Based upon requests of various interested persons, I've started a diary of my experiences after the EVENT. Hopefully they will help other centaurs with problems. And, of course, any others who have other problems that need solutions or have alternate suggestions should feel free to contact me at mwbard@sympatico.ca.
  And, since I at least try to write, I've tried to keep true to my experiences, and make it at least a little enjoyable to read.
  Oh, and (of course) names and places of others have been changed to protect the innocent and all that.

  Jan 25, 8:20am
  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  Wha?
  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  RING... .
  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  It was the door buzzer and the phone.
  Yes, I know I said that I could sleep and work through almost anything, but then I also said that I have certain key sounds and phrases that, I guess, my subconscious keeps an eye on and lets me know if they occur. The smoke detector beeping was one. The phone was not -- that's why I have an answering machine. But the door buzzer was.
  BZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  I stumbled to my feet scattering the cushions and blanket, staggered backward, bumped my rear thigh (although I think that anatomically my rear legs had the thighs and hips and my fore legs the arms and shoulders, but those might not be the best terms anymore) on the chair, stopped and rubbed my eyes and then stretched.
  BZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  Ah hell.
  At least mostly conscious, I backed up, rotated around, and made my way to the speaker and reached to press the talk button and then stopped.
  Who would be buzzing me now? And what time was it?
  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  I backed up and leaned down and checked the clock on the VCR. Eight twenty-three.
  Eight twenty-three?! In the morning?!!!
  Angrily I spun back and clomped back to the speaker, and twisted until I faced it. My friends know better than to call on me in the morning. And, anyway, they would think I was on my way to work.
  BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
  Instead of pressing the talk button, I pressed the listen button. At least it cut off the buzzing.
  "...ot here."
  "Nobody's seen him leave so he must be. And I'm going to interview him."
  Futz. I took a deep breath to try and keep some kind of calmness in my voice and then pressed the talk button. "Yes?" Somehow I managed to make my voice almost sound sweet.
  "Mr. Bard, we..."
  "Do you know what time of the morning it is?"
  "... CFMT news and..."
  I released the button. Reporters. Well, some other stations I would have just screamed at, but CFMT did pick up the last season of Babylon 5 so... I pressed talk again. "Can you come back later?" And then I pressed listen and waited.
  "... like to..."
  "He just said something."
  I sighed through my breathing slits -- it seemed that I'd picked up a new habit. -- and then I pressed the talk button again. "I'm trying to be polite -- can you come back later?"
  Pressed listen: "But it's after eight in the morning. I'd just like to talk to you."
  Oh God, morning people. I shuddered. Pressed talk: "I was awake until 5am this morning and am extremely tired. I would like to sleep some more."
  Pressed listen: "But I want something for the noon news and I need to get it in by ten."
  Leaning my forehead against the wall (which was a bit uncomfortable when combined with the almost 90 degree twist at my waist) I sighed through the vents. They weren't going to let me go back to sleep. Then I straightened up and, after pressing talk: "Ok. Give me half an hour to get ready."
  Pressed listen: "But you're a centaur, what do you have to get ready for?"
  I released the button. God, why me? I thought reporters were only this stupid in Winds of Change stories. Sigh. Patience was good. It was only the second day. Pressed talk: "I will not go on camera nude and messed up. Half an hour."
  Pressed listen: "Ok. Half an hour." And then the sound of the door opening and another voice: "Steve, are you..." Then a shout. "I'm from Global -- we want to talk to you!"
  More. Pressed talk: "In half an hour."
  Pressed listen: "I'll pay you $50 for an exclusive." Another voice. "$100" I released the button.
  This had possibilities. Normally I'm not too greedy, but converting to a centaur lifestyle wasn't going to be cheap. I'd spent over $100 on food yesterday, and based on the information I'd seen last night I was looking at something approaching $400 a month just to be shoed. If I went with the 'sneakers' (rubber soled shoes you put on a horse as required) they would probably last longer, but it was going to cost over $500 (US) to get the mold and then get one set of shoes made.
  Pressed talk: "Stop."
  Pressed listen: silence.
