Advice on how to be a civilized Torontonian
I recently went to a Canadian Tire to get some work done on my car. As the young man at the counter explained the cost breakdown of the services, he drew from his chest pocket a fidget spinner and began twirling it. I was dumbstruck. This was not an antsy six-year-old waiting for an ice cream cone or an ADHD-afflicted tween passing time on the TTC. This was an adult in a professional setting. Where do we draw the line on this stupid spinner craze?
I hate to break it to you, but what you describe is hardly the most alarming use of this particular toy (google “fidget spinner hair curlers”). The craze is indeed ridiculous. But so is your ire: you’re at a Canadian Tire, not the Four Seasons. And, as far as I can tell, the spinning spectacle—while bizarre— didn’t affect the quality of service you received. It’s probably safe to assume that cost breakdowns aren’t this 20-something’s passion. If playing with a toy is what gets him through his mindnumbing job, then so be it.
Dear Urban Diplomat, My co-working space has a bunch of great amenities, but one seems to get used a little too often: the beer tap. This summer, some of my officemates have been downing multiple pints over lunch—and getting pretty rowdy in the process. It’s become a serious distraction, and there’s no “boss” to crack down on it. In fact, one of the perpetrators is an office administrator. I don’t want to leave the space, but I can’t work like this. How do I get them to tone it down without seeming like a teetotalling buzzkill?
—Jeff Sober, Queen West
To start, read the room: can you feel anyone else’s resentment reverberating through the open-concept office? If you’re not alone, gather a couple of other diligent workers and approach (or contact, if they’re off-site) the office brass. Let them know that, while you love the space, the liquid lunches are harshing your productivity. If they care about
their bottom line, they’ll tame the party. But if no one else seems fazed, or if your revolt gets dismissed, it’s possible the office isn’t for you. Move on and search for a space with a little less frat-like folly.
Dear Urban Diplomat, I was taking the King streetcar home during rush hour the other day, and it was a cramped, sweaty nightmare. About 10 minutes into the ride, a young woman pulled out her phone and accepted a FaceTime call. She proceeded to have a 20-minute conversation, narrating, in R-rated detail, a recent onenight stand. Without headphones. And there were kids on board! A couple of people gave her the angry side eye, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak up. Should I have said something?
—Hot and Bothered, Mimico
Anyone with an ounce of self-awareness knows that talking on the phone is a cardinal sin of commuting, up there with leaving your bag on a seat or clipping your fingernails. FaceTiming, in which not one but both sides of the conversation are audible, tops my list of transit misdemeanours. There’s nothing prudish about asking a stranger two inches away from you to refrain from giving a sexual play-by-play. You’d be justified in hushing them whatever the subject matter. But I’d be surprised if your shaming swayed someone so brazen. Clippers gonna clip, and gabbers gonna gab.