“Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
All my dreams just fall like rain
All upon a downtown train
Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
Every night-
Every night, it’s just the same”
– Tom Waits
We walk together in a well synchronized herd at a costive pace, trudging with heads hung low as we silently progress to our mark. Those who cross each other’s path don’t politely relinquish their way, yet somehow no one collides. Not a word is uttered, not a single conversation is taking place. We march in complete silence, pretending to be unaware of each other. No eye contact is made, and it is understood by everyone that human interaction is to be verboten as we slowly arrive at our destination. No, this is not a description of a group of zombies making their way across rural Georgia in an episode of “The Walking Dead.” This is a recitation of what’s happening at the Place St-Henri Metro station on a typical morning during the work week.
The sociological environment on the transit system is very different from what we’re used to in basically any other public setting. Those commuting via private vehicle waste no time in making eye contact with those in other cars or trucks, and will especially never hesitate to let each other know precisely what they think of each other, and in some cases will even exit their automobile in the middle of the road in a desperate attempt to try and get involved some good old-fashioned, mutual physical contact . Obviously, essentially 0% of the time, none of these interactions are an attempt at exchanging pleasantries with their fellow man, but occur solely because of some sort of slight that had transpired earlier in traffic. It’s usually never a productive display of kindred benevolence amongst those who travel via our roads and highways. The same form of interpersonal exchange happens at a disturbing rate on social media as well, where for the most part, one does not actually personally interact with another in real time. Often, they are thousands of kilometers apart, yet will stop at nothing to coldheartedly convey the most horrid slander upon someone who disagrees with their view about something as trivial as a hockey team, commercial for razors or Christmas song.
Yet none of this happens on the subway. In a place where hundreds are confined to the same area, with no bubble to shield their susceptibility and worst of all, having to intimately share a small compartmental space with their fellow homo sapiens, brazen behaviour is instantly cured by a huge dose of humility. Everyone is so eager to not step on anyone else’s shoes, they’ll go to great lengths to desperately keep their distance from one another. And when one finds themselves in a position in which they’re forced to interact, the “pardon me” that barely escapes their mouth exits in the form of a nervous whisper, like a late arrival at a funeral trying to get to their seat in the middle of the ceremony.
Of course the atmosphere I just described is not a constant on our public transit system, when human interaction does take place, it is almost always a cringe worthy affair due to its awkwardness, and sometimes can reach a level of absurdity. Incidents that happen on the metro always make for a captivating tale. In some ways, so little is happening when you look around, whilst almost everything is happening as well.
In mid-November of last year I blew out one of the tires on my Hyundai Genesis. I put the spare on but decided not to drive it to work until I could find the time to get it repaired properly. Instead, I opted for the STM, wondering how bad could it be? It’s only about a 15 minute walk to Place St-Henri Station from my apartment in “The Hank”, and then a 20 minute ride to Papineau with one line transfer. I convinced myself that I was doing a good thing anyway, reducing my carbon footprint in the midst of a climate crisis (something I could shamelessly virtue signal on social media) and I also wouldn’t have to barrel through the life and death shitstorm that is the construction laden city of Montreal nowadays. Plus I’ll probably save some money on gas. Winning! By the third or fourth day in, I started to realize that what is commonly held by most as a mundane way of travelling, could also end up being such a fascinating experiment in human intercommunication, pious synergy, and at times all out carnage.
So I started taking notes as I travelled to and from the eastern fringe of the downtown area every day. The following are some excerpts from my daily junkets that I’m sure anyone who has taken the STM on a regular basis can relate to…
The first thing you always notice when arriving at a new place, are the smells….
Wednesday, November 14th 2018
Reminder for some Metro users, there is nothing worse than an adult who smells like baby powder. Or more perplexing.
Then the real trouble began…
Wednesday, November 21st 2018
I know there’s loud noises coming from city hall about taking public transit right now, and I’m trying, I really am. But someone needs to tell them we no longer need their help with promotion, there’s already too many people taking it. However we do need their help in making the experience more civilized. I had to pass on 3 trains this morning, and the one I finally shoved my way into smelled like a dog blanket. This is almost a daily occurrence, and not helping the cause for climate awareness, or my virtue signalling. This dude and I were totally on the same page…
Monday, November 26th 2018
A man approached me and tried to sell me pencils today. His solicitation pitch was highly professional, and his presentation charismatic. He seemed very kind, and his attempt at making an honest living made me feel great empathy for him, however I decided to decline, as he only had 2H’s, and I’m not an animal.
More overcrowding on the Orange Line…
Thursday, November 29th 2018
Why spend 10 minutes alone in my warm car when I can spend 3 times that amount of time rubbing shoulders (and other body parts) with the shiny happy people on this morning’s metro car. All 42,000 of them. What fun it was to share stories (and not to mention profanity and viral bacteria) whilst laughing about how none of the children or elderly made it on board.
And again…
Friday, November 30th 2018
I noticed the passenger demographic on the Orange Line this morning mostly consisted of the young and the fit. A clear result of us collectively knocking down and overpowering all of the children, elderly, disabled and diseased in order to cram our way in. Survival of the fittest my friends.
Chaos…
Monday, December 3rd, 2018
I’m trying to be positive here, but my experiment in taking public transit is not allowing me to brighten my disposition.
