When it's hot, do not ...

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Last night I was stuck on a coach, or as you UK folk say - carriage - where it was pretty clear that someone responsible for HVAC at the maintenance yard forgot to set the thermostat for coach 2330 on the 16:53 LSE. Funny side story about using the 24 hr clock for the train departure: I helped a woman on Monday figure out the 15:20. "Math is hard," she said. It sure is, honey,

By the time we rolled past the Home Depot, it was so hot, my pants had ironed themselves.

I bolted from the coach once we reached Pickering, where I could climb over the people sitting on the stairs, only to discover that the next coach was also steamy. I'm halfway through my monthly fare of $335. I agree with fellow passengers who were also sweltering on coaches on other trains and on other corridors and expressing their rage on Twitter -- we pay a lot of money to sweat. We also pay a lot of money to sit on stairs...

A few weeks ago, I tweeted about a young businessman who had unbuttoned his dress shirt and rode the train the rest of the way to Oshawa like Fabio on a Harlequin romance novel cover. I had been sitting across from him. It was awkward. Yes, it was hot, but riding bare-chested? That's a lot of nope.

When I was walking through the coaches as the train left Whitby to find at least one that didn't feel like a sauna, I spotted Fabio. His dress shirt was off, but at least he had a white tank on. Still looked weird but perhaps someone said something to him?

Good.