I almost got into a fight.

On our way to IKEA, on a bus. We realised that we forgot to take transfers. My husband, the most polite man I know, approached the driver. The driver refused. “One is supposed to get transfers at the beginning of one’s trip,” he said.

I fumed. They just raised ticket prices, and I was not about to pay another $5 for the family. At our stop my husband and daughter got out through the back doors, but I approached the driver. I figured I could plead my case. I had a sleeping baby in a sling. I was polite. I looked harmless and innocent. “Please,” I said. “We simply forgot.” He was adamant. “What about ‘Toronto the kind?” I reminded him of the popular PR campaign.

“Toronto IS kind,” he said.

“You must be out of town, then. Please, I need the transfers.” He refused. I reached for his hand, as he was holding a bunch of transfers in it. He grabbed my hand. “I will call the police!” he yelled. “Get off the bus!”

“I am not getting off. I need the transfers.” I reached for his hand again. He shoved them into my hand. “Here!”

I laughed and jumped off. When he drove off, he gave me a finger. I stuck my tongue out.

End.