I live in a decently large one-bedroom apartment, with a den, in downtown Toronto. Given the state of the real estate market right now, there’s little I can complain about. Without a financial windfall to boost my sails, I’m not going anywhere for a good while.
I’d explain my qualms with the parking garage but that’ll just fire me up. It’s late on a Friday night right now and I just need to relax. Let it suffice to say that we are wholly inconsiderate when navigating through the narrow passageways of the three-level parking garage. It’s a game of chicken whenever two cars try to pass one another. Thank-you waves are as rare as baby pigeons. On the horseshoe driveway leading into the garage, the one-way signs are simply decorative and pedestrians politely leave the sidewalks unencumbered.
What really irritates me most about living in this building, however, is how the people who live within twenty feet of each other in any direction, separated by about a foot of wall, don’t say hello in the hallways or elevator lobbies. Not even so much as a nod. I’ve heard my neighbours have sex more times than I’ve said hello to them. Actually, I wouldn’t even recognise them if we took the elevator up together.
Getting on and off the elevator is challenging when other people pretend that you’re not there. Have you ever tried walking through an impatient person while carrying three large reusable bags of groceries? It’s a ballet.
I saw the Alice in Wonderland ballet once. I didn’t get it but did appreciate the athleticism and artistry. I knew before seeing it that I would never fit well into point shoes. Life has a way of foreshadowing after the fact.
I’ve taken to wearing my headphones whenever I leave my place. I escape into the music because I feel trapped when I walk out the door.
Leave a Reply