But my cheeks hurt
I THINK A LOT on the metro. Who should I mentally undress? Is anyone mentally undressing me? If we mentally undress each other, do I need to call her the next day? But what I think about most is the Peel-McGill Proximity Myth. The Peel-McGill Proximity Myth asserts that the Peel and McGill metro stations in Montreal are really, really, really close together. Whereas other metro stations on the Green Line keep a respectful distance, Peel and McGill are practically spooning. In this post, I argue that their relationship is actually more like two second cousins holding hands. Awkward, but not illegal.
Well. This going to make things a lot easier for everyone.
In order to do this, I decided to conduct a rigorous scientific experiment, recording the average times between Berri and Atwater on the Green Line. I would leave out everything east of Berri because what are those places and I would stop at Atwater because Lionel-Groulx is FAR. I’d ride the metro three times in total, recording the times from the door closing to the door opening, and calculating the standard deviation.
Then I realised I could just check the STM website.
I went to the website and couldn’t find the average times. So WEEE metro ride.
I settled into my favourite seat on my favourite carriage, the only seat I ever ride on: the loner seat on the natural selection carriage.
METHOD: HOW TO RIDE THE METRO
THE LONER SEAT
“Excuse me. Can I sit here?”
The loner seat is by far the best seat in the carriage. There are four basic categories of seats: the window seat, the aisle seat, the loser seat and the loner seat. The window seat, when attached to an aisle seat, forms a double seat. The loser seat, which is at a right angle to the window seat, is called so because when the window seat is part of a double seat, you’re forced to third wheel with people you don’t know, often a couple. Your legs intermingle but you don’t really belong. Even when the window seat is alone, it’s like you’re on some awkward first date, both sort of facing sideways away from each other in quiet alarm.
Me in the loner seat
In contrast, the loner seat is positioned apart from the others, a world of its own, a small kingdom in its own right. It’s the lone wolf’s rock, from where he howls at the Moon. It’s an Iron Throne, the seat of kings. You can read whatever you like on this seat and no one knows what it is. You can read Fifty Shades of Grey or even something worse, like whatever the sequel to that book is called. Half a Hundred Monochrome Hues feat. Penis. You will not be judged.
And this is my seat – the seat of wolves and kings.
THE NATURL SELECTION CARRIAGE
Or rogue Balrogs
The natural selection carriages are the second to last carriages. The problems with the end carriages are that a) they are cluttered with bicycles and b) when the metro breaks down between stations, they are most vulnerable to whatever waits in the tunnel. You peer nervously into the dark, then go back to Hues feat. Penis. But your imagination has run away with you. At any moment, cannibal pygmy men are going to rush out of the darkness like angry hobbits. Or a stampede of wildebeest. Or tyrannosaurs. All suddenly possible scenarios.
Happened to me between Berri and St. Laurent
The middle carriages are even worse, being both crowded and vulnerable to other kinds of attack. For example, the kind where simultaneous collisions at either end compact the carriage into a tin can. Or the kind where tyrannosaurs, woken from their peaceful slumber, take the end cars in their jaws and shake them like angry dogs would do, stretching and splitting the middle carriage in twain and spilling out people like candies from a piñata.
No matter how you think about it, the second to last carriages are the survivor carriages.
In sum: in every possible scenario, the loner seat in the natural selection carriage wins.
And it was from this majestic vantage point that I began recording times.
RESULTS: SEE PART II
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