After years of driving my car to work in the downtown core, I now find myself using public transport.
I’ve experienced several different countries’ versions of this service, whose quality has ranged from first-class to once barely escaping a train with my life.
On the TTC, it’s hard not to feel for a stranger’s well-being, given the overcrowding.
Trust me when I say I am no saint, nor do I pretend to be one. However, something seems to happen to people when getting a seat on a busy streetcar or train turns into a lottery. Seated riders stare off into the distance or hide behind a book or an electronic tablet to avoid the uncomfortable gaze of the seat-hungry travellers.
On my first day on the TTC, the subway car was packed and the temperature climbing higher with every stop. Having got on the line early, I’d managed to get a seat, but I soon noticed an elderly woman standing. I offered her my seat and rode the rest of the way standing up – not ideal, but I at least had the satisfaction of having done the right thing. After a few more days of subterranean travel, that became the pattern. But I saw I was in the minority when it came to giving up my seat.
I decided to change things up by using the streetcar, which proved a worse experience. There were times I regretted not taking the subway, even if it meant a stranger’s warm armpit nestled next to my face.
More elderly people seem to ride the streetcar than the subway. Some need walkers and crutches to get around – not surprising considering that my streetcar line passes by St. Joseph’s Hospital.
One day at the Humber Loop, where riders are sometimes forced to change cars, I saw a lady in her 80s try to get on the streetcar with her walker. No one was helping her, including the driver, who was taking his allotted break whilst watching me struggle up three steps with the walker and manoeuvre the woman as well.
I’m sure this happens all the time around the world wherever there’s a government-established public transit system. Blame human nature, but I wonder, if I spend too much time on the TTC, will I, too, sooner or later refuse to relinquish my seat. Toronto’s Mayor John Tory, who recently rode the subway, described his discomfort as “considerable.”
My impatience with streetcars forced me back underground to travel with sweat-drenched companions, shirts clinging to their backs. When I complained to a fellow traveller, she told me that sometimes the next carriage in the train would have working air conditioning. At the very next stop I ran to the adjoining car.
I was greeted by a climate change of epic proportions. I felt I should run back to the oven next door to let everyone know of the luxury of the fridge-like temperature, but it was too late. I removed a book from my bag, lowered my head and pretended to read. A part of me felt I’d been indoctrinated into the selfishness of travel on the TTC.
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