I hate Dumbass West Station (or Dundas West Station, as it's more commonly known). It is one of the most annoying stops on the entire subway line here in Toronto.

The number of fleshwads crowding in and around there during the day is roughly a googolplex. That's a number so big that you can't even write it down in decimal notation because there's not enough matter in the universe to write it on. Wikipedia taught me that.

What should be a half-hour trip can be elongated to almost an hour because of the sheer number of walkers and talkers that are trying to cram their oily hides into the subway over at Yonge and St. George, and then take it to west to Dumbass West, where they all get off to travel towards one of the poles.


There are two streetcar pickups at Dumbass West, which constitute what I like to call the Loop of Doom. One car goes south on Roncesvalles, then east on King. The other car goes south on Roncesvalles, then east on Dundas.

Quite often, while I wait for my precious King car to slippity slide it's way into Dumbass West, I shall witness not one, or two, not negative thirty, but yes as much as positive six Dundas streetcars roll in and out of their confounded docks, dropping off and picking up infinitesimal amounts of human cargo. That is to say, the two or three random nomads who take that line.

Meanwhile, I'm standing with the googolplex over on the King side of things.



Apparently it doesn't occur to them to divert one or two of those cars to start filtering off the throng of commuters standing out in the frigid night. Or (mod forbid) send a new empty car from the Roncesvalles yard at the south end to help out. Although, if that were to occur, I'm sure fares would go up another ten cents to compensate.

Finally, enter the operator who pulls his much-awaited electric sardine can all the way up to where myself and the googolplex are standing shoulder-to-shoulder in order pump more bodies into the fray, rather than kick 'em out a little way back in the vast wasteland of nothingness due east.

Myself and the googolplex then board the evil hell trolley and proceed to get really friendly. As in one foot's inside a purse, the other's got a dog sitting on it, and some lady's been forced to set up camp in my armpit. By the time I finally get to my stop, I'm holding a bag of fresh produce and wearing someone else's underwear.

And yes, that map is kind of backwards. Just pretend that south is up. I wasn't really paying attention.

Labels: live, rant

Today a big bloody blot splattered on the otherwise pristine document of my day. It took the form of a small woman whose shrill vocalizations nearly took down my deflector shields (which are quite sturdy indeed).

Imagine, if you will, a busy coffee shop, where gratuitous amounts of un-caffeinated human meat units seek to end their current caffeine-deficient states and go about their jittery stimulant-assisted lives. It's loud. It's hectic. And I am making drinks at ye olde bar, a furious flurry of flailing limbs marking cups, pumping syrups, pulling shots, and of course, steaming and pouring bovine extract.

Into my ears floats the horrid sound of a customer trying to do something other than stand damn silently and wait for their drink before leaving my sphere of awareness.

Old Lady: "On the quad...!"

Me: "..."

Old Lady: "Oh, on the quad expresso!"

Me: "...what?"

Old Lady: "On the quad expresso, can I have it extra foamy? There's foam on expresso right?"

As I pondered her poor grammar, incorrect pronunciation and odd request, it occurred to me that I had no quad espresso in my drink queue. So I grabbed a short cup and quickly tapped the double shot button twice to pull her some shots and get her out of my face. As I did this, I explained to her:

Me: "Espresso has a crema on it, but I don't control the amount or consistency of it with this machine."

Old Lady: "I can't have it extra foamy?"

Till: "TALL LATTE!"

Me: "Tall latte."

Old Lady: "What?"

Me: "Look, would you like me to put some milk foam on top of it to make it more foamy?"

Old Lady: "Oh, I'd like that very much!"

Me: "Okay, no problem."

At this point, the shots have finished, so I take the cup down from the machine and start to scoop some foam into the cup.

Old Lady: "Is it decaf?"

Me: "...was it supposed to be?"

Old Lady: "Yes, I'd like it decaf please."

My eye started twitching at this point. I abruptly dumped the shots into the tray on the machine.

Old Lady: "Ohhhh...."

Me: "Don't worry about it, decaf coming up."

Till: "GRANDE CARAMEL MACCHIATO!"

Me: "Grande Caramel Macchiato..."

Old Lady: "What? I don't want caramel."

Me: "What? No, that's something else."

Old Lady: "Oh."

The decaf shots finished at this point, and I grabbed the cup off the machine again, getting ready to put some foam on it.

Old Lady: "Oh, it's a paper cup?"

Me: "What?"

Old Lady: "Do I have to have a paper cup?"

Till: "DOPPIO ESPRESSO!"

Me: "Doppio espresso..."

Old Lady: "No, I want a quad expresso."

Me: "No, that was something else! Look, do you want a for-here cup?"

Old Lady: "Oh yes, I'd like that very much!"

At this juncture I started wishing that I could slap customers in the face without fear of consequence. I silently left the bar to go grab a for-here short cup (which is like a little tea cup) from the shelf around the corner. Upon my return to the bar:

Old Lady: "Oh, is that the only cup you have?"

Me: "What? Why?"

Old Lady: "You don't have any mugs?"

At this point I did something that I've never really done before while at work. I openly glared at a customer. I stormed off to get a for-here grande cup (which is a mug) from around the corner, then came back to the bar in silence and poured the four cursed decaf shots into it from the paper cup.

Old Lady: "Oh, thank you!"

Till: "SHORT CINNAMON DOLCE LATTE!"

Old Lady: "Wow! It sure is loud in here!"

Me: "Short Cinnamon Dolce Latte..."

Old Lady: "I bet you like to go home after work and enjoy the silence!"

This was where I pulled out the deadpan gaze. I then started to put a scoop of 2% foam on the top of her quad espresso.

Old Lady: "Oh, can I have the foam in a separate cup?"

Literally seconds away from leaping over the counter and throttling an old lady, I think I did a pretty good job of diverting that negative energy to simple teeth grinding, as I scooped a bit of foam into a for here short cup and sent her on her way. I think I might have let out an ear-splitting howl of discontent should she have then asked for the foam in a for-here cup. Luckily, what little sanity I had left was spared as she wandered off, apparently pleased.

All because she wanted a for-here quad espresso macchiato in a grande mug.

Labels: live, rant, work

I think it's high time for some wrath. Seems like so many fucking things grind my gears these days, and like the masses before me, I feel that I must unload all of my thoughts on that bullhonkey onto the interwebs.

Seems like a better alternative than overtaxing the delicate inner systems of the ears belonging to the innocents I actually happen to like in real life. People like funny, not angry.

I guess nobody will like this.

I'm going to say fuck a few more times, just for fuck's sake. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

Labels: live, rant