The Vomit Tunnel

I don't want to be insensitive to people who suffer from bulimia. I understand that its a real disease. I get it. What I don't get is why there seems to be a Bulimia support group that meets in the underground passageway at Yonge and Eglinton station every morning.

Its cold outside. No one wants to wait for 2 sets of pedestrian crossing lights in the bitter cold at 8:00 am above ground, so they proceed underground to the tunnel under the intersection where they are shielded from the biting winds and slushy car-spray of the disgusting Toronto winter streets. I have noticed that for the past 2 weeks it has smelled like yak in said tunnel and I will not stand for it any longer.

Yesterday I approached the woman in the ticket booth and asked her if she knew why it smelled like upchuck. She looked at me like I was speaking Euskara. To aid her comprehension I proceed to act out a mime presentation of throwing up, holding my nose, waving my hand in front of my nose in a "pee-u" fashion and pointing toward the tunnel. Still nothing. She was totally unresponsive. Nearly comatose.

I have not moved above ground yet because of my investigative nature. While its nearly impossible not to myself throw up while making my way through the tunnel, I must admit I am kind of morbidly curious as to the source of the malodorous funk. Have you ever smelled over-ripe, squashed gingko berries? Pure hurl. Its like that only stronger. It literally assaults the nostrils to the point that your esophagus starts to expand and contract, gagging.

Tonight on my way to the subway, my co-worker and I were faced with the decision to use the tunnel. As we entered it I said (rather evilly), "Doesn't it smell like Pizza in here?" and she nodded. "....or barf" I added. I saw her nostrils expand and contract. "EW! IT DOES!" she agreed, clearly shocked and appalled. We covered our noses and sprinted to the turnstiles.