Not to me, to the streetcar driver.

I got on the College Street car going to the Y this evening.

A cellphone with a latin-sounding ringtone (maybe a basic merengue, but I don't know my latin music) goes off. And off. And off ...

The phone is picked up by the operator. "Talk to me," he says wearily.

"No. I'm on the road ... You can pick it up at the station at Bloor and Bayview ... No, in about three or four days."

As I approach my stop, I ask the driver what's what.

"Somebody find a cellphone. They give it to me," he explains. "Now this guy is phoning me all the time and telling me I have 'stolen property'. He's harassing me," he said, before adding, "he's a faah-khing idiot."

I tried to suggest that maybe this would be a good thing to joke about if he went for an after-shift beer with his fellow drivers, but the grim look on his face suggested he found nothing amusing in the situation.