Cycle VS Car

What is going on with drivers this Spring?  As a cyclist, I’m getting afraid.

On Sunday I nearly got hit by 2 cars between Yonge and Rees Streets!

The first, as I approached Yonge on the right side of traffic:  I’m just entering the intersection as I am supposed to.  Rolling past cars, I keep an eye on who does and doesn’t have their indicator on.  I’m not about to cut off a car, he gets a dent and I get broken.

So of course, the car beside me cuts right with no indicator on!  He hammered on the gas and I just managed to turn away and bump the side of the car.  He just kept driving like nothing was wrong.

2 blocks later I turned off Queens Quay.  A car pulled out of a parking lot and I watched him not look left (towards me).  Then he slowed right down, so I went to pass. Suddenly he accelerated and moved right.  Right into me.

WTF?????

Then this morning, I was turning left onto Yonge from Shuter.  The car ahead of me was stopped at the green light, no indicators, no sign of anything.  Just not moving.  So I cautiously passed on the left, assuming that this car would drive straight through the intersection into the Eaton Centre parking lot.  Of course, she turned left, barely missing me.  She hadn’t indicated and hadn’t even looked before moving.

I used to feel stupid wearing a helmet, but these days I’m quite grateful.

Not a Sparkling Adventure

Alright, let’s try this again… hahaha

I changed jobs recently, and can now access Facebook, blogs, and such.  I may not be the most PRODUCTIVE employee, but I’m much nicer these days.

So what’s been going on for the last 5 months?  Work, work, work, work, sailing in the Caribbean, work, work, work.

I assume that out of those options, the sailing might be the most interesting.

In February, myself and 19 other Toronto sailors chartered a few boats from Sparkling Charter out of Guadeloupe.

The adventures started during our overnight stopover in Montreal, where we found a bar in Dorval and got incredibly drunk.  One quick pint at 10pm turned into closing the bar at 3:30-ish full of whiskey.  The hotel in Guadeloupe was alright, a bit quiet and more expensive than we’d expected.  But the food, drink, and swimming pool were appreciated.

The remainder of the holiday was what nightmares are made of:

1.        Our boat had leaking water tanks, and after 2 days of using our smaller tank, we moved to the bigger one and discovered that it had leaked.  We could not find fresh water for the remaining 5 days of our week.  We called the charter company, and they gave us incorrect information on where to get more water.  Cuts got infected, and we were dirty for the holiday.

2.       Our foresail was worn when we got the boat, and it tore in a gust on the 3^rd day.  Sparkling Charter refused to bring us a replacement (violating our contract), and this forced us to limit our travels. 

3.       There were many other minor problems with the boat that added to our frustration, but not as big as the other 2.

We gave up and returned the boat a day early, to ensure that we had enough time to discuss the failures.  Also because we were desperate for a shower.

The charter company was friendly and apologized profusely for the failures on the boat.  On the Saturday morning, they arranged a taxi to drive us to the airport.  As soon as we cleared customs, they phoned us saying “where are you?  We didn’t know you’d left.  You owe us 4000 Euros for the damaged sail!”

While we were disputing it, they managed to take the funds from our credit card.  We’ve written them disputing the charge, but with no response.

An awful end to a terrible holiday.  For any search engines that find this:  DO NOT RENT BOATS FROM SPARKLING CHARTER.  READ THIS POST FOR DETAILS.  OUR DAMAGE DEPOSIT WAS TAKEN IN AN UNETHICAL MANNER WITH NO RECOURSE.  It turned a $3500 boat rental into a $9000 disaster.

As far as Guadeloupe in general, we found the majority of people were friendly if you spoke French, but condescending and rude to Anglophones.  We were asked to leave one store because we weren’t fluent enough, a pharmacist refused to give me something for the infected cut on my hand, and a waitress stole money from me and denied it while the cash was still in her hand!  It wasn’t all bad – the staff at the hotel had some friendly people, and Terre-Haute on Iles Des Saintes had one fantastic restaurant/bar (whose name eludes me) that we frequented as often as we could.

High Point of the trip:  Motor-sailing (because we had no foresail) from Dominica to Iles Des Saintes.

2^nd High Point of the trip:  The shower I had on the 2^nd last day, once we returned to Point-a-Pitre.

Low point of the trip:  Realizing that we were washing our dishes in the seawater in a mooring field with no ‘holding tank rules’, where people dumped their toilets directly overboard.  I was also putting my hand with the open cut into that water every time.  But for the record, we poured bleach on the cups and plates after washing, just to make sure they were clean.

