In my hometown of Beijing, a “little red hat” refers to a migrant who delivers milk. Here in Toronto, a little red hat (plus a big red vest) is likely an immigrant who assists transit users. This is my part-time job.
I am a TTC ambassador, or frontline customer service representative if you prefer. It’s easy to spot us on a subway, bus platform or street corner. Our job is to help transit users on weekends during subway closures due to track or signal work.
“There is no westbound train service between St. George and Keele. Shuttle buses are upstairs.” We repeat the same message over and over and over again during our nine- or 10-hour shifts.
Customers affected by the closures are not pleased, of course. Put yourself in their shoes: you’re on the way to the airport with your luggage and suddenly your trip is interrupted.
“You can go to Union Station to take UP Express.” We offer travellers an alternate way to reach their destination.
Riders react differently. Most of them take it in stride. Some even smile and offer a “Thank you!”
But a few get angry. They yell, swear or wave their hands as if shooing a fly that is about to land on their delicious dinner. Sometimes they vent. We become their verbal punching bag.
Once, at Bathurst Station, an old woman with only one bottom tooth proved she could still bite. Without provocation, she lashed out at me. “I hate you! Who gave you this job? Go back to your country!”
On another occasion, an old man with a walking stick pointed at the letter “i” on my TTC-issued smock and asked me, “Do you know what ‘i’ stands for? Idiot!” He laughed at his own joke.
But many more moments at work are delightful.
During one holiday long weekend at Union Station (my favourite), I handed out mini ride guides to children and asked them to guess the number of subway stations in the TTC system. Their guesses were wild, ranging from one to 1,000!
At St. George, between waves of customers, I showed my co-workers, one from South Sudan and the other from Cameroon, a tango move. The two women in turn taught me different African dances.
At St. Clair West, where I was thrilled to discover a black piano on the top floor of the Loblaws next door, I’ve been known to sit down during breaks and play Canadian folk songs like Red River Valley, the Scottish folk song Auld Lang Syne and Czech composer Antonin Dvorák’s From The New World.
I grew up in China in the 1960s and 70s taking in Mao’s teachings to serve people. Now, more than four decades later, at some of the busiest subway stations in arguably the most culturally diverse city in the world, I have the privilege to serve people from all over the globe.
Foreigners, new immigrants, the elderly and individuals with disabilities especially need our help. Old people can be just as vulnerable as young children: one older woman grabbed my arm so tightly as I was taking her to the shuttle bus one day that I could sense her fear of getting lost.
I have watched the TTC station duty manager, Phil, a bespectacled veteran of 17 years, helping mothers with babies in strollers up and down escalators and walking arm in arm with seniors as if they were old pals instead of random strangers.
To be able to assist people, especially vulnerable ones, makes all of us feel good about our job. All of a sudden, life seems beautiful again.
Gu Zhenzhen, an occasional teacher, works weekdays for the Toronto District School Board.
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