This morning, much to my relief, I realize  my friend Steve has returned to Customer Service Ambassador duty for the 6:18 big green chariot.

In case you missed the memo, everyone is your friend when you’re an extrovert.

It prevents us from having meaningful relationships with others while appearing congenial.

I walk up to Steve, feeling unimpressed.

“Where did you go?!!” My tone slightly more hurt and accusatory than conversational.

“I had to work the 6:48!” his voice a little too casual than appropriate for my level of concern.

He nods his head to the right.

I turn around and stare at the 6:48 train in disgust.

There she is. The other woman.


She doesn’t say anything.

She just glares back at me and the 6:18.

Like we don’t mean anything.

So what if she’s always on time and more reliable?

The 6:18 formed the basis of my commuting relationship. That should mean something.

I swear I saw her smirk at me.

“You HAD to take the 6:48?!!”

I choke out the words, but they sound muffled and my voice cracks.

Before he can respond, some lady walks past and says “Yeah, he left us for no reason!”

Steve chuckles.

If looks could kill, she would be in a body bag.

Believe me when I say I could potentially facilitate that.

I suddenly feel like I’m just one in a harem of commuters.

That I’ve been preempted by a shoddy train.

With potentially kinder commuters.

Sure, I’d be kind too if I could sleep in another 30 minutes.

I’m quite amused by my level of actual concern.

I haven’t had this type of reaction since Tim Hortons got rid of the walnut crunch donut circa July 2014.

“Next time there’s a shift change I’ll let you know!” Steve smiles.

“Yes you will, you announce everything else!” He really does.

I realize the stupidity of this statement and we both chcuckle.

I suddenly feel like all of those married moms on Facebook whose husbands “work late” and they are at home, playing FarmVille, Candyville and DenialVille.

That last one a byproduct of watching too much Maury.

I make a note to refresh my “Mommy needs Vodka” feeds.

I don’t have kids but that stuff is hilarious!

Truth be told my husband is working late tonight, but my sister wife is taking care of dinner.

I digress.

As I sit atop my perch, I see the following sign:


Another Public Service announcement.

They make it sound like a bad thing.

I feel like creating a mess provides a certain level of job creation.

I don’t litter, but I still think that’s true.

Looking at this sign in more detail:

It’s nice to see Mr. Green from Clue also makes an appearance on the GO Train propaganda.

He’s clearly dressed up for the occasion.

I guess when he’s not in the Conservatory with the Lead Pipe, he’s on the GO with a Bob Barker microphone.

Maybe he can kill me.

I digress.

This photo reminds me of a scene from the Lawrence Welk show.

I thought I was too young to remember that show, that maybe I made that up, until I find this photo:

I’m Green with envy.

Or horrified.

I can never tell.

Moving along; here we have something completely unfair:

There appears to be coffee on this train!

Complete lies! Why is it levitating?

Is it trying to get off and take the 6:48? I wonder.

I find it amusing that our jackass protagonist is actually holding a receptacle in his hand, yet he can’t even do that properly.

Sorry Mr. Green. If you weren’t busy trying to score with the help, you’d realize they have jobs too.

Capitalism. Remember?

They make our train tidy.

I’m annoyed by this close-up:

There appears to have been some form of taco served in cartoon land.

Maybe I’m more annoyed that the person eating it had so much left over.

The mixed messaging on this signage irks me.

Why did they nab Peter Cottontail?
All he wanted to do was hop around the bunny trail.

And now he’s stuck taking public transit.

Welcome to the cult!



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