I will never ever go back to Guadeloupe.  I was actually glad to come back to work after that trip.

Pissy

AAAAAAnd another week goes by.  It feels like time is flying, but not much is actually happening.

Yesterday one of the cats peed on the dining room carpet again.  This is infuriating.  She was peeing there pretty often a few months ago, which is something she never, ever did before moving to this townhouse.  I took her to the vet and spent nearly $600 to be told that “she’s fine, it’s a behavioural issue.”

I covered ½ the floor in tinfoil and she stopped.  Last week we cautiously removed a few feet of foil, hoping to get our room back.   Nope, she peed again.

I’ve spent around $100 on various cleaners that guarantee cats won’t urinate there again, and they have all failed.  We added a 2^nd litterbox nearby hoping that it might be a territorial- toilet thing.  It doesn’t get used.

Considering how bad the smell got when she was doing it before (I had to eat dinner in Wife’s studio or go to a restaurant), and we couldn’t invite guests over, the cat will be enjoying her new home at the pound if things don’t improve.  I can’t live like that, and the pound won’t take ME.

Damned Hands

It’s been a week, and my hand still hurts.

I had a great weekend, went to a campground with a bunch of friends.  Lots of food, drink and laughs.  The annoying part occurred whenever I tried to get out of the pool to pour another drink:  I’d plant both hands on the deck to pull myself out, and suddenly my left wrist would hurt and I’d stop.  Then I’d have to do this weird one-handed-while-you-twist thingy to get out of the pool only using my right hand.  And this often led to my bathing suit slipping ½-way down my butt.

I know the hand isn’t broken.  I’ve squeezed and prodded both hands for comparison, and they almost feel the same.  Not exactly, but pretty close.  I can touch-type.  I can’t comfortably play my guitar without it hurting.  I’m getting impatient with this…

Taxi vs Dickey vs 911

Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to blog yesterday.  I was tired from being up late Wednesday night thanks to the Toronto Police Services.

Taxis in Toronto have a little yellow light on the back, next to a sticker that says "Call 911 if this is flashing."  It's a discreet panic button for when they get robbed or assaulted.

I was biking home last night, and a taxi went through an intersection with its light flashing.  So I called 911, saying "a taxi just went past me going east on Queen St with its "panic light" flashing.  I saw it at Queen & Sherbourne streets, and it's probably at Parliament St by now.  It's a red/yellow taxi, Co-op I believe, plate number ****."  I gave a few more details, the 911 operator took my information, thanked me, and I rode home.

Just when I was getting home, the police called me back.  Apparently the driver denied having the light flashing, and the cops hounded me, insuating that I’d made a false 911 call!  They kept me on the line for a long time arguing, and I didn't get to bed until around 1:30 because of it. 

How annoying is that?  You try to help, and get more trouble!  It's even worse than when I gave that abused topless girl my t-shirt a few weeks ago, and my friend went to the police. 

Why do I bother?

Drama At The Performance

I’m beat.

My band played last night, and we had a fantastic time.  We only had around 10 people in the audience, as it was sweltering hot, and the back patio was full (but too far away for them to hear us). 

Still, it gave us the freedom to crack jokes and try new techniques in some of the songs.  We screwed up a few things that we usually have down pat, and we succeeded in a few points that we often fail.

After the show, I stayed around and had a couple of drinks with friends that saw the show.  One friend’s boyfriend is threatened by my friendship with her.  Unfortunately, last night he got pretty douche-y.  Telling me that he knows what I’m up to, and read me the first time we met.  What that means.  I think he thinks I’m trying to sleep with his girlfriend, which is not at all the case.  It was really frustrating because I’m trying to befriend him in the hope that he’ll see what’s actually happening: that we could potentially have a serious friendship, the kind that I only have with 3 other people in this world.  He wouldn’t back up his accusations, or elaborate on them.  I told him that was a “dick move” to pull that line and not say what he was referring to.  Why can't many (men especially) people understand platonic cross-gender friends???

I value my friendships very highly, and really hope that he doesn’t fuck it up for us.

I got home at 3:30 this morning, and was up at 7am for work.  My eyes are red, and I’m off to find some Red Bull.  Have a good weekend!

Weekend Waste

Wow, what a weekend.

On Father’s Day, I phoned my dad.  Apparently he’s been pretty lonely since my mum died, and I feel bad for him.  He doesn’t have many friends, and simply having 3 offspring (too old to be called ‘children’) living with him isn’t quite the same.

