This morning, armed with the frivolity of a Friday morning commute coupled with ongoing insomnia, I find myself at the GO Centre a wee bit earlier than usual.
With time on my hands, genuine apathy and one of my Guess watches (no more wrist brace, yes!) I survey my kingdom that is the Hamilton Go Centre.
And, in case you’ve been reading past blogs, being self-proclaimed travelling royalty has its perks.
I don’t know what they are yet, but once I do I will let you know.
I realize that out of all the stops along my Lakeshore Eastbound route to the land far far away, this station is the least offensive.
The Hamilton Go Centre actually looks like a Centre, unlike the other stops that look more like holding cells and compounds.
There’s even the pretense of retail-esque infrastructure, and with a restaurant too! If you play your cards right, your bacon won’t be microwaved for too long.
I do not know when my obsession with pork began.
I think it correlates directly to Trump being on TV.
Commonly known as the pee break between Toronto and Niagara Falls (OK, I just made that up) Hamilton is a great city.
Sure, we have way too many Cash Money outlets, and the highest number of Tim Hortons per square metre, and we can’t get our s!@# together with regards to light rail transit, but overall, it’s a decent place.
I often get asked if I would consider moving closer to my work.
Probably not. What would happen to my blog? Important life choices.
So, back to my story. As much as I’d love to bore you with how pretty Hamilton is, I feel that would deviate from my witty/ sarcastic voice. And that’s a travesty.
Back at the Hamilton Centre, my giddiness is elevated when I notice a sign that makes me chuckle out loud:
Would I not have known that if I turned right?
Is “Stairs Up” a catchy way of trying to appeal to millennials?
I’m convinced they would be the only ones in need of direction.
Now I’ve decided to examine the signage at the Centre in better detail.
I’m completely aware that I look suspicious, but a part of me wants to call into work from transit jail, so I continue onward with my expedition.
I’ve been commuting for 9 months now and hadn’t realized my station passed away 20 years ago. Most mornings I do feel like I walk among the dead, so perhaps I’m the one living a lie.
Why does this place still take my money?
Why am I only just noticing this now?
By some act of God, if I’m still commuting once I turn 80, I can take the city bus for free…..ONLY if I show valid ID.
How does the person who cards the 80 year-olds sleep at night? Probably better than me.
If I have to pay $6.00 for my Presto card, by the time I retire, would that be the equivalent of 8 months’ pension?
I’m sure the person who posted the above sign also did this one:
This looks like the craftsmanship of the Stairs Up person!
Now THIS sign sounds promising. I’ve been mulling over what to do with my life in terms of professional development and I fit the criteria. Does self-diagnosis count? Hmm.
Then I read this:
Why wouldn’t they save this description for once you were all tied up and signed a waiver?
This is how I look when I get on the train:
I’m glad they’ve portrayed some truth to this transit propaganda.
This is exactly what it’s like when they tell you your connecting train has arrived:
Relocation is no longer off the table.
In case you were wondering, it’s not a challenge for me to let my imagination run free.
I wonder if the trains in Korea serve pork?
Visions of GO Trains morphed into ginormous party limos with cheap beer, strobe lights and karaoke are abound.
For the second time in one post, I consider relocation.
I mull this over.
It’s already Friday night in Korea.
Korea is definitely the better option.
Enjoy the weekend!