The Transit

Tell me if you've heard this before but do you ever feel angrier when you’re on the subway? And I don't mean "Oh that old bean really gives me the heebee jeebee's" or the "I sure do have a case of the Monday's" but the "If anyone looks at me wrong, I'll give them the battle axe" angry.

For some reason or another, I find myself to be at my angriest when on the transit in Toronto. I've recounted several occasions when I've not only stared at people thinking of all the horrible, brutal, and disturbing things I could do to them, but how soon and what's stopping me.

Just today, for example, there was this young thuggin guy right in front of me who was staring at another person across from him with those "I'm gonna cut you" eyes, which in turn made me do the same to him. I thought if he makes a move, just one, I'll puncture his throat with the corkscrew I carry in my bag. (Side note to those wondering, I always have a corkscrew and a bottle opener on my person at all times, as I am a Debonair Saucier).

He of course did nothing and coincidentally got off at the same stop that I did, and the second I got outside I was chipper and dandy as I was before I'd entered the subway.

Those who know me, know I've never been a violent person and always discourage violence, even petty play fighting. But I just can't figure out why the subway turns me in to Ted Bundy. It's as if the TTC brings out the side in me who's desperately trying to get out and kill, kill, kill.

I can remember one day specifically where I got so deep in to a conversation with my friend Stan which left not only him, but an innocent old lady, terrified. It kind of went like this...:

Stan: So I was all like BAM cock in the face! And she was all like OH NO THERES A WIENER IN MY FACE, but it was fuckin GNAR man (makes a brap, brap motion) She totally had it fuckin coming cause she was fucking stupid. EPIC cock smack though.

Tim: do you ever think about murdering people? Like anywhere? Even here?

Stan: no, but like this one time I fuckin EPIC farted in this guys face while he was sleeping and he woke up puking cause it was sooooooo stank. (For those wondering, Stan is obsessed with Neil Patrick Harris)

Tim: like do you ever imagine that perfect murder which is so precise, down to every detail, that the only thing that could come of it is perfection? Like the perfect self-gratification. Almost as if you've mastered your domain.

Stan: dude seriously, your harshin my buzz right now, like, epically.

Tim: No I'm serious man. I have these dreams where I see someone on the subway, minding their own business, and as they get off I casually follow them on their way home. This is of course late at night (I start chuckling) but the second I know their guard is down I slip the knife in to their jugular holding them until they're down, turn their head and make sure no blood touches my gloves. (Chuckling more) I mean even if it does, you know where to stash it because they're disposable and you could probably just burn them anyways. But just seeing them die right there, knowing you've perfected your art would just be so satisfying, so enthralling, you know?

(By now the 70 year old European woman sitting beside me has edged so far off her seat that she's practically hovering, staring at me with eyes so wide it's was as if she'd seen me do this.)

Stan: dude you're seriously fucked up.

Tim: really? You think so? I thought everybody had these visions, these PERFECT visions.

Stan: no dude, just you.

Tim: fuck man that sucks. So really, you've never thought about killing an innocent person, or even someone who has really wronged you? I mean that's totally common, if you counted that then I would've killed hundred's by now, had I acted.

Stan: no dude, just you.

Tim: shit......oh well, who the fuck cares, we can all have our fantasies right?

We're now at St. George station and the woman gets off, staring at me the whole way, frightened and seriously disturbed. I see her take off her hat, wipe her face, shudder, then she took one last, long look in to my eyes which were staring dead at her.
I slightly turned my head and grinned.

Stan: You terrified that woman. She was staring at you the entire time you were recounting...whatever the fuck you were just saying--

Tim: you mean my perfect murder?

Stan: Yes I mean your perfect murder!

Tim: oh well, fuck her if she can't take a joke.

To this day, I've never said anything along those lines when en route anywhere via le TTC, but I'll always remember that woman’s horrified face.

It was this situation that's always had me wondering, why the TTC? I can't for the life figure it out because I take it at least two to three times a day.

Though I have to admit, there have been times where my evil drunken Blue Night stares have benefited me.

One time when at a friend’s late night cabin hangout, I was coming home with a bunch of friends who insisted on taking a cab. I being the cheap ass said for them to fuck themselves while I enjoy my ride on the Vomit Comet. When I arrived and boarded on said Comet, I was immediately confronted by the stares of about 14 big Venezuelan's, Colombian's, and El Salvadorian's. Being the "tough" guy that I am, I stared directly in to all of their eyes making sure they knew I wasn't fucking around (mind you, had they known I was also terrified, it would've resulted poorly). This sustained for about thirty seconds until one of them leaned over and said right to my face, "Do chu have a (breathing heavily) ffff-huckin problem jo?" I quivered, sat up straight and said, “fuck no, do you?"

Their immediate response, as a group, was "AHAHAHAHAHAHA chill de fuck out mane, have f-huckin drink!" All of a sudden four bottles of moosehead and a liter of cheap vino came flying at my face. These guys couldn't have been nicer or more generous because by the time I got off the bus I could barely walk, which was a surprise to my cab friends who were shocked when I showed up to the house and promptly knocked over the bar-b-que saying, "I told you you should have (Hiccup)takin the fackin blue night...CRASH"

Thus, my murderous attitude got me far drunker than I was. But what does the future hold for me? What happens when one day I do act on my "perfect visions"? What happens when I stare down someone who really does have a problem with me? Either, way someone will be killed, or become very very drunk.

p.s. do you think I should see a psychiatrist?