Commuterrant

Will Commute for Blog, Part 2

I landed a new job, thank goodness. Even better, I will still have the pleasure of commuting to work - but no more Green Line! I'll be taking the Red Line, just five short stops to Kendall Square. I'm sure I'll still have plenty of T-insanity to blog about, although I will miss the particular brand of insanity that only the Green Line can offer.

Until May 30, I am considering myself retired, as I left the old job last Friday. Retirement is not all it's cracked up to be. I have started having conversations with the dog, and am spending way too much money.

Too Much Caffeine on the Green Line?

At Park Street this morning, I boarded a C train and sat down as commuters continued to pile on. A man wearing a black Guiness baseball cap came charging on, clearly intent on something. He shoved his way through the crowd and bolted toward an unassuming woman making her way to the back of the car. He proceeded to SMACK her on the back and yelled something along the lines of "Thanks for pushing me! You pushed me!"

She mumbled something about someone else having pushed her; her assailant, meanwhile, had turned around to head back toward the middle of the car.

He HIT her. No one else seemed to notice. Is this normal commuting behavior now? It's now okay to hit people if you perceive that they have wronged you on the T?

He spent the rest of the ride hanging on to a ceiling rail, jittery, bobbing up and down uncontrollably. Maybe he could have used a Guiness for breakfast.

Counting Green Cars

For the second time in a week, as the Green Line train I was riding approached Arlington Street, an announcement came over the P.A.:
"Those of you in the third car, exit at the front of the car."

I ask you: how am I supposed to know if I am on the third car or not? My geospatial skills are not that refined, but it did become obvious when the train pulled into the station and I saw only the darkness of the tunnel outside the mid-car exit. It was then that I used my powers of deductive reasoning to determine that, indeed, I was on the dreaded third car.

Do people count the cars before boarding, in case of such situations? Being a Safety Girl, I understand counting the number of seat rows to determine how far you are from the exit row on an airplane, but now I'm expected to know which car I'm on when I ride the T? And how come the Green Line suddenly can't fit into the Arlington Street station? Did it gain weight?

And another thought: can't the MBTA be a little more user-focused in its communications? They always use T-centric lingo that only a seasoned MBTA employee would find meaningful.

I am reminded of the T-car doors that used to carry the message, "These doors do not recycle." That always befuddled me, as I took it as a warning not to use my brute strength to rip the door off of its hinges and tote it back home, where I could gently place it in my bright yellow recycle bin, thereby doing my part to save the planet. But they changed the signage to be a little more clear. I have to double-check this, but I believe they now say, "These doors do not re-open automatically," which is only slightly less vague. I think what they're trying to say is, "If you stick any appendage in these doors while they are closing, you will suffer death and/or dismemberment. You've been warned."

And the driver with the big-ass Green Line train that can't be accomodated by the Arlington Street platform? He should announce, "If the train stops and you see only darkness, you are still in the tunnel. Do not pry open the doors; do not get off of the train. Do not panic. These doors do not recycle. Whether you are on the first car, second car, or third car, it's no matter. Just walk to the front and exit there."

See Something? Say Something - or Else

Today, the T-bots were out in full force - armed police officers, day-glo-vest-adorned workers, and others - distributing future litter, bright orange pamphlets entitled "Trust Your Instincts and Be Prepared."

The pamphlet was all about seeing something, saying something, being vigilant, defeating the terrorists and the like. While reading the pamphlet on the T, I got to the part where it read "....You may witness something suspicious, such as:

• a passenger behaving oddly"

And started laughing out loud, as it's a rare day when I don't witness a passenger behaving oddly on the T. The woman needlessly trying to pour the remnants of a giant bag of potato chips into a snack-size ziploc bag. The snowflake-cutter. The scratch-your-ankle-til-it-bleeds guy. The pickers, the singers, the full-course meal eaters. And plus, I know they want me to say something, but I'm never clear on what I'm supposed to say, and to whom.

I quickly stopped laughing out loud when I realized that my behavior might be seen as odd and I might have to then explain myself to the watchful passengers as well as the authorities.

The next bullet item/example of suspicious behavior to watch for was:

• a group operating in an orchestrated or rehearsed manner

I pondered this, as I had just witnessed a odd assemblage of people engaging in a well-orchestrated handing out of pamphlets. It seemed rehearsed, and a bit out of place. Should I say something?
 

All-New Worst Commute Ever

Previously, I wrote about my worst commute ever, circa 1991, but now I have a new winner!

Yesterday, I boarded the Green Line at Arlington, heading for Park Street. Miraculously, the train was quite empty and I took a seat near the front of the car. Then...I smelled something. I looked down, and at my feet was a pile of newspapers, placed there to soak up the gallons of beer-scented vomit that someone had disgorged on the floor. The smell was unbearable. The fact that my shoes were in resting in vomit was intolerable. I got up and moved to the middle of the car, and stood over the stairwell.

A minute passed, while I focused on trying to learn to breathe again. I then felt an entire human body pressed up against me. Not so odd when the train is full, but this train had a lot of free space. A man squeezed past me, shoving my entire body in the process. He took the step below where I was standing and turned around to face me, a mere 7/8" from my face. I looked at him. He looked at me.

I looked around, and there was another woman holding the pole on the other side of the stairwell, but neither of us was blocking the stairs. The man muttered something like, "pushing me...motherfucker." He stared at me again. I looked away.

He then lovingly stroked the dangling hand of the man who was sitting in the first seat facing the stairwell. The hand-owner moved his hand away and Mr. Shove waved at him. I then used my powers of deductive reasoning to determine that he was mentally ill.

As the train pulled into Park Street, he addressed me directly. "Push me next time, I'll break both your legs." And then, to punctuate his statement, he concluded with a "Yeah."

As a bespectacled, graying, Jewish lesbian/stepmother living in the suburbs, I often find myself in the middle of violent altercations, but this was, indeed, the first time someone has threated to break both my legs on the T.

Also, I know that my safety is the MBTA's #1 concern, but I didn't feel very safe at that particular moment. I was definitely in the act of "seeing something" and wanted to "say something" but there were no officials nearby to whom I could say something. So I ran to the Red Line, thankful to have two working legs, so that I could quickly escape Mr. Shove and his unwarranted wrath.