Know What You’re Made Of

This morning I find myself sitting in front of a sign advertising Sobieski Vodka.

Taunting me.

I’m wondering which of my colleauges would most appreciate this poster in their work space, a token of my commute and of my affection.

Much like when your pet dog brings home parts of a rodent, so proud to deliver their catch.

I’m thinking it would be me.

There’s a ginormous bottle.

Within reach.

Maybe I’m just exhausted, but I swear I just heard it speak.

In case you’re still reading this, I documented our conversation.

Sign says: “Hey, don’t you want this sign as a trophy? Why don’t you just take me?”

Me: “You silly sign. You don’t interest me.”

Sign: “Why not?!! I’m awesome, and you LOVE stealing big, shiny inappropriate things!”

Me: “Oh please! You and everything on this train is shoddily constructed.”

Sign: “Yeah, you’re right.”

Me: “I know.”

Damn, that sign has a mouth on her.

The great part about having these conversations with objects at 6:23 in the morning is that my fellow commuters are either too busy pretending to be dead or in the process of dying to notice.

Or maybe they blog about my conversations.

Either way it works.

Still pensive, I read this sign and it generates more observation.

How does vodka get produced from 100% rye?

How can something that reads “Imported from Poland” be produced in Palm Springs Florida?

Why is alcohol being advertised in places where it cannot be purchased or consumed?

Have the big shots from Bun Company Enterprises and Hot Dog Corporation ever experienced train travel in Europe?

It’s systematic, fast and effective. Train routes were created through mountains. Train travel is easy and seamless.

And it’s customary to serve alcohol on all trains.

We should learn from European pragmatism. And hospitality.

I finally notice the top of the sign. Talk about selective vision! In big bold letters it reads;


Such a thought provoking comment for such an early morning.

For the next few minutes, I mull this over.

What would people say I’m made of?

More important, what would I say I’m made of?

I need to quickly decide, as my train ride is almost over, and based on yesterday’s events, I’d like to leave the train briskly in Oakville rather than volunteer as tribute.

The question weighs on me.

What would I say I’m made of?

I’d like to think I’m made of strength.




And Vodka.


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