I understand that it’s the beginning of the month and people are refilling their Opus cards, but what is beyond my comprehension is why there is only one machine available in one of the densest populated areas of the city. A line had formed that was at least 20 to 30 people deep by the time I had gotten there, and was rapidly growing. Assuming that each person averages out to about 60 seconds of time to use the machine, I knew I wouldn’t be able to even touch it for at least 20 minutes.
Go to the manned booth you say? Nuh uh. In a stunning display of ineptitude, the booth was closed, and soon a line started to form there as well. When the cashier finally stopped milling about inside and abandoned her post completely, the people took the law into their own hands. Like a public transit revolt of Che Guevarian proportions, man woman and child started hopping the gate and circumnavigating the turnstiles. I saw a man who looked to be in his 70’s contort his body around the bars in a way that would make Cirque Du Soleil take a long hard look at him for a future act. Business people, the elderly, private school students and clergy, it didn’t seem to matter what walk of life they came from, they brazenly and without hesitation broke the law with absolutely zero fucks given.
I must say I have no problem with those who did what they had to do in order to get to work or school on time. We uh… I mean they are obviously law abiding citizens who literally had their money in hand waiting to contribute to a system that seems to have completely betrayed them.
My first encounter with the Choo-Choo Five-O…
Wednesday, December 5th 2018
I was met with a line of the STM’s finest today as they stopped everyone on their way out in order to validate their ticket or Opus card with some sort of scanning device. An Orwellian procedure with no sympathy for those who may have lost or accidentally thrown out their tickets during their trip. Thoroughly organized and stringently implemented, the importance of doling out a $500 fine to possible innocents took precedent over the guy writing his name on the wall with his pee.
Thursday, December 6th 2018
The King of the Universe was on the train this morning, I asked him if he wanted me to fan him and feed him grapes as he enjoyed his travels. CTV Reporter extraordinaire Stephane Giroux shared my post with a more interesting caption…
Monday, December 10th 2018
Today I took a sneaky picture of a guy without his permission for the sake of a cheap laugh at his expense on Facebook.
The crowded Orange line narrative loses its humourous nuance…
Wednesday, December 12th 2018
Barely managed to get on the train this morning as it was once again packed with bodies. As it got underway, we slowly passed a woman in a wheelchair sitting alone on the platform who had obviously been there for some time, patiently waiting for a car with some space to get on board. Not a soul offered to sacrifice 6 minutes of their commute to exit the car, wait for the next train and give her priority. I couldn’t help but stare at her in shame as she watched us disappear into the tunnel.
Sunday, December 16th 2018
It’s my birthday today, and I received the best gift ever…
Monday, January 7th 2018
Rushed down the escalator and ran down the platform to catch a train before the doors closed. I made it. Sort of. The doors began to shut just as I arrived, and caught me with a left hook right in the grill. It almost knocked me senseless, and as I managed to stumble my way on, I made direct eye contact with a very pretty girl who quickly looked down in order to save me the embarrassment of knowing that she had borne witness to my misfortune. I thought that was a very kind gesture.
Tuesday, January 8th 2018
Made the train today without getting the shit kicked out of me by the doors. In a coincidence of astronomical proportions, the very same pretty girl was on the car I got into. I attempted to make eye contact again, hoping that perhaps she would remember me from my humiliation from the day before and we could exchange a smile. In a repeat performance of yesterday, she looked up, saw me and again quickly averted her gaze. The only difference this time is she wasn’t doing it in a noble attempt to save my embarrassment.
Monday, January 14th 2018
Today was No Pants Subway Ride Day on the Montreal metro, an event where for some inexplicable reason, dozens of people with what I can only describe as a semi-disturbing fetish, remove their trousers during their commute. I’m not so sure what’s so unique about this event, it’s pretty much something that happens on our transit system every other day as well.
Wednesday, January 16th 2018
It’s a disgruntled metro commuter’s dream to happen to board the same car as the Vice President of Montreal Transit. And even though the trains were running smoothly, for poor Craig Sauvé, it was the most nightmarish ride of his life, having to listen to my bullshit all the way to Champ-de-mars.
This may come as a surprise, but I still continue to use the metro. With all of its shortcomings and despite my mostly trivial complaints, I’m a firm believer in public transport. Is there room for improvement? Of course. Should it expand and its opening hours extended? Most certainly. But after becoming more attuned to the subtleties of the setting, you realize that public transit users cannot in good faith be relegated to the herd of zombies I described earlier. As much as you may see the worst examples of human behaviour, the majority of the social interaction that does take place amongst these common travellers are ones of decency and at times, heroism. Young people spring to their feet and up from their seats when they see someone with limited mobility enter the car, sometimes several at the same time. I’ve seen people grasp on to complete strangers in order to stop them from falling when the vehicle braked suddenly. I’ve witnessed others carry baby carriages up and down the stairs, picked up a wallet from the ground and run swiftly to the person who had dropped it, and watched as those who are on their way to high paying jobs shared an area with the homeless in a context where there is no system of class or superiority. I’ve seen subtle exchanges of smiles, nods, laughs and overall common courtesy. And all of this reciprocation taking place between people who have never met before, and will never meet again. I’ll gladly indulge in this unique form of awkward intimacy with my fellow brothers and sisters any day over a 45 minute car ride at 8 AM on the Decarie.
Oh and by the way, after intense negotiations, I did indeed end up buying a couple of those pencils. I’m not a total prick.