  Pressed talk: "I'll make a deal. There's just the two groups there right now, right?"
  Pressed listen: "Err... three." It was a new voice.
  Pressed talk: "I'll let you all ask questions but it'll be $200 a station. Except for CFMT -- they can do it for only $100. After all, they put the last season of Babylon 5 on."
  Pressed listen: "What?!" "Outrageous!" "Well, we were first." "$700 for exclusive." "You're mad."
  Bidding was getting hot but I didn't want it to get out of hand. Pressed talk: "One hundred and two hundred are my only offer, and it will apply to all. And you can all pitch in together to buy me some breakfast down at the Coffee Time. Any group that doesn't pay won't have any questions answered. I'll be ready in half an hour."
  Releasing the button, I backed up and rotated around and then made my way into the bedroom for my glasses, and then into the washroom. Behind me the buzzer started going, but eventually it stopped. Meanwhile I relieved myself, and washed up. I was too big to take a complete shower, but I did at least clean my hair in the sink (which was really uncomfortable as I had to twist and bend). Then I dried and combed my hair, shaved, brushed my teeth, and did all the other stuff. Finally I backed out, took off my glasses, put on the sweater which was still mostly on the chair, grumbled, put on my glasses, and went back and combed my hair again.
  Smiling that I was finally finished, I backed out into the living room and then rotated around and walked to the speaker which had been silent for a while, and pressed talk: "Hello?"
  Pressed listen: Silence.
  What? Did they all leave? Had I charged too...
  Hold it. Probably somebody went out and they all slipped in. I twisted around and leaned down and looked out the peephole in the door.
  Yup, there were a bunch out there. Oh well, here we go.
  Putting on my coat, I grabbed my shoulder bag, tossed in my wallet, placed the shoulder bag over my left upper shoulder (I really need better terminology), and grabbed the keys. Then, I took a step back, pulled open the door, ducked, shoved my way into the crowd, "Excuse me," and let the door slam behind me pressing my tail against my you know.
  "Mr. Ba..."
  "In a couple of minutes. I need to lock up first." Then I rotated around, gently pushing some people out of the way (there were ten total), and locked the door. Then, rotating back around until I faced the stairs and gently pushing people out of the way, I continued. "Shall we go for coffee and doughnuts then?"
  "How..."
  "I will answer no questions until we are in the coffee shop and have some room, and until my fee is paid." I smiled. "You might as well start paying now."
  And pay they did, a total of $350 which would help cover my food expenses for at least a couple of days. They did grumble about the doughnuts though, although they did take pictures, as I went through half a dozen dozen doughnuts (that's seventy-two for you calculator cripples). I stuck with plain, because I wasn't sure about how my stomach would handle chocolate. It was nice not to worry about calories for a change -- since I could still see my lower ribs, I knew I needed additional food.
  And then it was time for more questions, although was nothing that special about most of them. You know, questions like what do I eat, do I know what happened, do I know anybody else who changed (I knew of, but didn't really know them as persons), what was I going to do now, how did I like the change (I'm not sure, I'm still working out exactly what I can do and what I can't), is the government going to help me adapt to my new body (not that I know of, but an interesting thing to look into), and things like that. A couple questions asked about friends, where I worked, etc., but those I refused to answer. The one slightly disturbing question was asked by a young lady from the CBC.
  "Did you ever imagine being a centaur before this event occurred?"
  I frowned. Well, I guess I had, I'd at least written about it. And yes, I'd wondered, and thought of what it would be like. In fact I'd been working out some details of a story sequel on the Tuesday before this started. I'd been depressed about work and about life in general (January and February tend to do that to me) and I'd daydreamed about how much better it would be. Yeah, right. Finally I answered, "A little. I fiddle with writing and was working out a story involving a centaur just before this. Why?"
  "Well, it seems that a lot of the others claimed that they'd always dreamed of the form they turned into."
  "They did?"
  "One, I believe a horse man of some kind in the states, said that his new form was a perfect amalgamation of all the things he'd ever dreamed of."
  Interesting.
