A Spring Commute – Part 1

A Story Celebrating the Humour in a Chaotic Commute

We all know of locales where the winter climate makes one feel like they are living in a frozen wasteland ruled by a diabolical army.  With a command center in the clouds, this army effectively utilizes their wicked arsenal that includes not just annoying liquid precipitation, but frozen precipitation. They also employ the evil tactic of chillingly low temperatures, resulting in their victims being transformed into human popsicles. Last, but certainly not least, we can’t forget their silent but nefarious strategy of leaving walkways so treacherous that anyone lacking the nimbleness and overall athleticism of a Cirque de Soleil performer is advised to lock themselves indoors for the season. Understandably, when the spring season starts to reveal itself, it is par-tay time in these regions; I’m talking about serious let’s get pumped up time. In addition to the blissful feeling one has when the handcuffs made of gut-wrenching temperatures and crushing precipitation are removed, getting to wear less than 15 layers of clothing is wonderfully refreshing, and such that the first spring, or at least non-wool, outfit of the season is extremely special. This leads us to a story titled “The Spring Commute”. Please note that this is the PG title of the story. Once you hear it in its entirety, you will understand that it could have been named something more, “adult”.

On that early spring day, I woke up feeling particularly euphoric. I had gone to sleep the night before donning my “spring pajama set”, so I hadn’t woken up with a weird static connection between my “winter flannel pajama set” and the “winter flannel bedsheets”, which was reason enough to feel joyous.

The sun peered gleefully through the windows and seemed to negate the fact that I had to go to work, as I picked out my very first, fresh, colourful outfit of the spring season. You could even say it was “lit” (I’m pretty sure that’s the word all the hip youngsters are using these days). I could definitely picture myself “dabbing” in it, so I just knew it was exceptional. I felt so airy and high-spirited that I honestly recall the next few moments going like this: someone had made me a breakfast smoothie and threw it to me with a beautiful pass as I headed towards the front entrance. I caught it with minimal effort as I was feeling extremely athletic. I then spun around with the utmost of grace (Broadway will be calling anytime now), while what I’m pretty sure was an angel tossed me my keys. Next, I effortlessly slipped into my shoes, quickly did the Beyoncé check in the mirror (i.e., would she be proud of the attitude you’re emitting?) and headed out the door.

I was using public transportation for my commute to work that day, and as I headed towards my stop, I was in such a good mood that I thought about how thankful I was for the availability of public transit. As I walked, I came up with a new tagline for the service that I considered donating to the transit marketing department (that’s just how generous I was feeling): “Transportation for the People”. I put my hand on my heart and closed my eyes as I recited it to myself.

Literally, two seconds after having these incredibly pure thoughts, I stepped onto an unstable ice patch, and my right foot plunged into icy, cold, water. This would have been incredible had it been that I wanted a refreshing drink and not just wanted to walk on a stable, safe, surface. Needless to say, one-half of my spring shoes that I had just released from winter imprisonment had accidentally received capital punishment.

“Does the municipality even care about their citizens’ safety?” I thought to myself.  “Obviously not, as they have left a perilous obstacle course around their transportation stops. They probably purposefully put that ice there just for a laugh. They’re probably secretly filming this and making some sort of sick reality television show.” 

My mood lifted by a millimeter (the unit moods are measured in), as I arrived at my stop and realized that my train was set to arrive in one minute. In an effort to forget the trauma of the “foot drowning” incident, I tried to take a cue from Taylor Swift and “Shake it Off”. As I shook my legs and arms, people around me started staring, which bothered me slightly.

“Seriously people, get a life!” I whispered to myself, as I really didn’t feel like engaging in an MMA-type activity that morning.

The train pulled up to the stop and of course, there were so many people on it that it resembled a sardine can. It appeared that the ten other people who were at my stop realized this too, as they rushed through the doors to claim a spot in the can with the rest of the sardines. I did too, because obviously, I am also a sardine. Once I reached the doors, though, there didn’t appear to be much room. Someone actually had their face plastered against the window.

I desperately said, “I really need to get on…” to anyone (e.g., God, Buddha, Moses, angels, demons, lingering spirits) who may have been listening. Thankfully, a fellow public transport user moved over an inch (after making a huge show of lifting his lunch bag off the floor as he now had to hold it to accommodate for my presence) which allowed me to secure a spot right by the door.

I then focused on being grateful I made it onto the train and didn’t have to hitchhike into work.

As we arrived at the next stop (not mine), fear took over me as I questioned how more people were possibly going to fit on the train, and the necessity of physically contorting my body to allow it to happen.

“If only I had an invisibility cloak that would actually make me physically disappear…”

I put my hand up to signal, “Don’t open the door, please! My safety is at stake!”, to the people waiting outside, but they obviously took it as an indication to ” come on down, fellow passengers”. The door forcefully folded inwards, as they do on these types of trains, and amazingly, it shot right between the straps of my backpack and the wall, trapping me! It was truly unbelievable. I guess you could say I was lucky because it didn’t cut me in half instead? Of course, the people getting on leisurely strolled by me, as they were far too busy to notice that my poor backpack (i.e., my lifeblood as it carried my sustenance for the day, which contained highly effective antioxidants and other such heavenly nutrients to support my athletic self) had been violently impaled by the door and that I was now imprisoned.

In an effort to minimize digital eye strain, this Paislee story will be continued…..