Moving – The Port Credit Experience

After months of hard work finishing up university I was ready to take on the working world. Actually, I had exhausted all possible courses at the University, so I had to find something else to occupy my time. So, when I was hired for a job in Toronto, I was quite excited. I thought the transition would be fairly smooth – quick move (thanks to the bank’s generosity when it came to my moving allowance), painless few days of unpacking and then a few days vacation before starting the new job. I guess I forgot about all the other little things that are required when moving, as well as all the little things that can go wrong. And boy, they went wrong.

So there I was, looking online at apartment advertisements and flipping through the free renter’s magazine trying to find something that fit these criteria:

- Cheap

- Quick commute to downtown TO

- Cheap

- Nice view/location

- Cheap

- Large 1 bedroom or 2 bedroom

- Cheap

Also, I wanted something cheap. (Did I mention that?) I was beginning to get frustrated, seeing as nothing appeared to be appropriate for picky Leslie.

Then I had a free afternoon (free from exam studying and end-of-term papers) to drive to the foreign city of Toronto and apartment hunt. Let me clarify something here. I do not know Toronto. I have no idea if Bloor intersects King, or if Etobicoke is a town, a road or some kind of slang for a tasty food item (along the lines of Fro-Yo, which I hear is city-speak for frozen yogurt). Basically, I was an inexperienced country hick making her way to the big city. I decided to look around Port Credit (only $112 for the Go train!) for an appropriate place.

I nearly had a heart attack driving down Hurontario Street at 9am. Three lanes of traffic, all going well above the speed limit, I might add. Cars were cutting other cars off, and people were yelling, throwing things out of their windows and generally not even watching the road. Now this is Mississauga (which I discovered is NOT a part of Toronto, according to those who actually live in the city. And Christina promptly corrected me when I referred to Port Credit as “south west Toronto”). Anyway, this is Mississauga, a suburb. An easy-going, mall-covered, sprawling land of plazas, planned communities and ‘small town feel in quick access to the downtown core’. I thought this would be perfect for me.

‘Small town feel’ sure sounded mighty fine. Mighty fine I say.

This “Hurontario” street was nothing like the dirt roads I find back home in Rural Route Ontario. I did not see any corner shops, (spelled ‘Shoppe’ like I would expect in a small town), or people sitting on their porches playing the banjo or drinking lemonade. I didn’t see any children selling lemonade. Heck, the closest thing to lemonade I saw was an old empty mud-covered lemonade juice box laying on the side of the road in a puddle - and some old gnarled women with 400 bags and a trail of cats following her, poking it with a stick. This is nothing like a small town.

As I was pulling into the Port Credit GO station, I thought to myself: “if this is what those city people think is ‘small town’, id hate to see ‘big city charm. I put my car into park, and turned off the engine, ready to begin my relocation process.

Before I left Waterloo (a fantastic place to live, I might add) I anticipated finding somewhere before noon, and spending the rest of the day shopping. Little did I know this was the first step in a long and painful process of “self growth and discovery”, as my mother keeps telling me. It was the first step to a near breakdown!