He seemed really ecstatic when I suggested we meet at a rugby game on Saturday afternoon, have a couple of drinks, and then head back to Hometown for the rest of the day.  I’d be going out in the evening to see a friend, but then Sunday morning we could spend time together too.

On Friday, I got an email from my brother, noting that the rugby game was off and I should head straight to their house instead.

I arrived Saturday at 2:30pm, and we chatted for an hour.  At one point, I asked if they’d started setting up mum’s headstone.  I had asked that they include me, I wanted to be there when they set it up.  “It’s already done,” I was told.  “Here’s a photograph.”  I was pretty annoyed at my request being ignored or forgotten.  Then, at 3:30, my dad got up, put on his shoes and told me he was going to church.  That was it, he left.

My brother was sleeping in his basement bedroom, and my sisters were in their rooms listening to music and drawing.  I was alone in their living room, watching tv and waiting for my dad to come back.  At 7pm, I gave up.  I went downstairs to give my brother the message:  “I’m pretty pissed off with what Dad did.  I rented a car, and gave up my whole weekend, and he only stayed here for an hour.  I’m going to ‘Friend’s house, and I’m not coming back tonight.  I’ll stay on her couch – there’s no point me driving back here.  He’ll just be going to church in the morning again, and I’m wasting more of my time.”

My brother agreed with me, and we said our goodbyes.

On Sunday morning, I did drive back to Hometown.  I went to the cemetery to see my mum’s gravesite.  I don’t believe in an afterlife, but it was important nonetheless.  I sat in front of the stone and talked to it as if it were her.  I told her that I had my own family to attend to, and that HER family didn’t seem to value the time enough to take it away from Wife.  She’d have understood, my father has always been somewhat selfish.  I stood up, walked back to my car, and started the ignition.  I turned it off, walked back to the headstone, and pressed my palm into the top of it.  The black stone was warm from the sun, and there was something reassuring about the touch.  Then I returned to the car and hit the road.

I had a great time that evening with my friend, but am furious with my father.  I spent $150 renting a car.  I gave up sailing on Friday night to spend it with Wife, as I wouldn’t see her all weekend.  I spent probably $50 on food, as I had to buy 3 meals (they don’t keep food at home).  I also gave up two days where I could have caught up on my studying, which I’ve been putting off for too long and it’s getting close to crunch-time.  All that for an hour with my father.  Friend could and would have come to see me in Toronto instead, so I really don’t count it that much in the equation…

I won’t be going back there for a while.  If home is where the heart is, then it is truly in Toronto with Wife.

The older I get, the more I see that my father's faults are still going strong.  I remember why I couldn't live with him.  I just wish I would remember it every time I feel guilty for not being as devoted to my family as my friends are to theirs.

Temper On The Seas

Last night I was skippering a sailboat for “tutorial races.”  This is where newer sailors learn skills like sail trim and maneuvers, with a little bit of stress to help push the education.  Usually it’s lots of fun.

Last night was not lots of fun.

I took 3 people with me, 2 beginners and one intermediate-level sailor.  One of the beginners instantly became a problem.  He repeatedly argued that he knew better ways to rig the boat than I, but wouldn’t listen to why his suggestions wouldn’t work.  For three races he kept telling us how we were failing, and how much better he could do than us.  The fourth race was his turn to shine.  Reluctantly, I asked him if he wanted his turn at the helm.  Steering.

He happily took the role, but instantly stopped listening to my suggestions. For the most part, I let people do what they want.  I’ll give advice, but unless you seem to be getting out of your experience/ safety level, I’m not really concerned whether my suggestions are followed.  So if I say that we can tack whenever you like, we can tack whenever you like.  If I say that there is more wind on the right side of the course, but you want to stay in the left-end doldrums, that’s your call.  I don’t care if we win or lose, this is for training.

Last night, some of my calls weren’t suggestions.  I told him to bear away to keep from hitting the committee boat (referee).  I told him four times before he finally turned away to avoid the vessel.  As we sailed along the start line, I suggested that we turn around.  He kept going for another minute, putting us in a very bad position for starting.  With no right of way, and 2 right-of-way sailboats bearing down on us, he commented that he wanted to do a fairly complicated and time-consuming maneuver.  “No,” I said.  “It’s not safe.  Keep going straight.”

He turned the tiller anyway, trying to gybe into the oncoming traffic.  I grabbed the tiller and forced it back to centre, at which point he started shouting at me to keep my hands out of his way.  “I told you to keep going straight ahead.” I growled. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, I’m gybing!” he shouted.

