By Emerald Bensadoun
Picture this: You wake up every morning at 8:30 a.m. You’ve got a 10 a.m. class, which might make 8:30 a.m. seem a little early–but let’s face it, looking as good as you do takes time and effort. Beauty sleep can only do so much. It’s OK. I feel you.
Maybe you’re leaving from Union Station, maybe Bloor. Who knows? Not me. After a semester and a half, you’ve timed it perfectly. If you leave 45 minutes early, you can account for any onslaught of traffic that might occur and still have time to hit up Tim Hortons on your way to class, starting your day with a balanced (if not slightly burnt) bagel.
But you’re still late. You’re still so fucking late. Why, you may ask?
Because for whatever reason, unbeknownst to all of mankind, striking nothing but bewilderment and resentment into the hearts of many a commuter, despite the fact that these people–often paired with briefcases or school backpacks—are clearly using public transit to get to somewhere at a reasonable hour, they are walking as slowly as fucking molasses. That’s right. It’s already 10 a.m., and these sloth-like creatures are going down and they’re taking you down with them.
At some point during your journey towards higher education, you might think, “I’m off the bus, away from the TTC, I’m safe now.” You might think, “I’m on campus, I’ll be there in five minutes tops!” You might have even deluded yourself into thinking that being in the same building as your designated class will save you from your tardiness. But you’re wrong.
Because as you begin to jog a little bit, sometimes going as fast as to move into a delicate sprint through the halls, it dawns on you: you’re still moving faster than everybody else. Nobody has picked up the pace. Some of the more spatially challenged have even stopped in the middle of the hallway in obscene “hello” gestures of camaraderie, and what’s worse is that now you’ve only got approximately three measly cubic meters of space to weave through your dreaded peers.
Let me start by saying: THIS MAKES NO SENSE. If you have to get somewhere, shouldn’t you be walking at a reasonable pace? And I mean really, who stops in the middle of a hallway? IT’S CALLED A WALL OR ANYWHERE ELSE TO SAY HI. But I digress. It’s the cruel world we live in.
You may be feeling a little bit hopeless right now, thinking, “Wow, I’m fucked. Guess I’ll just start waking up at the crack of dawn,” but I urge you fellow normally-paced-walking-Ryersonians, do not despair. You are not alone! Be vigilant in your eternal damnation, continue to spread awareness and be the snarky asshole that gives that holier than now “come on, really?” look, and has the courage to say, “Hey man, don’t stand in the middle of this hallway, people need to get to class.” Do your due diligence.
Do you wanna know what really grinds my gears? The human sloths of society, that’s what. If you’re reading this and think that you might be part marsupial, be conscious of your shortcomings, do us all a favour and pick up the pace.
And to you, my knights in shining armour, and those who dare to walk a normal, if not slightly over exaggerated speed. Remember: ours is the fury.