TTC didn't fuck me over.

Posted by Chris at 01:25 PM >> Commentations (2)