This post is a tribute to the metropass. It’s to the TTC metropass specifically, but I’m sure the same stands for metropasses worldwide.

The metropass has transformed my relationship to the city. No longer do I scrutinize over whether or not I should take the TTC, endlessly justifying a $3 journey. There are no more mischievous transfer extensions of  four or five hours, no more route planning minimizing transit use. I can no longer drop a day’s activity on some far flung end of the city because it’s too far, or because I’m not willing to dish out three more dollars to get there. It’s no more one off bus then done.

Instead, there’s me, the city and the TTC. It’s a network available to me at all times, beckoning me with it’s winding routes throughout the city, assuring me there’s enough time in the day to get out there and do it all.

The TTC may not be perfect, aggravating some to the point of public outrage due to delays or miscommunications or mutual disrespect between passengers and operators.

And the metropass is definitely not cheap — at $126, you need to take it forty times a month to justify its purchase (which is more than if you used it twice a day for a commute to work during the week).

But my emotional enjoyment of transit outweighs a simple cost-benefit analysis. I am no rational economic man, that’s for damn sure.

That’s right — I’ve been luxuriating in the metropass. Hopping on and off and on again; dropping my friends off at the subway platform; deciding to take a walk up Bathurst til I see the bus coming rather than waiting impatiently at the station. I’m vibing off the TTC and the Toronto it reveals to me (the 506 street car from High Park to Main Street Station — oh baby!)  — and the metropass — it’s my key to the city.