At that point, I lost my temper.  “I’m the f***ing skipper, it’s my boat, you do what you’re told, and don’t EVER fight me for the tiller!”  There was a lot more shouting back and forth, before I ordered him to walk up to the mast and stay there.  I realized that there was a good chance I’d shove him overboard, and then I’d be in the wrong, possibly with legal ramifications.

I sailed by the committee boat and shouted over that we were leaving the race and heading back to the dock.  It was too dangerous having an unpredictable a***hole like that on the boat, and I wasn’t taking responsibility for him or anyone else while he was on board.

He still didn’t get it.  He stood at the mast yelling “We haven’t won a single race!  You suck!  I went for a good move, and you panicked!  You panicked like a woman!”  At that point I bit my tongue and gripped the tiller harder.  I wanted nothing more than to walk up and put my fist through the back of his head.  I took a breath and suggested that if he wanted to talk like men, that we could discuss it over a beer once we got back on land. 

“I don’t want to talk to you!” he screamed, and suddenly seemed like a spoiled little bitch.

We got back to land, he did a ½-assed job of closing up the boat with the rest of the crew, and he sulked away into the night.  The rest of us sat back with a couple of beers.  I felt bad for those two guys - they'd wanted a fun night of sailing, and we'd brought the boat in an hour ahead of schedule.  A little unsure of whether I’d overreacted, I asked my remaining crew for honest feedback.  They were impressed with how I handled the situation, and honestly I could have been more forceful and still been in the right.  Wow.

I spoke with a couple other members about him, and he’s caught their attention too, however not quite as spectacularly as with me last night.  They also agreed that I was in the right, both with my demanding control and obedience, and in my decision to return the sailboat to the dock.  I won’t be sailing with him again, at least not without a good chat that shows he’s submitting to my (legal and moral) authority as captain of the boat.


Edit:  For the record, the captain's authority and responsibility is universally recognized, both morally and legally.  Most of us take it pretty seriously and do what we're told by the captain, whether we agree or not.  Sailing too many dangerous aspects to be democratic.  So it's a pretty serious offence to do what he did. 

Evading School

I graduated from university in April of 2011. 

My program was tough for a couple of reasons.  One: it was night school, added on to working 50-60 hours per week.  Two:  I already work in the role I was being educated for, and sometimes had more knowledge than my professors.  Three:  Some of the students were competent, but some were complete morons.

I didn’t go to my convocation, graduation, or anything.  I wrote my last exam and walked out of the building exhausted.  I requested that my diploma be mailed to my house.  I ignored all the emails from the school (including one from my last prof, looking for a job).  I'm done, and just want to get on with my life.  I didn't make lasting friendships, I didn't have a life-changing experience, I'm not moving into "a new, exciting workforce."  I'm not twenty-one and moving out of my parents' house into my first shitty apartment.

When the alumni association started contacting me, I ignored them.  I have no interest in maintaining a connection with the school.  After 12 months, I received an email which threatened to stop contacting me if I didn’t reply to their requests for updates to my status and contact information.  Great, finally.

They have just started contacting me again, for a “where are they now” webpage.  And they’re starting to get annoying.

Maybe I should start making stuff up?  Like the Unibomber responded to his Harvard Alumni request – “the state of California has awarded me 7 life sentences for my accomplishments…”  hahaha

Going Down With The Ship

Last night was absolutely the worst time I’ve ever had in a sailboat.

My crew finished the first race ninth out of ten.  We didn’t finish the second race.  We didn’t finish the third race.

We have a crew of mostly talented sailors.  And even the weaker ones aren’t actually detrimental.  However, any of last night’s crew could have taken a boat of beginners on the water and done a better job than we did as a team.  Honestly, I didn’t want to have dinner and drinks at the clubhouse afterwards.  I did because it’s traditional, expected, and I’d have looked like a whiny bitch if I just slinked home with my tail between my legs.  And eating and drinking with friends afterwards was a bit therapeutic.  But didn’t erase the frustration of the race.

I’m not particularly competitive.  Normally I’m happy to just know I’ve done my best and had fun.  This year is different – we’re constantly in the last couple of places (if we finish at all), but can’t figure out the problem.  The first time we blamed the boat.  The second time we blamed the boat. At this point, it’s obviously not the boat, we have a different boat each night.

Really, I’m thinking it’s the management.  Not because I know what he’s doing wrong, if I knew that I’d tell him and we could fix the issue.  But when the staff are able, but still consistently failing, the leadership is the only other variable I can identify.

