Sunday is really the only day I can sleep-in. With our stressful work and family schedules, I'm sure this is also the case for many of you. I'm not a natural early-riser, but I have trained myself over the years to wake up at 5 am from Monday to Saturday for the job(s) that pay for my nice comfortable bed, among other things. I truly relish the only quiet time I get during the week - Sunday morning.
But today I was jarred awake at 6:30 am by the disagreeable sounds of a third-string reggae cover band blasting over a warbly PA system. The wail of unrelenting airhorns and shouts of "woooooooooohoooooo" rose up from the voices of thousands. I went to the window thinking that Jamaica had finally invaded Canada, just like they've been threatening to do since their devastating loss in Bobsledding at the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary. In theory, I'm okay with this, because I figure that cannibis legalization is imminent.
Then I came to the disappointing realization that the loud roar was actually this year's first charity marathon. I seem to forget about this annoying wake-up call through the long winter, but these weekly "fun runs" start in early spring and take place roughly every weekend until October. Thanks to my prime location in the heart of Joggersville (see photo), most of these marathons set up their starting line activities and concert stages just outside my window. There's always a bad PA system, a couple of nasty live bands, waves of cheering and applause, and plenty of garbled, monotone announcements, similar to a subway car, when everyone looks at other and says "huh? what did he just say? Are we in some kind of danger?" It's a bit like living in Jonestown, minus the free refreshments.Charity run participants: Bless you for hauling your tight little asses out of bed so early on a Sunday to raise money for disease research, hospitals, sick children's camps, and other shit that our government can't be bothered to fund. I appreciate your excellent intentions, I regularly support your efforts through my donations, and Big Mama Karma will award you with your 2-minute mile, or a heart attack, depending on how honest your personal agenda might be.
But at this time of day, please use your indoor voices. I understand that all 9,000 of you are high on wheatgrass smoothies and really pumped about the 10 kilometres of adrenaline that lie ahead, but the rest of us, the people who live here, are SLEEPING. We'll share your excitement in a few more hours, but right now, we'd be grateful if you would shut the hell up.
4 comments:
I HATE all the summer marathons in Toronto. Luckily I don't live too near a start.
As someone who values sleep over human life, I empathize with your plight. I am also shocked that Canadians get excited or ever raise their voices above a whisper, as I had been led to believe that the entire country was like a giant library.
I must admit I'm torn here: I want you to achieve the sleep you so surely deserve, but at the same time, I want to continue to read lines like "like living in Jonestown, minus the free refreshments."
The picture, however, would lead me to side with you, as it looks like a bad zombie movie. If a wave of those folks ran at me, I'd grab the best weapons I could find in the house (sadly, they'd be a colander and egg whisk) and go down fighting.
Or, I'd put poison in some dixie cups and pass them out whil pretending to cheer.
Snooze: DITTO! back in the good ol' days, these walk/run-a-thon things took place down in the Financial District where there's no residential areas and no one was disturbed by the mayhem. Now there's way too many of them I guess, so they're bound to encroach on quiet neighbourhoods. I shall pray for you ,Snooze - I hope you remain safe from the frenzy.
Pistols: Truth be told, my balcony is a most excellent sniping point, but I don't want anyone to get hurt! I just want them to ssssshush.
You are a kind and generous person, Kat. I must figure out how to exploit this to my advantage.
When I used to be awakened by the same car alarm every morning, I dreamed of little else beyond ways to destroy the car without being caught. My then-girlfriend and I would lay there, throwing out sledgehammer-based suggestions, or my "fill a water pistol with pee and douse his car. Best of luck keeping a paint job after that" plan.
And once the car stopped beeping and our hate vanished, turned out we didn't have anything else in common.
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