Get (it on) On the GO!

The other day I received an automated email from the Government of Ontario Transit System, or the GO Train, which I ride twice daily, five times a week. For once, it was not a notification of a cancellation or service disruption. This time it was a message about a contest they are having:

"In celebration of Valentine’s Day, we want to hear your stories of love. In 150 words or less, tell us how you found romance while riding GO Transit and you could win a weekend away for two at the Sheraton on the Falls hotel in Niagara Falls."

Now, I don't have any stories of love on the GO. Plenty of stories of frustration or petty annoyances, though. Many's the time I've wanted to rant about the things that have bothered me over the years about the delays, the unenthusiastic employees, the inconsiderate passengers, etc. But I've never really had the impetus to write before.

Until now.

I can't enter the contest, as there's just no way I can keep my writing under 150 words. (The eloquence of my keyboard shall not be quelled!) But I thought it might be funny to write a romance story that lets them know how some of us truly feel about their service. I give you, therefore, my GO Train-themed romance:





The Trudeau-era loudspeaker screeched to life, breaking the early morning silence as violently as if it had punched a toddler in the face.

"Attention GO passengers," droned a dead, soulless voice. "The 6:35 train to Union Station will be cancelled at Aldershot due to frozen switches and mechanical difficulties. On behalf of GO Transit, we apologize for the inconvenience."

An audible groan arose from the innocent paying victims scattered along the frozen expanse of the train station platform. Profanities graced the inner monologues of each of them.

"Sweet Jesus fuck!" breathed Brick, his square, granite-like jaw clenched in a well-practiced rage. "This is the third time this week! On behalf of GO passengers, go fuck yourselves!" Brick glared manfully at the loudspeaker.

A few feet down the platform, Cassandra could hold her beautiful young tongue no longer. "Those fuckers! It's always Aldershot! Why do they even bother having a stop at Aldershot? Those poor bastards never get a working train."

They turned toward each other in their exasperation, heaving with anger at the injustice of it all. Their eyes met, glistening with a communal ire for what must be the shittiest train service in all of Canada. In that moment, they made their connection... even though the train would never come.

Brick's eyes travelled down Cassandra's body, reasonably certain that beneath the layers of goose down, wool, cashmere and leather there stood an attractive body, lively and athletic. Cassandra looked hungrily over Brick's well-tailored winter coat and came to rest on his left pocket, wherein bulged so much promise.

"Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?" Cassandra asked seductively. “My boss told me if I was late again, I’d be fired," her lovely face suddenly obscured by the rush of steam created by her hot breath. "Fucking GO Transit," she giggled, secretly worried about her rent.

"Sure thing," growled Brick, as he dug in his pocket and handed her the phone. His heart skipped a beat as their gloved hands probably grazed one another in the transaction. Little did Brick suspect that the flutter was due to elevated stress levels caused by ongoing commuter strain.

As Cassandra called her employer and tried to explain how a train system built for life in Canada and funded by the government and a large well-paying ridership was once again crippled by the weather and equipment problems, Brick mused to himself.

"I would surely like to make love to this woman... provided my balls don’t freeze off while waiting for the next goddamned train."

Over the next two hours, the young people filled the interminable and deeply frustrating wait with jokes and stories, longing looks, and unrelenting criticism of the appalling transit system, as well as the asshole customers who made a bad situation worse. They watched as self-important wankers forced themselves on to already-packed trains, making the conductors wait until bums and briefcases were safely out of the way of the doors before anyone could move.

"What a bunch of asshats," opined Cassandra.

"I have a joke for you," Brick undulated sexually, as much to keep warm as to telegraph his feelings, "If a train leaves Aldershot at 8:15 in the morning, travelling at 80 k/h, how long will it take it to reach Union station?"

"That's a trick question," purred Cassandra. "A train has never left Aldershot. And probably never will." Her tinkling laughter disappeared into the crisp winter air like the hopes of every stranded passenger when the next full-to-bursting cattle car limped into the station.

The long morning wore on, and by the time they finally got onto a train, the two were completely frozen and half in love. They spent the train ride happily crushed into one another, barely noticing the umbrellas and oversized purses jammed unceremoniously into various parts of their bodies by their neighbours.

For once, Cassandra forgot to curse the idiotic passengers who, as though kept back by an invisible force-field of douchebaggery, refused to climb up to the next level of the train, thereby allowing everyone on board ample room and a small measure of human dignity. Instead, she silently hoped the object jabbing into her upper thigh was evidence of how much Brick liked her.

For his part, Brick alternated between trying to surreptitiously smell her hair and glaring bitterly out the window. His office building shimmered tantalisingly before him as the train stood immobile just outside of Union Station. "For Christ's sake," he fumed internally, "if you let me out right here I could walk on my hands and get to work before we even get into the station!"

A mere thirty minutes later their journey was at an end. Now they had only to endure the harrowing Bataan death march down the only staircase on that side of the platform, then back up again. Up and out to sweet freedom.

By the time the couple had finished the hellishly slow obstacle course, their fate was sealed. They parted with exchanged business cards, smoldering looks, and tingling naughty bits. Each was secure in the knowledge that this ritual was sure to happen again very soon... maybe even tomorrow, if it snowed.

THE END