The Superiority of Canadians

After a week away from Ottawa, I've had a chance to see how the other half lives. By "other half" I'm referring to people outside of Ottawa. My "friend John" knows I'm hard on my city and critical of the people who are a drain upon it (i.e. the citizens who don't vote, the voters who vote for the same incompetent boobs year after year (Bob Monette excepted), and the incompetent boobs who are elected year after year - Bob Monette excepted).

So I was pleasantly surprised to meet nothing but friendly people when I was in Sarnia this week. It's a working class town that seems to be chock-a-block full of kind, polite and talkative people. This compared to the usual Ottawan who is rude, inconsiderate and mute when spoken to. Yes I'm generalizing, but without generalizations, assumptions would lose their appeal wot!

So like I'm in Toronto to catch the train back to Ottawa, and am directed to wait in the Panorama "Lounge". Apparently it's a first class facility for those who are travelling Via 1 (the Canadian Peoples' Railway's version of first class).

So like I'm in the lounge, minding my own beeswax, and it is standing room only for those who are privileged to enjoy the perks of travelling Via 1 (second to none!). (I guess they haven't figured out that if you have 40 seats in a lounge, and there are four trains leaving at about the same time, each with about 40 passengers in the Via 1 car alone, there may be a bit of an overflow.) Oh well, what can you do eh? We're lucky to be Canadian so let's have a free tomato juice!

So like anyway, I'm surrounded by SHATs (Standard High Achiever Torontonians) who elbow each other out of the way to get to the free coffee and other non-alcoholic beverages. I imagine it would be bedlam if they had booze. Thank God we Canadians have made drinking almost illegal.

Across from my hard-won seat is a French Canadian couple (not that there's anything wrong with that). He, trashingly resplendent in his jeans, white socks, Nike shoes and a 27-year-old leather jacket; she, alluringly ugly in her 34-year-old Harley Davidson jacket, jeans and Nike shoes (wow, they have the same shoes!). Her trousers have two-inch slits up the outside of both legs, with strips of material holding the pants together. The white puffy flesh of her jambes pokes out of the openings, and is speckled with cellulite, which increases in size as one's gaze moves upward. Her oily hair is tied back, revealing a flabby visage blotted with Mr. Limpet-style lips, and bulbous eyes that remind one of Sir Winston Churchill.

A RIP (Really Important Canadian) SHAT strides in purposefully, cell phone attached to his ear, and stressed to the max. He plunks himself down and says, to nobody in particular, "Damn train to Montreal is delayed by at least 30 minutes. Some asshole got himself killed on the tracks, so we'll be late!"

No one looks up from their complimentary Toronto Stars and coin-machine lattes.

Yep, Canadians sure are better than Americans.