  Anyway, there was one other question of note, which was interesting because of the way it was worded. Someone from CFMT asked, "How does it feel to be a Centaur in a Man's world?" You've already read my answer, which I paraphrased, but the wording stuck in my memory. It was a great title, for something anyway.
  By then, it was almost 10:00 and they turned and left after thanking me, so I turned and trotted back to my apartment. I made my way up the various staircases and squeezed back into my apartment. First I grabbed another two-litre from the fridge (it wasn't really Coke, just a no-name substitute at a quarter the cost of the real thing), and backed up and made my way into the living room. Having learned from this morning, I leaned down and moved the cushions from in front of the couch over to in front of the computer, straightened them, and lay down. Then I turned on the computer, and while waiting for it to boot picked up the phone.
  Yup, messages.
  I entered the code (forgetting the 416 and getting the stupid voice again) and started going through the messages. First though, I was warned that the message box was full. Then I started on the messages. Stranger, delete. Stranger, delete. I didn't even listen to them. They were all like that until the fifteenth or so, and that was from my mother. She asked if I was all right and what had happened. After another seven messages she'd called again and stated that she had seen the news -- was that really me?
  After checking and deleting the last two messages after my mother's second message, I called back home. Everybody was at work, so I stated that yes I was a centaur, yes I was fine and doing all right, and that she better tell whoever was hosting Easter dinner to have a big meal ready.
  By then the computer was up.
  First, I went back to the book-marked site for the stables and called the number. I had to wait a bit for the farrier, but then she came on and I talked a bit and explained my problem.
  "I don't believe you," she said.
  I sighed. Ok. "Can you take credit cards over the phone?"
  "Yes, but."
  "Fine. I'll give you my card and you can take $200 out. If I am not what I say I am, then you will still make money."
  A pause. "Ok."
  And then we worked out the details. We talked for over an hour, first agreeing to meet at the park behind the North Toronto Metro Community Centre so that she would have lots of room to work and park (apparently she traveled with a portable propane fueled forge), and then I asked some basic personal questions. Important things like how much walking was safe on pavement (as little as possible, given my record so far), some things to look out for (make sure to dry the hooves and remove any snow from within them) and general things to think about such as health and future plans. She asked if she could take pictures and I said sure, why not. Then, just before the end, I also asked her to bring whatever other basic horse care stuff that she could spare as I had nothing. She was surprised by that until I reminded her that I didn't really plan this transformation.
  On to the next task. I looked up Medic Alert on the internet, and found out that I could register either by an internet form, or over the phone. I figured that with my unique case I should call. The idea for this was from the farrier, and the reason she gave was that if I was ever injured, it would probably be useful for the hospital or paramedics to be able to see what kind of blood I needed (human, horse or other), where critical organs were (such as my heart), etc.
  Apparently my case was a little unusual, but as they only provided a database they weren't fanatics about double checking the validity of the information (after all, you paid the administration costs, and they simply recorded the data you supplied -- if you lied, than that was between you and the emergency services). I did pay extra to get the bracelet couriered to me tomorrow. I also set up the basics so that my doctor could call and provide the information.
  The next call was to my doctor to arrange a general check up. It was too late today, but since I claimed it was an emergency (well it was, sort of. I would really like to know what I could eat safely...), I managed to get booked in tomorrow afternoon. Of course, I did tell the secretary the real cause but she didn't believe me -- apparently she hadn't seen it on the news -- but she wrote down 'centaur' as the reason anyway. Well, at the very least tomorrow I could tell my doctor that I did warn him.
  Finally, out of curiosity, I went to YAHOO and searched for CANADA and DISABILITY. I did find the applicable government pages, but the only information I could find was temporary disability compensation for those injured at work. Figuring that there should be some kind of financial support for requirements for those permanently disfigured (such as wheelchairs, or special shoes) I sent off some queries (not specifying too much information) to see if such support did exist. If I could get the government to pay my farrier costs, that would go a long way towards solving my sudden expenditure increase.
  Finally I checked the e-mail and the on-line news sites. There wasn't much more. Apparently some people had returned to the list as they had been having problems since they turned almost fully into animals (one person, an eye doctor, changed into a raccoon with a slightly larger head whilst examining a patient). The news didn't have any other new information, and didn't even mention me, but did mention a large dragon had appeared and become the mascot for one of the universities in the states.
