Talkin’ about walkers & fries
What the Shuk?
Two items that require comment...
* In the winter, we’re all in a rush to get to class.
We duck our heads down, put on our best Clint Eastwood-esque
steely glare and boldly step forth into the snowy wilderness
to beat that 10-minute countdown to the next lecture.
Unfortunately, the vast majority of walkers have apparently
decided there’s enough snow around to cushion the blow
of an oncoming vehicle, and thus, they blithely stroll across
Western’s roads without any concern for their safety.
It’s quite possible these snow-suited death-defiers are
like Kenny from South Park and can continually return from
the grave without any consequence, but the problem is that
we drivers are left swerving, braking and swearing at these
idiots who just stare dumbly across the road like chickens
striving for the other side.
It’s even more of a farce once buses get involved. Last
week, I found myself stuck in a bottleneck in front of the
Natural Sciences Centre, between a school bus, a London Transit
Commission bus and a Chevy truck. Since I was driving my pint-sized
Toyota Echo, it was the vehicular equivalent of Danny DeVito
playing with the Los Angeles Lakers.
The reason for this traffic snafu (a traffu, if you will)?
A guy wearing only a leather jacket and no hat or gloves — despite
the -15C temperature — STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE
DAMN ROAD to look into his backpack. I can only hope he was
searching for a clue.
A reminder, boys and girls: before you cross the street, look
both ways. If the way is clear, go ahead and walk. If a car,
or bus, or Echo or Batmobile is coming, then stand and wait.
A few more seconds out in the cold probably won’t make
a difference between a cold and pneumonia, unless you’re
dense enough to wear only a leather jacket in the frigid weather.
* On a lighter note, what’s the deal with The Spoke’s
french fries? I’ve never been a fan over my four years
at Western, but at the beginning of January, The Spoke began
to use the same style fries as at The Wave. I rejoiced and
felt prepared to actually spend money in The Spoke for the
first time since I nearly set a high score on their old pinball
machine in first year (yes, I realize that it takes not just
a nerd, but a special strata of nerd to go to a bar and play
Then, a couple of weeks ago, they changed to their original
fry style, a thin, overly-spiced stick that tasted more like
gristle than potato. I walked outside and cursed the gods for
teasing me so... and then I was hit by a car while standing
in the middle of a campus road. Just kidding.
Now the fries have changed yet again. Version 3.0 now tastes
like McDonald’s fries except without the artery-destroying
amount of salt. Presumably, the snowplows are using that salt
for the roads.
So I’m once again happy, but wary of having my heart
broken again by the capricious whims of The Spoke. All I ask
is that you pick a fry and stick to it, not unlike the gum
stuck to the bottom of The Spoke tables by the class of 1983
that still exists to this day.