A while ago, I had a dinner party which devolved, as gatherings of city dwellers often do, into a bitch session about our fellow citizens and their lack of manners. The things that drove us the most nuts:
Subway door crowders. Oh, you're getting off in 3 stops? That's fascinating. Get away from the damn door. I cannot tell you how many times I have struggled to get onto a subway in the morning, only to find there are actually seats available. I have to fight my way past a gauntlet of door-blockers, and I do, let me tell you. I always start politely with "Excuse me," but if that doesn't work, I make like an NFL running back at third and inches. Once I break through, I have been known to then exclaim "Oh look seats!", but I try not to, as I am fully aware that I sound insane when I do.
Sidewalk texters. They need their own lane. Seriously, China invents everything!
My personal favourites- able-bodied people who refuse to open doors, but instead press the accessibility button, then stand there like zombies waiting for the door to slowly open, as a crowd forms behind them. I gotta go full Seinfeld here- What's the deal with that??
Yes, we complain, but at the end of the day, we are city people, and summer is definitely the best time to be in Toronto. The patio tables come out, as do our more, shall we say, interesting citizens.
There's Mary, the hunched old lady who pushes her walker through the Eaton Centre every day screaming at people. If you live in Toronto, you know her. I would miss her if she were gone, though on those rare occasions when she managed to get onto the elevator at my old office, it was sort of terrifying to hear her shrieking in the hall until security escorted her out.
Then there's the old guy who sounds like Bela Lugosi in Dracula and screams about Jesus on the corner of Yonge and Dundas. You can tell what kind of day he's having by what he's yelling. Most days, he just yells "Believe!", but some days, he yells "God's love!" If he's in a bad mood, though, he goes with "God's rage!" He has a habit of waiting until I am right next to him to scream in my ear, and even though I know it's coming, I still jump. I'm sure he's doing it on purpose. Again, I miss him when he's not there.
When I lived uptown, there was a guy camped out in front of the Shoppers at Yonge and St Clair, and he was the de facto king of the neighbourhood. He was a large man, and he reigned from a mobility scooter. Everyone talked to him. Not just grudging acknowledgement, but long conversations. Rich ladies in fur coats and their banker hubbies would stand there for half an hour shooting the shit with this guy. When I first moved up there, he didn't greet me when I went to the store, which made me feel like an interloper, and was truly humiliating.
It took me a year, but when he started saying hi to me, I felt like I finally belonged in my fancy neighbourhood. He passed away recently, and a little shrine was set up in his spot. I was really sorry to hear about his passing. Once we were cool, he was part of the experience of living in that area.
As much as I love life in the city, I must admit that sometimes I fantasize about life in a little country town. Someplace with a main street that has a grocery store, a hardware store, and a bakery/bookstore/café, with an owner who orders me the mini Harper's Bazaar UK that I like.
When I was a kid, my grandparents lived in a town in Prince Edward County called Milford. It was a quaint place in the 70s, but now that PEC has become a successful wine region, it's positively chic. The little general store I used to skip to turned into a lovely bistro a decade ago. The idea of living in a place like this gets more appealing the older I get. Especially as I grow less interested in hearing my neighbours' music, like I am while I type this.
I think I'd thrive in the country, but I couldn't live in suburbia. For 2 years, I worked in a part of Mississauga that is a vast suburban sprawl. As I am a downtown girl who doesn't drive, I had the pleasure of taking public transit. This is no big deal in Toronto, but the further you get away from downtown, the more pathetic it is considered (except the train; for some reason, trains are ok). I took the bus, then I walked. These are both alien concepts in some neighbourhoods. Crossing the road was more dangerous than downtown, because at least downtown drivers expect to see pedestrians. In my work neighbourhood, you'd think I had two heads from the looks I'd get from drivers as they screeched to a stop at the crosswalk. At a red light, mind you. I could tell what they were thinking- "She doesn't look poor; where's her car?" Pedestrians get no respect in the 'burbs. In plenty of places, they're lucky to find sidewalks at all, which I find truly appalling. Each evening, when I'd return back to Union Station, and be greeted by throngs of rushed people, gridlock, skyscrapers, and noise, I'd think, "Aaaaahhhh, I'm home!"
My love of the city baffled some coworkers. A lovely older gentleman once asked me delicately "So... you like it there?", referring to my downtown address. I assured him I did, and he looked at me like I said that I sleep standing up or something. I was too polite to tell him that I'd absolutely expire from boredom if I lived where he did. Strip malls, 8-lane roads, and having to drive everywhere is just not my idea of fun.
It's the season of patios, parks, and yes, homeless people. You take the bad with the good when you live downtown, but it's nice to know that there are options out there. Who knows, maybe I'll end up a full time country girl someday.
Subway door crowders. Oh, you're getting off in 3 stops? That's fascinating. Get away from the damn door. I cannot tell you how many times I have struggled to get onto a subway in the morning, only to find there are actually seats available. I have to fight my way past a gauntlet of door-blockers, and I do, let me tell you. I always start politely with "Excuse me," but if that doesn't work, I make like an NFL running back at third and inches. Once I break through, I have been known to then exclaim "Oh look seats!", but I try not to, as I am fully aware that I sound insane when I do.
Sidewalk texters. They need their own lane. Seriously, China invents everything!
My personal favourites- able-bodied people who refuse to open doors, but instead press the accessibility button, then stand there like zombies waiting for the door to slowly open, as a crowd forms behind them. I gotta go full Seinfeld here- What's the deal with that??
Yes, we complain, but at the end of the day, we are city people, and summer is definitely the best time to be in Toronto. The patio tables come out, as do our more, shall we say, interesting citizens.
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| Yonge Dundas Square. First the fountains, but soon patio tables! |
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| Finally, buds on the trees at Ryerson University. |
When I lived uptown, there was a guy camped out in front of the Shoppers at Yonge and St Clair, and he was the de facto king of the neighbourhood. He was a large man, and he reigned from a mobility scooter. Everyone talked to him. Not just grudging acknowledgement, but long conversations. Rich ladies in fur coats and their banker hubbies would stand there for half an hour shooting the shit with this guy. When I first moved up there, he didn't greet me when I went to the store, which made me feel like an interloper, and was truly humiliating.
It took me a year, but when he started saying hi to me, I felt like I finally belonged in my fancy neighbourhood. He passed away recently, and a little shrine was set up in his spot. I was really sorry to hear about his passing. Once we were cool, he was part of the experience of living in that area.
As much as I love life in the city, I must admit that sometimes I fantasize about life in a little country town. Someplace with a main street that has a grocery store, a hardware store, and a bakery/bookstore/café, with an owner who orders me the mini Harper's Bazaar UK that I like.
When I was a kid, my grandparents lived in a town in Prince Edward County called Milford. It was a quaint place in the 70s, but now that PEC has become a successful wine region, it's positively chic. The little general store I used to skip to turned into a lovely bistro a decade ago. The idea of living in a place like this gets more appealing the older I get. Especially as I grow less interested in hearing my neighbours' music, like I am while I type this.
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| Milford Bistro, 2007. How cute it this? |
My love of the city baffled some coworkers. A lovely older gentleman once asked me delicately "So... you like it there?", referring to my downtown address. I assured him I did, and he looked at me like I said that I sleep standing up or something. I was too polite to tell him that I'd absolutely expire from boredom if I lived where he did. Strip malls, 8-lane roads, and having to drive everywhere is just not my idea of fun.
It's the season of patios, parks, and yes, homeless people. You take the bad with the good when you live downtown, but it's nice to know that there are options out there. Who knows, maybe I'll end up a full time country girl someday.
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