Beach Day

Hi Internetters! It's Moo, welcome to my blog entry!

This one is about the beach. I feel like there’s always an invisible pressure to go at this time of year. When I think of beaches, I have a boyband music video playing in my head, complete with images of youths running around on the sand, in their tiny shorts and “beach zip” hoodies. Does anyone else want a zip-up hoodie now? Curse the age of consumerism! Anyway, let’s dive in.

——

I went to the beach.

Nope. I can’t say that yet. I attempted going to the beach.

Actually, I attempted TWICE to go to the beach, and I am now convinced that Toronto is actively against me.

Maybe it’s because I refused to participate in its materialistic culture toward the “beach life” and didn’t buy a zip hoodie. It is now wrathfully plotting against my every move towards a day of low-cost relaxation.

The first time I attempted to go to the beach, my period came. I still fought and walked. Only to give up half way due to cramps, feet pain, and an intense intolerance at the swarms of people downtown.

The second time I attempted it, I calculated the timing so that it was as far away from my period as possible. I looked up a bus route on google maps to avoid any unnecessary walking.

Because of my lack of sense of direction, I still walked a good thirty minutes, only to find the bus stop at a spot I’d already passed three times. And it was pretty much downhill from then on.

The stop was next to a concrete building with open staircases, which provided some shade to a blindingly sunny spot. Twenty minutes had passed. It didn't come. This might take a while, I thought, settling my bag down and taking a seat on the staircase. I was prepared to wait for the long haul. This doesn't phase me, I've had my fair share of slow busses in the past.

A tall man dressed in a black business came by, leaning against the concrete wall and talking on his cell phone, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. I looked off into the distance, there was no sign of a bus.

A small middle-aged man in a windbreaker stood in front of me. I couldn't fathom why anyone would wear a windbreaker in the 30 degree heat, but he did. He carried what looked like a bag full of oranges, paced back and forth impatiently, repeatedly checking his wrist watch. The bus still wasn’t there.

A young woman with a small Gucci sling bag came by. She was wearing a tube top, which I thought was appropriate for the weather. But when you looked at her bottom half she had on a pair of black, thick thick denim Levis that seemed to cling to her legs like glue. What ever cooling effect the tube top had was definitely cancelled out. She smoked two cigarettes at separate intervals, while talking on her cell phone, aggressively shouting “Shut UP! No. Way!” The bus still wasn’t there.

A group of backpack wearing young travellers came by, wondering out loud where “Bus Number 501” was. A flamboyant man in a salmon-coloured tank top told them, “That's not a bus.” For some reason, they decided to wait anyway. No bus.

This bus route must be popular. These people must all be going to the beach. I thought. Somehow the disappointment in the lack of bus had turned me naively hopeful. How ridiculous of the City of Toronto, putting such an infrequent bus in such a busy spot. Don’t they know that everybody want to get to the beach? At least we suffer together. I said to myself, taking comfort in the fact I was not the only one at the hands of this injustice.

The business-suit blew out his cigarette and left.

Finally, a bus came. But it was not the bus to the beach.

One by one, the OrangeCollector, ThickDenim, 501-Seekers, and SalmonTank all stepped on. And the bus left.

I sat there dumb-founded. What? You mean, they’re all not going to the beach? Where are they possibly going, then? Where is MY bus? Does my bus even exist? I felt like the city was pointing its finger and mocking me.

Another twenty minutes had gone by. Without the strangers to keep me company, it felt like an eternity.

I promptly got up, dusted my butt and left.

Decidedly, this beach and I aren’t meant to be.

I am looking up another beach, another bus. Another day, I am going there. Just you try and stop me this time, Toronto. It is on.

—-

Thank you for reading guys. I haven’t gone to the beach yet! Hopefully, I’ll be updating you soon. I caved in and got a a reasonably priced zip hoodie from Old Navy, so my beach consumerist has been indulged. I imagine Toronto will look on and say “Pass”, or maybe not.

See you next time!