Recently I had the opportunity to go on a vacation. Having had more than enough of my share of Chicago’s pleasant winter weather, I decided I wanted to go someplace warm and sunny.
I ended up in Toronto.
Although somehow it managed to be fun and relaxing, I have still concluded Chicago is better — objectively better — for a few important reasons.
Chicago builds character, see, while Toronto’s relative comfort manages to leave you confused and unfulfilled.
First, the homeless people are disturbingly articulate, even when they’re drunk. They speak in coherent sentences using proper grammar. They even respect you to the point where they pause between thoughts, so you can respond to them if desired.
Where the hell is the fun in that?
When I get on the Chicago Transit Authority Red Line, I expect a raving, chicken suit-clad, Bible-thumping, liquor-brandishing lunatic purporting the end of all sentient life, using quotes from the Book of Revelations as their only cogent justification. I pay $1.50 for a ride and a performance, dammit.
Second, nobody is paranoid in Toronto. Everyone is paranoid in Chicago. We look straight down when we walk. We try to avoid conversation and eye contact. We are flat-out terrified of falling asleep alone on public transportation. We refuse to give others directions, even if it’s to somewhere easy.
Watching people turn uncomfortable when approached is funny because it reminds you that you aren’t as insecure as they are. When people stroll around downtown Toronto with confident aplomb, though, you’re reminded that you aren’t much of a prize.
I’m sorry, but I’d rather be told that I’m better than the rest of the universe.
As an added bonus, never getting straight-up directions from anyone here means I get to write a book in 20 years about my hilarious adventures through the Land of Cabrini Green. I am convinced that, somehow, these events make me a better person.
Finally, there’s the transit system. Never mind that Toronto’s subways are so clean I actually saw a little kid eat candy off the subway floor without flinching or, more importantly, spontaneously dying. Or that “Sedgwick … is next. Doors open on the right … at Sedgwick” isn’t there to blast my ears out every 10 seconds.
Sadly, these aren’t as noteworthy as my never spending more than two minutes waiting for a train. The trains run with such amazing frequency at all times of the day that you have to wonder how high Toronto’s taxes must be to keep the entire thing in operation. As a poor college student, I still value not having my disposable income taxed into oblivion.
Also, I think waiting at 1 a.m. in sub-zero weather on one of Chicago’s pigeon feces-encrusted platform is a delightful experience. I someday hope to force this on my children out of misdirected revenge. So I see nothing redeemable about Toronto’s transit system over the CTA.
The uninformed reader could argue that Toronto’s benefits — Aero bars, good music stores, a low drinking age, different-flavored Corn Pops — outweigh its faults. I dismiss these criticisms as unfounded and irrational views.
Plus, the people who spout that kind of crap are probably Canadian.
Nick Disabato is a McCormick junior. He can be reached at [email protected].
