Tuesday, July 12, 2011

I sit in my usual quad with my usual GO Train friend, across the aisle from the usual lady.

We stop at Pickering. A man (I guess to be in his 20s) gets on and sits in the quad across from us with the lady. He kicks up the padded seat and sets his feet on the plastic chair.

Now, I know that many people have issue with this, but I don't. Not really. Kick the seat cushion up or take your shoes off to put them on the seat...I'm ok with that. But this is rush hour. And our car may not be full today, it's still busy. The day has just started. It's not like you've been at work for ten hours already and have had enough and need to put your dogs up.

But it doesn't end with buddy's feet on the seat.

He's huffing and puffing, as though he's in discomfort, massaging his belly and chest once in a while. I'm thinking, "He better not have a heart attack on the train."

He fidgets a lot. Feet up, feet down, head back, head up. He plays with his cell, huffs and puffs. Then he puts his feet up on the seat in front of him (not under the cushion but right on top, on the edge), slumps down in his seat so that his back is parallel to the floor and his head is just resting against the seat-back. He crosses one leg over the other and spends most of the trip lying prone like this.

Are you fucking kidding me? Get your sorry lazy up and act like a grown up. I bet he's related to Snot Rocket Guy.

Friday, June 17, 2011

There is a man I see most mornings on the GO Train platform. He is rather tall, freakishly thin and has a somewhat concave posture. He walks like an Olympic speed walker, swinging his briefcase as though he’s in a military parade.

As he plows his way across the platform, he practically pushes people aside, marching to his spot, about three cars from the front. When he gets there, he is miles ahead of everyone else.

He glances back—just to be sure he’s alone—then he walks over to the platform edge, presses a finger against one nostril, inhales deeply, and shoots a snot rocket that would make any yokel green with envy. No pun intended.

This happens most days and it’s beyond gross.

It’s fucking disgusting.

So, I have a message for Skinny Douchebag:

Grow up. You’re not a kid anymore. Show a little class. You wear a fucking suit to work, for chrissake, and carry a briefcase like a grown up. Try to act like one.