We’ve got a plan to identify our deficiency next week, and I hope it works.  I love sailing, but am starting to hate the races.  I considered possibly quitting the race team, just attending the casual sail nights, but would feel bad about leaving my team solely for poor performance.  This year, I may simply be going down with the ship.  Literally.

Consider Yourselves Punished

I'm in a grumpy mood today, and don't know why.

So i'm not going to write for you like some trained, literate, monkey.

No blogging today. 


World, consider yourself punished for making me cranky.

Snailblotting

Yesterday might have been the worst sail I've had in 12 months.

The evening was set up as an opportunity for members to shake off the dust, remember how to tie knots properly, and how to maneuver without making embarassing mistakes.  Or to just make them in the company of equals.

I was given a surprisingly inexperienced rating (by someone who I haven't sailed with) before getting boat assignment: with 1 very experienced sailor and 3 goggle-eyed gimps that couldn't aim the rudder.
I spent most of the evening bored out of my mind, sitting in the bow watching the horizon while the skipper taught the inexperienced members how to "turn to port, turn to starboard, no - other starboard..."  I really had to keep quiet - I didn't want to offend the inexperienced, and also didn't want to come across as a know-it-all.  I found it somewhat annoying that 3 of the 4 other people on board had been members longer than me - why didn't they actually try sailing?  Why ignore the membership you're paying for, only to arrive and impede me?  I understand that it's their right to attend as they see fit, but perhaps they should be assigned to their own crews.  That way my evening wouldn't be wasted.

I think the skipper noticed my boredom and started slipping the occasional racing tip into the "basic-level" instruction.  It would have been completely useless for them, and they wouldn't have noticed it, but it was good for me - this year my racing team's plan is to beat his team.  And we'll need all the help we can get!

I don't think I'll be going to the next one of these, or I'll get frustrated and end up like this guy:

Not My Friend

There’s a guy I have known for around 25 years. We had been close friends as teenagers, close enough that my family considered him one of us, and he thought of my parents as his. In my early 20s, when I left our small town and moved to Toronto, we lost touch. After a couple of years, there was a knock on my apartment door one evening – it was him! My old friend! We spent a few weeks visiting each other, but things were different somehow.

One night, he phoned me. “You’re a good guy, but we’re different now. I’m uncomfortable with the ‘gay thing’, and don’t think the relationship is really worth working past it.” That was it, the big fuckyou. I wasn’t particularly upset, I don’t regret losing bigots from my life. I went to sleep, I woke up the next day, I went on with my life quite happily.

Around a decade later (after I had come out as bisexual, not gay, and married a woman), he tried to get back in touch. He was lonely, his life hadn’t succeeded like he’d expected. I kept him at arms length, but politely. I agreed to meet for drinks once or twice a year, but the plans always fell through. This went on for around 5 years.

When my mother died this past winter, I phoned him. I felt it was important that he know, as she had been an important parental figure to him. He was really upset, I think he was even more upset than me. Maybe he also had the ‘surprise’ factor as he didn’t realize how quickly she was dying. After the funeral, a few close friends of the family went to a pub. He came with us. He managed to be completely creepy, and offended at least ½ the table. Still an ignorant bigot, but I don’t think he even realized that he was in the wrong. At various points in the evening, he was telling me how bad his life was. His family life is a constant fight, he has no friends, etc etc etc…

In some ways I feel bad for him. But there’s another side of me that wants to say “get fucked – you can’t do what you did and come back thinking nothing’s wrong!” I have even less time in my life these days than I did 15 years ago, and many more people I’d like to share that time with. So I don’t want to be his “pity friend.” But I’m also not interested in being combative and reminding him of what he did to me so long ago.

Falling Down

On February 13, I returned from 2 weeks in the Caribbean.
Four days later, my mother passed away. I spent the next 10 days dealing with family and funeral preparations.
The day after the funeral, I was back in Toronto. Preparing for a musical obligation that I’d made 6 months prior. True, the performances were a lot of fun. But the preparation took every spare hour and drained me of all my energy.
The day after the performances, and for some of the preceeding week, I was back to 12-16 hours per day packing, moving, and working in between. Yesterday I left the house at 7:15am, and came home at 11pm in time to make dinner and pass out exhausted. And this will go on until at least Sunday.

Looking back, I haven’t had more than 2 hours for myself since I was in the Virgin Islands. I think I’ve hit the wall, but can’t stop yet. The palms of my hands tingle, and I’ve lost some of the feeling in them. I’m eating Advil for breakfast daily. I feel like shit. Shit.

