Missed Connections

Chapter 1 - WTF?

Oh my GOD!

What the fuck was that?

My mind is racing as I practically stumble off the subway car.  Mind the gap? Not a chance.  I feel like I am spinning, and every part of me is flushed.

I am way more sensible than this.  Normally, I don't even notice anyone else around me when I travel on the Red Rocket. Music, reading, doing the Metro crossword, I have the commuter's game face down. Hell, on good days, I might even try the Soduku. Get messy, make mistakes! Be wild, do it in pen!

Shit.

Today was so bad at the cafe. We're in month two of track work in front of the store and even the regular customers are disheartened. I mean, I get it. Streetcar tracks get old and need to be fixed. But ripping up all the asphalt for weeks on end is just a little excessive! Get there sooner Toronto.

The shop was so quiet today that I swear I could hear the dust settling around me. At this point, I have mastered fancy milk pours and can practically make lattes in my sleep. The bean grinder barely masks the sound of my teeth grinding in boredom. But I show up and I do a damn good job. I need the money to pay for my rent and to go towards my tuition for University. A biochemistry degree won't pay for itself, and three years in, I know how true this is.

So, I am thankful that Mr. and Mrs. Ross have taken me on full-time this summer. I have worked for them since my first year and they have been like pseudo parents for me. Kinda nice seeing as my mom is far away and my dad is practically non-existent. And I firmly believe that family is more than just those with whom you happen to share genes.  That's why I was so taken aback when they told me today that they would have to cut my hours.  I am barely scraping by with my earnings as they stand, and I don't know what I am going to do.  I mean, I get it, a mom and pop shop can't keep paying someone full-time if there aren't customers.  But it sucks.  Hardcore.

It was with this sword of Damocles hanging over my head that I hit the subway.  Walking along Queen Street West, I practically dragged my feet.  I found no joy in watching the hipsters and millennials congregate around bars.  I didn't even take a minute to laugh at the virginal teens daring each other to enter the Condom Shack.  Annoyance, anger, and frustration took hold.  Then guilt for my lack of understanding for my "adoptive" family.  Add in the fact that it's Friday, and I am supposed to be getting ready to go dancing with my roomies (a terrifying reality!) and you can see why I was in the worst mood of my life.  No need to set a GPS for this black cloud.

When the subway car finally came, I plunked myself down, counting the stops towards St. George Station. I morosely descended the stairs to the Bloor-Danforth line, wishing and hoping I could find a seat on the car. The last thing I wanted to do was spent the rest of the commute sniffing some asshole's armpit because my 5'3" frame was too short for life. Gah!

I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I almost missed it. Thank God I looked up because that was the moment.

The moment everything changed.