Prattle on
Thursday, August 09, 2007

So, most mornings I take the Queen’s Quay streetcar on my way to work. Once the streetcar emerges from the underground part, the ride is pleasant enough right near the water and the posh condos. The drivers are nice and it is only ever crowded for one stop. However, it has gotten much nicer lately because of a new fixture one stop below King. He is a TTC supervisor who now talks to the drivers and takes notes on time or whatever. I love him. I have seen him for several days now, and I think I am gonna write him a letter. I may even give it to the driver so he can pass it along. It is important that I tell this man how I feel. I think the letter will go something like this:

Dear TTC Supervisor Guy,

I don’t know why you appeared along my route to work, but I remember the exact day and time I first saw you, and my commute has been made better ever since. With every inch of road the streetcar rolls along, you are etched deeper and deeper into my heart. And I firmly believe that is where you will stay.

You make my morning both torturous and exhilarating at the same time. From the second I step onto the streetcar platform at Union Station, during the glide along Queen’s Quay and through the climb up Spadina, I sit in quivering anticipation, suffering until you appear in uniform.

Shamelessly I stare at you from the moment the car glides into your stop until I can no longer keep you in my eyesight as we pull away. The moment lasts less then two minutes, but every time I cling to the desperate hope that you will take a break from your note taking or short chat with the driver and look my way.

You look like you go about your day’s work in a serious manner. You don’t smile and despite my wishes you rarely hold up the driver. You relay your commands efficiently and it is my belief that you are there to ensure streetcars stick to a precise schedule. Perhaps you are too busy to notice, but when you approach the driver’s window, I am the one sitting four seats back, in the single chairs, with my heart on my sleeve, holding my breath.

I know that one day you will no longer appear at the stop below King Street. I know that I am headed for disappointment. Until that day I will remain caught up in your rapture. And after, although it breaks me to think about it, you will remain crystallized in my mind as perfection in grey trousers.

Yours in Public Transport,

Tuesday, August 07, 2007
So, it is the end of the August long weekend here in Ontario. The official name of the weekend is “Simcoe Day” but really it is “Caribana weekend.” This year I didn’t go to the parade but I did to make it to one party on Sunday night. In keeping with my policy that I will embarrass myself at least once during a weekend, I jumped on the opportunity that presented itself on Sunday night.

It may have been the drink, it may have been the heat, it may have been the fact that I no longer have any shame, but I decided that yes, I will chat up the attractive man standing beside me. I struck up a conversation and it was going well enough. Then there was a bit of a lull as my brain searched feverishly to find something else to say that he would find interesting or funny. About three minutes later I had come up with something good and I leaned over to him to point out the guy who looked like Akon on the dance floor.* This comment was golden.** Also, it kind of related to what we were talking about before.

Well, as I get the words out, the guy kept saying “what?” Thinking that he couldn’t hear me, I kept repeating my comment, which was getting less and less funny with repetition. It was clear he had no idea what I was talking about. It was also clear that it wasn’t the same guy I was talking to just thee minutes prior. It seems that I was concentrating so hard on figuring out what to say that I didn’t notice the guy I was talking to walk away and some other guy stand in his place.

Undaunted, I transferred my affection immediately to this new guy who wasn’t as cute, but much more funny and interesting. None of that mattered anyway because the new guy had a girlfriend or so he told me.

My friends were really embarrassed, but I wasn’t. I’ve done much worse. Also, they didn’t talk to anyone. Both those guys have probably forgotten about me already. So no harm done. And, I think I sent good vibes out into the universe because at the end of the night this other guy did give me his phone number. It was, however at the very end of the night and there were only about four other women left in the room. Still, I think it was a success overall.

*In all fairness, he didn’t really look like Akon, but there was a young woman behaving like a porn star while she danced with him.
**I know for a fact that it was funny because I later tried it on my sister and she laughed pretty hard.

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