Commute on a rainy day

Today I woke to a rainy, snowy day. In the west end of city where I live, the wind was blowing fiercely and even under the multitude of blankets and sleep covers, I could hear the muffled roar of the wind outside my window. I threw a tired arm out from under the blankets and manged to grasp the remote control of my zenith tv resting on my night table. I turned on channel 7, Breakfast television, and listened to Frank Ferragine describe the forecast for today. Was it 25 mm or 25 cm of rain that it was going to fall today? I don't remember. But since it referred to rain I believe it must have been 25 mm. Then, tomorrow 8 cm of snow. Awesome!

I sat up in bed, listened to some more news. Watched Jennifer on the live eye tell the news on the fashion show at George Brown college; great show. Great models. I mean professionally, stop it! Then got up, showered, got ready and went to work. As soon as I got out of the building the wet damp snow falling on my head, and face made me realize one thing, the commute would be a pain. From where I live it normally takes me about an hour and fifteen minutes to get to work downtown. Usually at eight in the morning the subway and bus routes are bearable if not half empty, which is just the way I like it. However, when it rains or snows it seems as though the city swells in population. I don't know how it happens, but I believe it's a conspiracy. Yes, I believe the city has a conspiracy to ruin my mornings. I believe everyone congregates at city hall the night before it's going to rain, and think up ways to annoy me in the morning. Let me tell you, it actually works.You might think it's the nut in me talking, but why else would so many people come outside, just when I am outside, the days when it's cold, and damp and gray, and dark?

From my bedroom window I can see the 427 South with a line of cars squeezed bumper to bumper, and I know that they will remain bumper to bumper towards the Gardener Express Way and the exit on Yonge street. So, I choose not to drive downtown when it rains. I decide instead to take the bus, and the subway. But guess what, it's also full of conspirators pushing and closing up against me. You can all tell me your reasons of why both the highways and the transit systems get packed, and I am sure they are all reasonable excuses. I know the truth though. It's a conspiracy.

Today as it was to expect the subway was overflowing with passengers. On the Bloor Street line people were elbow to elbow as cars would be bumper to bumper on the surface. The next great thing about a subway ride with these many people is the festival of smells that erupts. As soon I thought of it as a festival, the image formed in my head, and in my mind it went something like this:

Narrow wet damp streets were suddenly formed between canvas tents with blue plastic tarp roofing tide at the corners with rope. Suddenly, a cacophony of loud marketeer screams exploded.

"Cigarette butt and Channel No. 5!" A well dressed business looking woman in the tent beside me was screaming.
"Cigarette butt and Channel No. 5, here for free! Only today! Do not miss it! Just for today, because it's rainy and gray, and ugly!"

Then from another tent a little to the left of this one someone else was screaming louder. "Stale coffee and sweaty armpits. Stale coffee, and sweaty armpits everyone! Don't miss it! Only while it rains!
"Every one gather around, stale coffee and sweaty armpits!"

Meanwhile in a very small tent in front of me a blond girl with pale blue eyes and a U of T bag pack was looking up and whispering "Acqua di Parma. Acqua di Parma, " but no one could hear her.

Now, in the dynamic marketplace the cigarette butt and Channel No. 5 tent had merged with the stale coffee and sweaty armpits tent and together had made a powerful enterprise which was slowly driving every marketeer out of business.


Just then from the far right an hysteric cry silenced all others. All the other tents disapeared. There was no festival anymore. Just one person. Standing in an open road. He was wearing a suit. He was holding a briefcase. He was looking at his watch. He was annoyed. He was upset. He was late. "Baad breaaath! Baad breaaath! Baad Breaath!" Screaming in my head like a fire alarm.

Thankfully just then my stop came and I got off before I got a headache. But as I walked up the stairs of the Yonge and Bloor subway station I could still smell some of the products the festival was giving away, and I wondered if by chance they had left me with a few samples.