All right, hang on. Before you get your fashionable panties twisted in a knot, hear me out. I don’t want to hear you be all, “OMG Jen, I was born here, this is my home and I love it.” Yes, I get it. I love it here too, but this place is turning me into a gigantic, rageaholic cunt machine. And don’t tell me I was born a rageaholic cunt machine, because that’s just not true.
As a wee little heavyset kid rolling down the hills of my beloved Newfoundland, I was relatively happy. As happy as a person can be when kids are constantly making fun of them and their home life is a bit shady in some aspects. I knew I was awesome and assumed that if my classmates couldn’t see that, it was because they were idiots. To some extent, I still believe that to this day (here’s lookin’ at you, idiots). In my teen years, spent in some of Ontario’s smaller towns, I still managed to convince myself that people were inherently good and most of the arseholes I served in the McDonald’s drive-thru on the highway were probably city folk headed to cottage country for the summer. Those weren’t my people.
Except now they are.
Lured by the promise of 24h grocery stores and public transit that came more often than every hour and a half, I packed my shit into McFries boxes I nicked from the dumpster behind work and headed south. Ah, the wonder of tall buildings. Once only seen on my TV screen, the CN tower loomed in the distance, visible to my naked, nearsighted eyes. I was incredibly excited to explore and get a job and live my life. The first time I ventured outside my house without my roommates, a crazy dude said something to me as I was walking down Bloor St near Christie. Being a noob, I said, “Sorry, what?” because I thought he was talking to me. He responded by calling me a piece of shit and yelling at me not to talk to him. He punctuated himself by actually spitting on me. One hell of a welcoming committee, I must say.
Do you remember the Coors Light ad that got people all worked up in the summer of 2009? “Colder than most people from Toronto”, it boasted, and apparently people were pissed enough to get it pulled down. Well guess what, T-Dot? It was true. Y’all are frigid sometimes. At least admit it.
So what prompted this rant against the city I’ve come to call home? Last night, as I was heading home from work after my seventh day in a row, exhausted and more than a little grumpy, I decided to say, “Fuck pedestrian etiquette, I’m gonna be that ass who steals a streetcar seat and refuses to give it up.” Apparently, I sat in a seat reserved for a douchebag wearing a stupid hat. He and his ladyfriend were going to sit together, I suppose, but since she made a beeline for the single seat on the other side of the aisle, I changed direction and sat on the inside of the double seat. “SOMETHING BLAH BLAH SOMETHING… DIDN’T EVEN REGISTER,” I heard a baby-man whine behind me. He was looking at me and shaking his head.
Bitch, do NOT fuck with me when I’m tired. I get mad.
You know how in Winner’s they have those long ass lines with all those amazing impulse items stacked up on either side? While you’re waiting to purchase your discounted-yet-somehow-still-expensive designer clothing, you can add something frivolous and equally overpriced to your bill. Well, a couple years back, this middle-aged woman was dawdling in the aisle, so I stepped past her and went to pay for my shit. I must’ve pissed her off because she started whining, “I was in line, this is ridiculous BLAH SOMETHING BLAH.”
I whirled around, seeing dark shades of annoying red, and confronted her.
“You were NOT in line, you were looking at shit. If you want to be in line, get the fuck in front of me and shut the fuck up.”
She looked spooked as she stepped ahead with her armload of rice cakes and nonsense. She turned around again, probably to give me what-for for my attitude, but I was pissed off enough to cut her off.
“You’re so aggressive!” She proclaimed. I don’t know if it was her tone or the fact that she was a rich white lady, but for some reason she annoyed the fuck out of me. I was tired that day, too.
“Turn the fuck around, do not talk to me.”
Trust me when I say that the next five minutes were the most awkward of my life. Looking back, I may have overreacted a little, but seriously, DON’T fuck with me when I’m tired.
So, when I heard Captain Stupid Hat ranting to his girlfriend about my inability to psychically know where he wanted to sit his princely ass down, I saw the same shades of red again. I turned in my seat and said, “Sorry, did I piss you off?” He looked at me, adjusted his ill-fitting fedora, and said condescendingly, “No, really, it’s quite all right.” Normally, things would have escalated and I probably would’ve spat a profanity-laced rant right into his face, but last night I was too tired to be an asshole. I shrugged and turned around, resigning myself to fantasizing about getting into a yelling match rather than acting on it. Maturity comes with a price, my friends, and that price is laziness and a fear of getting arrested.
I neglected to tell you that Stupid Hat was actually carrying a shit ton of luggage with him, so when I cut him off and took his seat, no matter how accidental it may have been, I was the asshole. And as wrong as it may be, I’m actually kind of proud of myself. In acting like a total dick, I’ve proven I really DO belong in Toronto. When I say Toronto can suck it, I mean it can suck it like a pro.
Home Sweet Home.