“You moved to the big city. You sold your car. You got the job. Now you are in this situation,” – is what i’m repeating to myself coming to terms with the fact that these are all my own “grown up” decisions. We all have run-ins with realizing our frustration lies within the results of our own choices – but isn’t it easier to be sarcastic and dramatic sometimes? So, here are my angsty, highly caffeine fueled, rage thoughts on poorly executed public transportation in the summer.
There are never any signs. No verbal warnings, no flashing lights, no announcements as the train comes hurtling by and heaves to a halt on the platform. We, the tired hungry masses, see the all too familiar dimness of the broken cars lights and bustle to the next closest opening. Two cars are sometimes out of service which is a real treat for us regular riders.
We pack in as we remember that personal space is a luxury only the rich or those who apparently make better life choices can enjoy. The only thing keeping us from leaping from the train instead of heading to work are the learned comforts of keeping a roof over your head and food in your fridge.
Any empty space in the car is filled by the distant laughter of WMATA executives.
When you do have the glorious misfortune of being on a packed train, each stop becomes a ‘Lord-of-the-Flies’-esque battle of those weed whacking their way through briefcases and sweaty passengers. It’s a shuffle of madness in the mere moments we have at each station and every once in a while there is one poor generous sucker that steps off to let the others through but then can’t get back on in time. Just at the last second we hear his enthusiastic cursing before the thud of the doors and one can almost feel his therapist’s salary growing.
The train continues clattering along the rails, bucking here and there just to ensure you touch the weird guy who could have gone your whole life without having had touched – and when you finally reach your station and you get to the exit where the person in front of you can’t figure out where to scan their card.
Good god, we live in Washington DC! This person probably handles matters of national security but they can’t remember that the giant picture circle that matches their card is where you should scan it to let us all get on with our day? Honestly?
. . .If we don’t write down these unnecessarily pessimistic and angry thoughts we might actually all spontaneously combust – and WMATA can’t handle any more fires.