- washboard abs.
- any abs at all.
- belonging to a team sport.
- belonging, full stop.
- having a nickname that wasn't used with derision.
- keg parties.
- scratch that.
- having a secret handshake/hi-five ritual.
- cruising down the strip.
- having a car to cruise down the strip with.
- knowing where said strip might be.
- having a favourite band.
- going to quirky cultural heritage days of which I'm weirdly proud.
- beach volleyball.
- not the "Top Gun" kind.
- not the "Dead or Alive" kind either.
- I'm not sure what I mean here.
- witheringly advanced political views.
- handing out Beat Poetry flyers.
- joining an amusingly mismatched club for a girl.
- getting more interested in the club's activities than said girl.
- a koi pond.
Thanks to Jay Morrison for the photo. Transit Drivers Bus drivers are an archetype in North American culture. In the imagination they are generous in girth, have staunch opinions about unions and eat 300% the recommended intake of red meat. The odd one adheres to a strict conspiracy theory, which they manage to work into the most innocuous conversations. At least, that's what's been ingrained in our collective subconscious along with "Han shot first" and "Dukakis, 1988". But transit drivers, like everyone else, are individuals. Unique, utterly one of a kind from the 5 billion others who roam this spinning mass of molten iron with the cool, carbon life-form infested shell. Sure, you see the reticent ones, who have a 100 yard stare and coolly watch passengers get mild hypothermia while they take their union-sanctioned 15 minute break inside their cozy bus. But there are other, more colourful characters as well. In my city, there is one that calls out every st...
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