  At that I could only shake my head.
  Finally, I sent an e-mail to my friends who were a part of the modern age and described that I was a centaur, that I was the one on the news, and that I would like to change my roleplaying character race in the D&D campaign we were starting.
  By then it was three o'clock, and I knew I needed a break. And I knew what I wanted to do.
  Every Thursday the GW store in the Eaton's Centre (background link -- http://www.games-workshop.com/40kuniverse/40kuniverse.htm) has a 'Veteran's Night' where you can come in and play 40K with others. I'd been working on finishing some special projects to go this week, and had finished them on the weekend and, by God, I was going.
  The question was, how?
  Remembering what the farrier had mentioned, walking downtown didn't seem to be a smart idea. A taxi simply wasn't physically possible, and I didn't think I could fit in the Yonge bus. But there was the Yonge subway. Remembering the recently widened doors, I was certain that I could fit in, and as I would be going south instead of north I would avoid the northbound rush hour sardine can.
  I would do it.
  It took about half an hour to print out the army list, pack up the figures I'd need, pack the dice, pack the measuring tape, pack the templates, and then, finally, the rulebook (the store used to supply most of the other stuff until some putzes had started stealing and breaking them), and then I was ready. Everything fit into my shoulder bag, except for the actual figures which were all in a foam-lined carrying case. Then, after using the washroom, I tossed the two empty two-litre bottles into a spare grocery bag, grabbed the rest of my supplies along with my coat, and squeezed out the door and locked it behind me. Making my way down the stairs I got out on the driveway, turned left and walked down and tossed the bottles into the recycle bin, and then rotated and made my way back up to Yonge St. Once there, ignoring the pedestrians who stared and commented, and the odd honk of a horn, I walked north (I felt like trotting but I'd been warned against it as unneeded extra stress on my hooves), waited for the light at Lawrence, crossed, and then entered the Lawrence subway station. Making my way down the long staircase, I walked up to the ticket agent.
  Ignoring the people staring and whispering, I put down the figure case, fumbled in my shoulder bag for my wallet, found it, opened it, and pulled out my Metropass (the pass for the TTC system) and held it towards the attendant. "I'm just going to use the gate to get in. Is that ok?"
  To keep the time that the attendant kept staring at me from getting boring, let me explain to you what I mean by gate. All of the main entrances to the TTC subway stations have two portions (of the fence that stops people from entering without paying) that can be opened up by just pulling up a latch and swinging two gates open. Some of the busier stations have them open during rush hour with an attendant, but here I'd only seen them used by travelers with heavy bags coming from Union station or the airport.
  By about now the attendant finally relaxed enough to speak. "I'm sorry, but, ah, you can't use the, ah, system."
  "Can't use the subway? Why?" Now I was annoyed. Not angry, but annoyed. I was in the right, and when I know that I'm in the right I can get very, very stubborn.
  "Well..."
  "Well, let's go through the bylaws then, shall we? Do I have a legal pass?"
  "Err, yes." His voice changed into a whisper.
  "Is it all filled out correctly?"
  "Yes."
  "Does the picture of my face on the pass match my actual face?"
  "Err..."
  "It only shows my face and that is the only thing that we are concerned about here. Does the picture match?"
  "Yes."
  By now a crowd had gathered to watch.
  "Am I smoking?" Smoking anywhere on the TTC is illegal.
  "No."
  "Am I trying to bring on a pet or large baggage?" Riders are not allowed to bring on pets or large bags during rush hour for obvious reasons, although seeing-eye dogs and other such things are exempt. I wondered if seeing-eye horses were.
  "Well..."
  I lifted my shoulder bag up in my hand so that it hung between us. "Is this a large bag?"
  "No."
  I let the bag thud back against my upper side and then held up a figure case (it's about 3" thick and about 14"x8"). "Is this a large bag?"
  "Err..."
  "I've taken both of these things together on the subway hundreds of times without any problems. Have your bylaws changed?"
