TTC gatekeepers

Tonight I left the office at 5:36. My building connects with the Queen subway and I keep tokens on me so I figured I'd use the subway to hustle and catch the 5:53 LSE since walking to Union takes me 15 minutes (I walk slow as I suffer from chronic heel pain) and I wanted to catch the train with minutes to spare so I could cop a seat.

5:38: Myself and another gent drop our tokens into the TTC gatekeeper's box.

What's a TTC gatekeeper, you ask? These are the guys (primarily) who sit in their ergonomic chairs (God forbid they stand like the men and women working 8-hour shifts at the grocery store and do their job) and make sure you put your fare in the box, provided they're paying attention. Sometimes they're busy chatting up a co-worker, or working a crossword puzzle, or sleeping ...

Usually, you'll see them reclined back, sometimes with a foot up on the gate or on the fare box. It is so blatantly rude - disrespectful - that it makes my blood boil. They say nothing, just stare at the box, or the wall, or the floor. No smile. No hello. They remind me of trolls minus the short stature and scaly skin.

You know ... these people:

Photo credit: Valentine Makhouleen

Back when I was in high school, there was a TTC fare collector (I'll use the correct term because this guy truly enjoyed his job and did it with grace and style) who worked the Jane subway in the morning (I grew up in Toronto's Bloor West Village). He said good morning, complimented people on their hair, colour of clothing, thanked people for riding the rocket, politely answered questions, smiled, tried to remember names, etc.

At Christmas, people would bring him baked goods, mickeys, mugs ... I knew when his birthday was and one year my bus buddies and I serenaded him Happy Birthday.

His name was Ron. This man truly loved his job. When I told him during my last year of high school that I wasn't going to my prom because no one asked - I went to an all girls high school, getting a date was a tad difficult - he said his son would go with me. I scoffed and went to school and gave it no further thought. The following morning, he had his son, Jason, come to the station to introduce me to him. He was one year younger than me, shy, but cute as a button.

We didn't go to my prom (which I really didn't want to go to even with a date). We went to see a movie (Encino Man) instead.

I went away to school in the Fall and it became impossible for Jason and I to stay in touch. Deep down, I knew I wasn't really his type, but he was still sweet all the same.

I don't know where Ron is today but I suspect he's long retired and living out in the country somewhere.

Anyhoo, back to tonight's troll. At the very precise second my token clinked and touched metal with the bottom of the fare box, a message was blasted across the PA system that southbound train service was stopped due to a malfunctioning train at Bloor. Trains weren't running. We weren't informed when service would resume. I turned to a woman standing near me and asked her how long she'd been waiting. She said 6 minutes or so. I asked her if this was the first announcement. She said no. I saw red.

Maybe I have high expectations but this troll could have said something to those of us paying cash or token fares. You know, like back in the good ol' days when TTC employees actually gave a sh-t about customer service and would tell you before you paid your fare there were delays and you may want to consider surface transportation, or walk. I rode the TTC from 1987 to 1999, six days a week, sometimes multiple times a day. I remember the collectors who were gracious and spoke up. They were younger then. Before they became bitter trolls.

I'm not saying all TTC gatekeepers are bad but it's primarily those who are close to retirement who have simply stopped caring. I can probably psycho-analyze why because working with the public and dealing with millions of personalities, language barriers, general rudeness, bad attitudes can beat down the best of people but you know what? They signed up for the job - good and bad. No one forced them into public service.

I approach the gatekeeper. He looks like he's been doing this for a very long time.

I tap him on the shoulder and say, "It's not the same is it?"

He looked at me. I waved my hand around me. "This ... the job."

I continued. "Because if it was, you would have covered your hand over the box, looked at me with eyes connected to a soul that cared, that took me for a woman with places to go, trains to catch and told me there was a delay and asked where I was headed. Not just me, but the man behind me, too. I was hoping to catch a 5:53 GO train and if I'd known, I would have saved my token and walked. At least I'd be sure to catch the 6:18 train instead of waiting around here for service to start up again."

He looked away, said nothing. I said, "Well thanks anyway."

I walked back out of the station, forfeiting my paid ride, and headed for the stairs. I wasn't going to miss the 6:18. I wanted to go home. I hate being late. Rolling in at nearly 8 pm isn't fair to my daughter who listens for the garage door and runs downstairs each night to greet me, holding the interior garage door open with a big smile on her face. It's the best feeling and I hate making her wait or missing sitting down to dinner with her and my husband.

As I walked away, the troll called out after me. I'd like to say he grew a heart but instead he hollered, "Lady, if you want a refund, call customer service!"

Funny, I thought I had.