By: Amal Abdullah
- The Talker
Our first specimen in the jungle of transit is The Talker. These wild creatures will pull out their phones in the middle of a 5 p.m. rush hour and casually yell their life’s woes to their friend — and every other passenger packed in the sardine can that is the bus or train. Like, listen, buddy: I’ve just sat through two back-to-back, three-hour lectures where some rando professor has beat their boring-as-fuck lecture into my head. The absolute last thing I want is for my sorry ears to hear your tearful story because you couldn’t figure out your interpersonal relationship drama. Get a counsellor.
- The Beanpole Pole Hogger
As a short person, I have a bone to pick with this type of dude. You know when a bus or train is packed and you have to stand right in the middle of two poles that are both too far from you for you to hold onto? TransLink — and tall people — think this problem is circumvented by the placement of the overhead handholds, casually forgetting that people under 70 freaking feet exist. Tall douches probably think they’re creating world peace by scooting an inch to the left, putting you under the handhold while conveniently grabbing the pole for themselves. Have a fun ride, short person. (Tip: what to do when there’s nothing to hold on to? You ride the bumps and jolts down the Mountain like a surfer, baby.)
- The Legspreader
The seats on trains and buses might be equal in width, but Legspreaders will make sure to render that absolutely irrelevant when they spread each of their legs to the two opposite ends of the planet. The trick here is not to make yourself small, but to fight back. Have a full-on war trying to occupy the hard plastic seats, kneeing their knee and stomping on their toes if need be. Think of it like a real-life history lesson; this is the real Art of War. You’ll be sure to learn more than you did in that elective history class you paid your leg and three arms for last summer.
- The Zealot
I’m all for religious freedom and spreading awareness for your beliefs and values, but do I, a cranky commuter, really want to know I’m going to Hell if I do or don’t do “x” very narrow and specific thing? Thanks, John. It’s good to know that I’m doomed. Are you yelling that the world is ending next month or next year? Make up your mind. No, I don’t want your pamphlet, but I’m too passive to contradict you and saying no to a stranger is too much pressure, so I will take it anyway. Good day to you, too.
- The Bus Driver
Last, but certainly not least. Capable of striking terror and dread in even the bravest of hearts: the transit operator. While many are genuinely nice human beings who try to spread a little transit cheer by thanking you when you tap your Compass card or making corny jokes about tree stumps and overgrown grass down the Mountain, loads of them are douches. If I’m Usain Bolt-ing to the bus so I’m not late for my 8:30 a.m. class, do you really have to ruin my Olympic moment by driving off? I was going to win medals with that 10-meter dash. Have a heart, buddy.