  "No." I put the figure case down.
  Somebody in the crowd snickered.
  "Well, I give up. I can't think of any other reasons."
  "It's, err, it's you."
  "Me?"
  "Yes."
  Now I was getting angry. "Are you saying that I can't use the system because I'm a centaur?"
  "Well, yes."
  Now I had him. "So, the TTC does practice racial discrimination."
  "No, we..."
  "Give me a break." I stepped up until I my face was about a foot away from the glass of the booth and I glared at him as I continued. "You are a human, a member of the human race. I am a centaur, a member of the centaur race. You just told me that I couldn't use the system because I was a centaur. A different race than you. Thus, racial discrimination. Q.E.D." I took too way many math courses in university -- especially calculus, which is a wonderful and fascinating subject.
  "Well, err, no. It's not because you're a centaur."
  "It's not?"
  "It's because you're too big."
  "Are you saying I'm fat?" I heard a guffaw behind me.
  "No, err, well..."
  "Are you saying that if an overweight human tried to use the system, you would prevent him from boarding? That you would discriminate against him because he was overweight?"
  "No, well, err..."
  "Then that puts us back to racial discrimination, doesn't it?"
  He was finally speechless. Behind me I heard somebody dialing a cell phone. Good. Hopefully this was being passed on to some of those annoying reporters from this morning. They would have loved this.
  After a minute I asked, "Well?"
  He squeaked, "Just a minute please," and then turned away and picked up a phone. He dialed and then I could see he was whispering. Another minute passed and I started tapping my right fore hoof.
  It was almost another minute before he finally hung up, swallowed, and then said, "I can't let you on because you're not properly clothed."
  "What?"
  "You are not properly clothed."
  Was he referring to the good old 'no shoes, no shirt, no service'? I could sort of remember that being in the bylaws. The shoe point could be a problem since I technically didn't have any shoes on. I unbuttoned my coat and pinched a piece of my sweater between my fingers and pulled it a little towards him. "Is this sweater close enough to a shirt, or are you going to say that people wearing sweaters can't use the system."
  "Err..."
  I let go my sweater and then raised my right fore hoof and clomped it against the side of the booth, just below the glass.
  I may have done it a little harder than necessary.
  "This is a hoof." Behind me somebody laughed. "The legally correct footgear for a hoof is a horseshoe, generally quite appropriately named." The crowd was getting quite large. "When a horseshoe is nailed to a hoof, the hoof still looks like, well, a hoof."
  "You're still not properly clad."
  I wondered how much pressure the management had put on him, or maybe it was just that he was stubborn. "In what way am I not properly clad?"
  "You're not wearing pants."
  I carefully and slowly looked down past my sweater to my forelegs. "By God, you're right. No pants."
  "And..."
  "Are some people allowed to wear turbans on the TTC?"
  This took him aback. "Yes, of course."
  "And wasn't there a decision on the Bill of Rights about two years ago that forced organizations such as the police and RCMP to allow people to wear headgear, such as turbans, if their religion required it?"
  "Yes."
  "So the TTC does support religious clothing freedom."
  "Well yes, of course, as long..."
  "If a pregnant woman came on wearing a loose fitting pregnancy dress, would you allow her on?"
  "Of course."
  "So the TTC does support special medical clothing needs."
  "Err..."
  "Yes, or no?"
  "Yes."
  "Can you imagine a horse wearing a pair of pants?"
  More laughter.
  "No."
  "And would I not look silly wearing a pair of pants?"
  "Well, I guess so."
  "In fact, wouldn't I have trouble walking, and be likely injure myself if I tried to put on a pair of pants and walk anywhere? Wouldn't I risk tripping, falling, and breaking a leg?"
  "Well, yes."
  Hmm, now what. Aha. "People with casts don't have to wear pants overtop of their cast, correct?"
  "Not generally."
  "And can they use the subway?"
  "Well, yes."
  "But as you've clarified they would have to wear pants to use the subway. Now, couldn't wearing pants cause them to trip, or fall, or maybe delay their leg healing?"
  "I guess so."
  "No room for guesses here. Yes or no."
