By Sadaf Ahmed

Disclaimer: This story is a satirical exaggeration. No exams were missed however the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) is really this annoying.  

It was exam season, and the impending doom of my final grades was already looming over me like a debt collector who knew where I lived. I was running on 23 minutes of sleep, ZYNs and one Red Bull that had fully replaced my bloodstream. I wasn’t a person anymore, I was walking, talking corpse.

My exam was at 9:00 a.m., so naturally I planned to leave an hour and a half early like a responsible adult just to give myself ample time to reach my impending doom. My commute is usually only 45 minutes, so I thought nothing could possibly go wrong. 

What I failed to consider that morning was that I was taking the TTC, an organization that does not recognize time as a linear concept. 

I left my house as usual and abandoned all my dignity by running to the station like a brave lion hunting its prey.

At first, everything was fine. The train moved, stations passed and I relaxed. I was going to make it. I thought I might even get there early enough to sit on the floor outside the exam room and stare at my notes while pretending I was actually learning something.

The train kept going as normal and reached Ossington Station when it suddenly came to an abrupt stop. My heart sank. “Why the FUCK aren’t we moving,” I thought to myself. 

The speakers crackled to life, “THE TRAIN WILL BE HOLDING AT OSSINGTON STATION DUE TO A SECURITY INCIDENT.”

I tried consoling myself. It should only be a few minutes right? We can’t be stopped for too long right? Right? Five minutes passed. 10 minutes passed. 20 minutes passed. The train was dark and silent. To make things worse we were stopped in the middle of fucking nowhere. No wifi, no ventilation, just sweat and anxiety. 

The stress of possibly missing my exam and the stench of urine mixed with sweat was making me nauseous. If I puked right here right now would that exempt me from the exam? 

I could email in sick or better yet: dead. After minutes of dread,  another barely understandable announcement came.

“THIS TRAIN IS NOW OUT OF SERVICE SHUTTLE BUSES WILL NOW BE RUNNING.” 

My hands started shaking, I was going to cry. Shuttle buses. The TTC’s final form of punishment. Getting off the train, finding the shuttle and crawling through traffic would take at least another fifteen minutes: fifteen minutes I absolutely did not have. 

I put my earphones in, but there was no music powerful enough to distract me from the reality that my GPA was now in the hands of a man wearing a fluorescent vest holding a clipboard.

A few minutes passed and I frantically tried opening my phone for other options. No service. I had no choice but to wait and think about my fate. After what felt like hours of silence came another announcement, “THE SITUATION HAS BEEN CLEARED THE TRAIN WILL BE COMMENCING SHORTLY”.

I let out a deep breath. I was going to make it. We started moving again after changing lines and  after another 45 minutes, I reached TMU Station. 

I had not run in years. Not for a bus. Not from danger. Not for my health. But there I was, sprinting for seven minutes straight, my lungs collapsing, my vision blurring, my ancestors watching in disappointment. By the time I reached the exam room, I was 27 minutes late and
spiritually broken.

Another three minutes and I would have missed the entire exam and failed the class.

As I finally took my seat, drenched in sweat and shame, I whispered the only thing that felt true anymore:

“Fuck the TTC.”