Question: What can ruin a perfectly good day?
Answer: Taking transit.
Last Thursday was the first of the two-day long Magazines West festival of learning and schmoozing. Thanks to Melanie's urgings to join her in volunteering for the Western Magazine Awards (I soon found out that her motive was for self-preservation), I was able to attend, gratis, many of the seminars/workshops. They were held in a room with almost too much view in the Vancouver Renaissance hotel. And even though the door was distractingly noisy, we managed to absord some of the information which was being lobbed at our heads.
Thursday's seminars included tips to develop a one-year growth plan, a disappointingly rudimentary editing workshop (which was attended by some PF-ers and some folks from alive...it was good to see them), and a workshop on creating your editorial vision. We couldn't get into the Keynote address luncheon, so we walked done Hastings to find this fancy new chocolate shop, which has at least 30 different chocolate bars, delicious chocolate drinks (hot and cold, with organic peppermint), and fondue! We blew our budgets on cold drinks, and had to slum at Tim Hortons for sustenance before returning to the evening seminar.
When 5pm rolled around, I was safely in a good mood. I had seen some good friends (unexpectedly ran into someone I had worked with a couple of years ago), learned some good stuff, and had spent too much on a delicious chocolate drink.
Then I had to hop back on Skytrain in the middle of rush hour to get home. What ruined the day for me wasn't the crowdedness, the smells, or the white trash mothers. What ruined the day for me was the worry that while in that crowded car, inundated by the horrible smells and horrible children, that I might have caught whatever was causing that woman to calmly and quietly spew grossness into the battered paper cup she had with her for just that purpose. She did it all the way from Waterfront Station to the other end of the line in Surrey. There was nothing I could do but hold back the vomit, hold my breath, and hope that I wasn't breathing in her germiness while I waited for the crowd to thin so I can creep away from her.
I wonder if her name was Mary?
Answer: Taking transit.
Last Thursday was the first of the two-day long Magazines West festival of learning and schmoozing. Thanks to Melanie's urgings to join her in volunteering for the Western Magazine Awards (I soon found out that her motive was for self-preservation), I was able to attend, gratis, many of the seminars/workshops. They were held in a room with almost too much view in the Vancouver Renaissance hotel. And even though the door was distractingly noisy, we managed to absord some of the information which was being lobbed at our heads.
Thursday's seminars included tips to develop a one-year growth plan, a disappointingly rudimentary editing workshop (which was attended by some PF-ers and some folks from alive...it was good to see them), and a workshop on creating your editorial vision. We couldn't get into the Keynote address luncheon, so we walked done Hastings to find this fancy new chocolate shop, which has at least 30 different chocolate bars, delicious chocolate drinks (hot and cold, with organic peppermint), and fondue! We blew our budgets on cold drinks, and had to slum at Tim Hortons for sustenance before returning to the evening seminar.
When 5pm rolled around, I was safely in a good mood. I had seen some good friends (unexpectedly ran into someone I had worked with a couple of years ago), learned some good stuff, and had spent too much on a delicious chocolate drink.
Then I had to hop back on Skytrain in the middle of rush hour to get home. What ruined the day for me wasn't the crowdedness, the smells, or the white trash mothers. What ruined the day for me was the worry that while in that crowded car, inundated by the horrible smells and horrible children, that I might have caught whatever was causing that woman to calmly and quietly spew grossness into the battered paper cup she had with her for just that purpose. She did it all the way from Waterfront Station to the other end of the line in Surrey. There was nothing I could do but hold back the vomit, hold my breath, and hope that I wasn't breathing in her germiness while I waited for the crowd to thin so I can creep away from her.
I wonder if her name was Mary?
posted by kuzcolike at
9:02 PM
2 Comments:
we need to get you a set of earphones attached to a music source, right away. beliee when I say that my discman has averted many a transit-related slaughtering.
but obviously, music won't help you with the seeing and smelling that often goes with transit ridership. and this is where I advocate abrupt, impolite movement away from the source of distraction/annoyance. it feels rude, i know, but sane-ifying.
I wonder if there is a portable, industrial-strength air freshener/disinfectant combo?
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