  From behind: "I'm a doctor, and tight pants could delay or even harm the healing process."
  Twisting around, I called out, "Thank you," and then twisted back to face my victim. "And the TTC does not require those in casts to wear pants on their legs, or shoes on their feet for this reason, correct?"
  "Of course we don't."
  "So, since we agree that my wearing pants could and likely would injure myself, then," I paused, "why do I have to be wearing pants."
  At this point I noticed some TTC security coming up off the escalator. My victim must have called them but I beat him to the punch. Turning to them I called out, "Oh good, I'm glad you're here. This person won't let me enter the system even though I do have a valid pass and am correctly attired."
  "Well... ," one began.
  I didn't let him continue. "Let me sum the situation up for you. I've established with this gentleman," I pointed to the booth, "that the TTC does not practice racial discrimination, so I cannot be prevented from using the system because of the fact that my race is centaur. We've also agreed that the TTC does not practice size discrimination in that they would not prevent an overweight or pregnant human from entering, and hence my size cannot be a problem; we've agreed that my bags are not too large for rush hours; we've also agreed that I am properly attired, because the TTC does not discriminate against the wounded who do not wear shoes over their foot in a cast since such an action would prevent the foot healing properly. Are you with me so far?"
  "Err..."
  "And we've gone through the rest of the bylaws. I have a valid pass and photo ID. I'm not smoking and I am not trying to bring a pet on board. Now," I smiled, "I'm not a vindictive person, so I'm not going to press any charges against this gentleman," again pointing to the poor ticket taker, "or the TTC in general for discriminating against a person such as myself."
  "Ahh..."
  "But I would like to use the TTC, so can I take my valid pass and use the subway?"
  "Err..."
  Somebody walked up beside me. "I'm with the Globe and Mail and I'm sure a lot of our readers would be interested in any kind of discrimination."
  Ah, an ally from the press, and about time too. "So can I use the subway?"
  One of the security officers quickly shuffled over and opened the gate so I picked up my miniature case, rotated, and stepped through. "Thank you."
  Behind me I could hear clapping from the crowd.
  After that, the rest was easy. I skipped the escalator (I knew they wouldn't fail, given the number of people they carry, but I wasn't sure enough of myself to trust my balance) and made my way down the stairs, across the lower bus platform, and down to the subway platform. Fortunately, the exit from the Queen station that I wanted was at the same end of the platform as the main Lawrence exit (there was no way I could fit through the comparatively tiny turnstiles in the other entrance), and so I waited. A few minutes later the train came.
  DING!
  I stepped across the gap and in. The TTC had recently widened the doors so I had no trouble getting through, and the passageway between the seats was wide enough so that I didn't have any trouble turning to the left and standing in front of one of the seats along the side. The bench that I had carefully chosen was one of those that could be folded up to make room for a wheelchair, so I dutifully skimmed the instructions, leaned down, folded it up, and sidled into the open space left behind. I had to duck to get under the hand bar near the roof, but the car was just high enough for me to stand with the hair on the top of my head just brushing the room.
  DING... DANG... DONG.
  The door slid shut and the train started south.

  Note: If you want to hear the three notes that the subway plays when the doors close, then go to http://www.city.toronto.on.ca/ttc/index.htm and the three tones play as the web page opens up. Personally, I thought it was a little too cute the first time I went to their web site. Only the first tone is played when the doors open. Back to the diary.

  As the train moved, I found that having four legs made keeping balance much easier than when I had only two. I reached down and grabbed one of the free subway papers somebody had left behind (today's Metro) and started reading it. Hmph. I didn't make the front page, although I did make the second. Then at St. Clair, a mother and her daughter got on and the daughter ran over to me.
  "Look mommy, a horse!"
  "Get away from..."
  I lowered the paper and offered the girl my hand. I first called to the mother, "Don't worry, I won't hurt her," and then I looked down at the little girl, "I'm not really a horse, I'm a centaur.'
  "Sentarr?"
  "Cent, like in a penny, and or."
  "Ohhh." Her eyes were wide.
  She remained silent for about a minute as the mother looked increasingly nervous until the train reached Summerville. There the mother grabbed her daughter's arm and pulled her daughter off the train.
