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Yesterday morning I went to catch the 6:15am streetcar, as usual. If I miss that car I'm in trouble, because it drops me at the GO station just in time to buy a ticket and catch the train to Oakville, where I'm spending my Sundays this term. If I miss that streetcar I have to pay a cab to take me to the nearest station. I preached yesterday, and didn't have a lot of money on me for cab fare, so missing the streetcar (and thus everything else) was not an option. So I got to the streetcar stop at 6:10am, also as usual. Just as I reached the stop it happened. *grumble* Oh, dear. *grrruuummmble* I was really hungry. *rumble grumble* The sort of hungry that only hits you when you stop doing other things and just sit. I was going to be miserable in church. There's a Coffee Time kitty-corner from the streetcar stop. I had five minutes. The modern fast is an hour before Mass, and the first Eucharist wasn't until 8am. Should I run for a donut and coffee? It's right there, but if something goes wrong...if the donut woman (whom I can see, for crying out loud) fumbles with the change or has to go find more coffee cups, I'd be stranded. Caught between a martyrdom of hunger and missing my connections, I chose the martyrdom. Sigh. *grumble* The streetcar came and I climbed aboard. *grumble* The car was almost as empty as my stomach as we glided through the early-morning gloom, the last greyness before dawn. I really like riding the streetcar at that time. There's no traffic, no noise. Somehow even the streetcar seems to be quiet, as if it recognizes the hush that blankets the city. *rumble* After picking up some more people and dropping them all off, I was the sole passenger, sliding silently along Lake Shore Blvd. Silent but for my stomach. I was thinking about asking my Oakville ride (there's a rota of church members who pick me up from the train station) to stop by a Tim Horton's on the way to St. Cuthbert's. It'd violate the already lenient one-hour fast, but I was getting desperate. Then it happened. Timmy's. Right there, like a vision of the banquet of heaven. A gleaming, internally-lit plastic sign of God's grace. A holy temple of coffee and donuts. I wasn't hallucinating. There's a Tim Horton's along the route to the Long Branch Station, and I've seen streetcar drivers stop there for coffee. They leave the streetcar in the middle of the road, lock the door (with the passengers inside, mind) and run over for a cuppa. This driver looked like a coffee-stop kind of guy. Dare I ask him to grab me a donut? I didn't have to...he stopped in front of the Tim's (as I knew he would) and asked if I wanted to run in with him. Joy! This was cool for two reasons, the first being that I wouldn't starve to death. The other cool thing was that I was allowed into the secret world of streetcar drivers. I know, it's childish, but the feeling was akin to what you felt when your grade-school teacher asked you to go get something from the office and you got to walk behind the counter, where the school secretary sat. There's a certain joy in doing something other people normally don't - like leaving your stuff locked on the streetcar and running in for some Timmy's with the driver. You feel included somehow. Anyway, I got the delicious pumpkin spice donut (as Amy says, it should be available all year, not just in October!) and some coffee. When the driver and I got back on the streetcar, we were suddenly great friends. He told me about his upcoming trip to the Dominican Republic, I told him about my sermon. All too soon we pulled into the station and I was off to catch the train. Which was fifteen minutes late. Oh, well. The epilogue of this story is that, when I got home at 2pm, I'd still only eaten that one donut. I went to the Brown Cow for a bite and let my hunger trump wisdom...I ordered the Big Breakfast without reading the description. It comes with four - count 'em - four kinds of meat. Steak, peameal (Canadian bacon), sausage and prosciutto. Four kinds of meat, three eggs and a pile of hash browns. All on an empty stomach. I'm still not right inside. P.S. - Jessica Alba has quit going to church because her pastor told her she was "too sexy" and was distracting people. OK, aside from the appallingly bad PR move, and the wretched example this dolt has set for a group that's supposed to be welcoming and open...Jessica, you can come to my church any time you like, and be as sexy as you please. And sit in the front row. Please. |
