This morning was the day I finally caved and am wearing my poofy orange winter jacket.
It is no longer warm enough to wear anything else.
I’m slightly conflicted.
I feel comfort in having a warm torso and also concern that I resemble the Stay Puft Marshmallow man from the Ghostbusters movies.
It’s ok. I didn’t know he had a name either, I had to look it up.
Wikipedia is the grand teller of all things.
If anyone could make poofy cool, it would be me.
As I enter the Hamilton GO station, I see an abnormal hub of activity for this time in the morning.
Lots of bustle.
I look to read the digital signage and it appears as though no train doors need repair.
I see a lot of travellers are also sporting Stay Puft jackets.
I smile. My fashion innovation has already taken off.
This kind of arrogance and grotesque levels of assumption trump any type of pragmatic rationale.
I decide I should design winter coats.
I could called them “Stay Poofed!” and I could sell them at train stations.
Each coat would come with a free bag of marshmallows.
Some will even be special editions, where you press a button and the Ghostbusters theme song plays.
Who you gonna call?
As I make the schlep, up the stairs towards the big green chariot, I board the train car and am delighted to see the following:
It’s always a great start to the morning whenever I see these kinds of promotional signage.
With my new Stay Poofed winter coat, I know I’m making full use of my seat, and quite possibly infringing on someone else’s, give or take a couple of inches.
I haven’t noticed this infraction too much, but I guess it was developed for a reason.
I worry this sign might confuse teens, who will take it as justification for their backpacks and shopping bags from Old Navy, HMV and Forever 21 as completely needing the extra space.
This sign amuses me for the following reasons:
Her murder weapon of choice is quite obvious to me.
I’ve gotta hand it to her.
She performs this heinous crime without the presence of left handed fingers.
Good for her.
White socks are never acceptable.
This woman has no clue.
I’m not one for having the best levels of spatial intelligence, but this guy has two things that I do not possess;
1. Enough actual space for him to host a small dinner party on a train;
2. Enviable flexibility with the use of his right hand and arm.
I don’t mean to be ignorant, but, he really should take his space and stop creating a fire hazard.
People don’t know what they have.
Clearly, there exists a tragic backstory.
I can see it in his eyes.
It’s also that’s indicative from the hieroglyphs behind him.
First, he lost his dog.
Then he was almost killed by someone on a motorized wheel chair.
He hobbled away with his one good leg, still being chased.
The end result isn’t pretty.
If you look closely to the far right, you’ll see he lost three fingers.
Funny thing, I know a girl who could fix that.