  I watched the daughter wave good-bye as she was dragged away.
  Sigh. Through the slits again.
  Nothing else happened before I got off at Queen, and I made sure to pull the bench back down before the train stopped. I got out without problems and made my way through the gate, nodding to the attendant there.
  He didn't look impressed.
  Ignoring him, I walked out, my hooves loud in the silence that seemed to be spreading through the station, and went to the up escalator. I figured I'd have to see if I could handle it sometime, and up would certainly be easier than down.
  It wasn't bad at all.
  Then it was a turn right, a short walk through the entrance to the lowest level of the Eaton's Center, and then I was at the GW store. Checking my watch showed that it was 4:33pm, so I turned and walked in and made my way to the front counter (fortunately near the entrance).
  "Is the sign-up sheet ready yet?"
  "Mich..?" The manager, who knew me by name, started looking up and then stopped speaking, although he kept looking further and further up.
  "Yes, it's me. I want to sign up for a game tonight."
  "Err..."
  I sighed through my slits. "Oh come on, I'm here, ready to play, with everything needed. You know me."
  "Well, you sound a little different."
  Different? My voice didn't sound different to me, but then recordings of my voice had sounded different to me compared to the way my voice sounded to me when I was speaking. Did my voice change? "But you do recognize me?"
  "Well, most of you."
  He slid over the sign-up sheet.
  "Which table is by the entrance this time, one or two."
  "Er, two."
  I signed up and checked my opponent. Futz, Chaos. I hate Chaos.
  Anyway, the rest of the evening went not too bad, although it was depressing at first. Usually I only get one game in, and the first game against the Chaos player was not fun at all. Not only was he one of the younger players (which isn't necessarily a problem), but he also didn't know the rules that well (which isn't usually a problem either), and he had one of those win-at-all-costs mentalities. As an example, his greater demon fought my command squad and I lost (no surprise) but my morale held. The next turn, when I asked him to check something else before I finished moving, we discovered that if a unit loses a combat against a greater demon, then they automatically fall back from the combat. If my command squad had fallen back then I could have shot at the greater demon with ranged weapons. So I asked if we could go back and do that, since it would probably have a large effect on the game and was easy to fix. But nope. Last turn was done, too late now.
  So he won. I hope he's happy.
  After the first game was finished, I stayed a bit to talk to some other others there that I knew. The store was less crowded than usual with players, although there was a larger than normal crowd outside the store, and I could see flashes going off. Thus there was space and I was invited for a second game, which ended up being a really fun game against a Space Wolf player. And fun is the important part after all.
  In hindsight, I probably got the second game because I was attracting a crowd and the store wanted to take advantage of it, which was fine with me. I could hear the manager explaining the game to the crowd while I played.
  Finally the game ended though, and at about 8:30 I left. I had no trouble getting on to the subway this time (although I had to go down a narrow stairs, under the tracks, up another narrow stairs, and then rotate around to get the northbound train) and was home by 9:00. Making my way out of the station, I turned and went home. Once there I put my baggage down and away, straightened the cushions, started the computer, ordered some more vegetarian pizza (at least I knew that was safe for me to eat), pulled my last two-litre pop out of the fridge, and once the computer had booted checked my e-mail.
  Again there wasn't much, and the TSA list was almost suspiciously quiet. I did get a reply from my friends about Friday night regarding food, so I sent back that anything vegetarian was probably fine, and warned them to make sure there was lots of it. Fortunately two of them are vegetarians, so we always just order or cook vegetarian food to keep life simple.
  When I was finished this time, I kept the empty bottle and filled it up with water, half from the Brita jug I have, and half from the tap to top it off, and put it in the fridge to stay cool. Then it was a last trip to the washroom, glasses off by the CD player, moving the cushions so that they were in front of the couch and straightening them out, turning off the light, wrapping the blanket around my upper torso, laying down, and finally going to sleep.
  And I did get to sleep fairly quickly -- even though I kept getting flashes of fear about tomorrow.
  For tomorrow nails were going to be driven into my feet, er, hooves.