Montréal chronicles 2.- The Metro

Dreammy/ Noviembre 29, 2016/ English, Personal


The metro scares me. I arrive in there and keep myself as far as possible of the boarding line. I have the feeling that someone will appear to kick me off the platform, in a Francis Underwood fashion, and bye bye Dreammy! No, I have not found news about this kind of accidents but it still scares me. I stand right there, just waiting the last moment until the metro stops, the doors open and everybody gets on.

Yeah, like this,

Yeah, like this,

But that day I was just going back to my place from shopping for some common goods : a covered trash can for my bathroom and a lamp for my bedside table. I was so proud of myself, going to the next metro connection when I found a crowd in the station. The train was broken. Stopped. Kaput. People were waiting in line (so Canadian) for service restoration while some huge security guards (so dissuasive) were maintaining the order to prevent people to hurt each other. Service would eventually restore but they never said when. So I was standing in there, with my annoying boxes and bags, dreaming of a good shower at home (have no idea why there is no air-conditioning in metro stations), getting in a really bad mood. It’s amazing how easily people get used to the good stuff. If I was in my home country, I’d easily jump in some full bus, with all of my packages, like a gifted acrobat.  

When the metro started working again, people clapped as the first bunch of passengers succeed to use the train again. I left my place to an older lady almost globed up by the multitude, who tried to keep its place. «Madame, allez-y» (you first, madam). It was not an act of politeness: the waiting line was moving fast and we would soon be at the beginning, on the edge of the train line. As long as she went first, she was going to fall down if someone kicked us in there. She’d go first and I would be left with my packages. I am a bad person, I know. I held my panic because Underwood doesn’t live in this city. I am not even that famous-for-their-scoops- journalist. I’m just a tired immigrant who wants to go back home with her lamp and trash can.