Pique'n yer interest 

Lust and the daily commute

From the moment I first saw her sitting in that parking lot in Burnaby, I knew I wanted her. With a fierce desire. Her sleek shape exuded both elegance and charisma. Her composure - juxtaposed against the oil-dripped tarmac and seedy surroundings - was mouth-watering and exquisite. And while she didn't make much noise as she moved, you could tell something powerful was driving her from within.

Better still, she was cheap.

On Nov. 23, 2007, Susie the Subaru entered my life with a bang, and I haven't looked back since. Sure, these days her coffee holders don't pop out quite as quickly as they used to. And her beautiful silver exterior is now indented from the two times she accidentally backed into something (a tree, a white truck) faster than she should have. But despite her flaws - and her continual inability to estimate the laws of physics - she is the car of my dreams, and when I drive her around Whistler, my eyes twinkle madly with the glint of a proud lover.

To understand my lusty obsession with Susie, you have to understand that until that tempestuous day in Burnaby, I was one of them.

I was one of the people confined to public transportation. And by confined, I mean, well, confined. No matter what the weather, no matter how late I was to work, no matter how many litres of milk I planned to buy at the grocery store, I always had to catch the bus. I had to check the transit schedule. Get to the bus stop five minutes early. Mount the stairs. Pay my $1.50 fare (as it was priced then). Squeeze in among the other commuters. And patiently stare out the window as the metal beast trotted along Highway 99 oh-so painfully, painfully slow.

And then sometimes I had to transfer. And repeat.

Excuse me, sir, but do you mind if I bring this chair and this large mirror from the Re-Use It Centre on the bus with me?

Would it be OK if I also pile my six bags of groceries onto the floor near the front? Oh, sorry! I didn't mean for my apples to roll out of the bag and across the greasy floor. Not only is it annoying for everyone else, but I don't really want to eat them anymore either.

Hey! Bus driver! Can you hurry up, please? I only have an hour to get to my house and then back to the village! I know that may seem like a lot of time, but the bus only comes every half an hour, and it takes 20 minutes to get from Nordic to the village.

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