Next week I will sleep. Hopefully.

Oh, and have I mentioned? While I’m working this hard, my finances are spiraling out of control. I’m debating on giving up on sailing to get a part-time job. All that work for minimum wage (likely for pt) is something I don’t know if I can bring myself to do.

Liar or Fool?

A white, nazi-looking guy from suburban ontario goes to a hockey game. As the only black player on the ice skates towards the net, MiniNazi throw a banana at him.
In court, he says he didn't realize there would be racist overtones.

I think they should give him a week in the penitentiary, just to make sure that those overtones are addressed...

Opposing Forces

When I'm out sailing, I feel fantastic. There's an old saying that "a bad day on the water is better than a good day on land." And from what I've seen, I believe it. I'm picking up the sport quite quickly, and excelling by most accounts. I'm excited when fighting strong winds and big waves, and I'm relaxed when becalmed. So far I haven't experienced fear, but I'm sure it's on it's way. And it is a challenge that I'm somewhat looking forward to.

This weekend, I picked up my guitar and wrote a new song. I probably played it for 8-10 hours non-stop, developing and building the track. And I was elated. I loved every minute of the process - the inspiration, the creation, the mistakes and back-tracking…

Then I find myself back in my office. Biting my tongue, going for walks to calm my anger. At most 20% of my coworkers are worthy of any respect. The rest are useless dolts that are a drain on society. In my humble opinion. I actually hate these people.  Unfortunately, quite a few of the dolts are higher up the food-chain than I and can (and do) put me in stupid, frustrating, pointless positions. I'm looking for a new job, but until I find that I loathe half of my life at the moment.

As the days get worse while the evenings and weekends get better, I'm really noticing the disparity between the two. I really wish I could find a compromise, or a way to work my loves into a reasonable income...

So Hard

It's hard not to drink when you spend your day surrounded by those you loathe.

It's also hard not to hit or kick them, or simply quit and walk out into unemployment...

Underwear

Last night I bought underwear. I HATE buying underwear.   This is an item that you can't try on in the store, and can't return it due to the hygienic concerns. So once I find a brand/style that I like, I am religiously loyal.

Unfortunately, after spending $75 for 4 pairs last night, I got home to find that they'd changed the design. These are unwearable, and wouldn't fit a 10-year-old boy.

I've emailed the company to try to rectify this, so let's see what happens. Ideally they'll give me a refund. If they brush me off, there'll just be one more business on my boycott list (along with Bell Canada and Joe Bidali's Restaurants).

Bog Life

Sorry for the lack of posting lately.
I'm ramping up to finish my 3-year university endeavor. Considering I also work 40-50 hours per week, this has been a rough schedule and I'm looking forward to a loooonngg summer off.
And at the moment, it seems like my employer is doing everything he can to sabotage me. I've been assigned overtime work one or two evenings a week, as well as big projects over the weekends between now and April 14. They know that I'm bogged down with my current workload and can't handle more. While I don't think it's intentional, it is still in line with the general disrespect I've been given for pursuing a university education…

See you when the light at the end of the tunnel gets close enough to give me a tan.

Bad Start

This morning, I got into the elevator at the top of my high-rise apartment building. There was a mother already in there with her son. Her son had pushed EVERY BUTTON between our floor and the lobby. The mother idiotically smiled and shrugged.

When we finally made it to the lobby, the mother decided to teach her son some independence, and had him open the doors while setting up their umbrella. Keeping 4 or 5 of us frustrated and trying to squeeze past these morons.

When I made it to the subway station, a different MoronMom left her stroller blocking ALL THREE turnstiles while she dug through her purse to show the attendant her pass. Again, keeping everyone else from heading to work.

As I came down the stairs to the subway platform, a grey-haired man ahead of me stopped, in my path. Blocking the only way from the staircase to the platform.
I grumbled ‘excuse me’ and pushed past, hoping to not miss my train due to the 3 obstacles so far.

Of course, the subway doors opened to display a nearly empty car. That is, it was displayed over the two teenage boys that were standing in the doorway with their backs to the platform. They hadn’t looked to see if anyone was trying to get on, and didn’t seem to care. At this point, I pushed through angrily, shouting “f***ing MOVE!”
One of them looked at me, puffing out his chest, and confronted me. “What’s YOUR promlem?”
“A***oles like you are allowed to live with the humans,” I shouted. “get the fuck out of the way next time, or somebody might shove you under the f***ing tracks!”

I’m not having a good day.