Giving Thanks

It's been awhile since I've written, partly because I've been busy and partly because I realized there was just too much going on with the T for me to stay on top of it all. Let it suffice to say there will be a "gap" in my reportage, but c'est la vie.

Life has been a little different for me lately. Two weeks ago I traveled to Seattle on business. No, I didn't try the Seattle public transit system (I had only one free day, wherein I rode the Monorail, a shameless tourist). My point is, that week I commuted only two days. I flew on a Wednesday and came back Saturday, limiting my time on the Red Line to a manageable dose.

Then last week was Thanksgiving, so I only worked three days. I was indeed thankful to once again cut the commuting time short--and it was positively joyous to have four days off in a row and not have to travel anywhere.

In the coming weeks, with the holidays upon us, I should be taking some additional time off. It makes a huge difference; nothing is as bad if you don't have to do it every day.

In the meantime, on the Red Line, they have started busing people between Alewife and Harvard on the weekends. I feel sorry for anyone who works weekends and has to deal with it. I ran into my former colleague, who lives on the street where I park. She tried taking the T from Davis the first weekend of the busing, and it took her an hour and a half to get to Park Street.

The T is spending the weekends doing some fairly critical maintenance work. (I read one Boston Globe article wherein one of the authors of a report on the system said he wouldn't ride the T past Harvard because the threat of derailment was so real).

Of course, in typical T fashion, they really didn't give people much notice. Why should they? Ridership is booming, according to recent reports. If a few people give up in disgust, good riddance!

Red Line as Microcosm

On the T, as in life, there are all kinds of people, each with his or her own perspective. There are the runners, those who advance through the turnstiles and down the steps at a trot, with not a glance to the left or the right. Like racehorses with blinders on, they see little after the gates open save for their own approaching path and the reward awaiting at the finish.

Then there are the sprinters. They may approach the T stop at a businesslike pace, entering the gates without distress. But if they hear an announcement of a train "approaching" or (a bigger challenge) "arriving," they will dash like mad, knocking over small children or the elderly if necessary to join the runners and get on board.

The moderates seldom change their approach. They may walk at a good pace, but they do not bother to ever run. Is it their faith that sustains them? (I know there'll be another train right behind that one.) Or is it resignation (You win some, you lose some.) Perhaps they, like most moderates, are just too damn tired.

Dawdlers are rare. These are the people who seem to not be totally sure where they are going. They actually consider not getting on the train when it arrives, engrossed as they may be in whatever text-message drama or game is diverting them. (Now, where am I going? Ashmont? Or Braintree?)

Yes, it takes all kinds. And you cannot change any of them. They are what they are. Like our siblings and spouses, our friends and neighbors, they will soldier on in the only way they know how.

July's Whopper Breakdown

I'm a bit late in reporting on this, but two months after the infamous two-hour delay, it happened again, in July. The passengers were remarkably calm and forgiving. The Boston Globe was outraged.

Hundreds stranded below in another T breakdown - The Boston Globe

The guy who runs the T got promoted: Read the Boston Globe story.

Lessons from the Red Line

It's been almost seven months now since I started commuting on the Red Line. What I've learned so far:

• T Alerts or overhead announcements are not to be trusted:  A couple of times recently, I received T Alerts warning of delays on the Red Line, only to get to Davis and jump right on a train that zipped into town. The same goes for the announced delays. If you hear one, don't immediately despair, because it might not really affect you. Only your reality counts.
• Your reality often sucks: In May, during my infamous two-hour delay stuck in the tunnel between Porter and Davis, I remember thinking, "Wow, when I get out of here, I'm going to have, like, a few dozen T Alerts about this." In fact, there was none.
• If you can take a break from the Red Line even one day per week, it can save your sanity. This week, I took the 504 one day. Next week, I plan to drive in one day. The following week I plan to work at home one day.
•  Beware of the best seat. For me, the best seat is the one in the corner, because you don't have lots of people passing by all the time getting on and off. There is no door there, so it's a little more tranquil. Unfortunately, the Red Line trains have a tendency to sweat, and there is often water dripping on those seats.

Summertime, and the Commuting Is Easy

Is there any sweeter feeling than speeding down the turnpike in the 502 Express bus while your BlackBerry buzzes with T alerts bringing news of delays on the Red Line? Is there any happier morning than when you’ve got a 10 am appointment and you get into town at 9 and have time to sit at the bagel store and sip an iced coffee while watching the world rush by?

That is, essentially, today's report. My work life--and commute--does not get any better. I had a meeting in the Back Bay at 10. I started out quite early at the Watertown gym at about 6:15. Took my time getting ready, and bought an iced coffee on my way out of there, just in case. I never dreamed I'd be in town so early, but that 502 was bookin' it, baby. I was reading an old NYTimes magazine I had in my bag (the Globe delivery was not early enough today, alas), when the BlackBerry started buzzing with the news of those poor fools on the RL.

Of course, it helped that today was a gorgeous New England summer day, with brilliant sunshine and cool breezes. Had it been raining, it would have been a different story altogether, because rain in Boston brings utter gridlock and mayhem in the streets. The bus probably would have been sitting for hours. And the people riding the RL would have been laughing their asses off at the pitiful souls on the "Express" bus.

But I digress. Luck was with me today. And it's all about living in the moment and appreciating the good things in life. Yes, indeed.

The only downside--okay, one of the few downsides--was that, on my way to the office (near South Station), I encountered the strange person I mentioned in a previous post. I've decided she is for sure a woman. With a large backpack. Who shifts around and talks to herself. Who acts, in fact, very much the way I imagine a suicide bomber would act. She was with me at Copley (Green Line), then transferred, as I did, to the Red Line at Park.

But I hardly cared. I let one Green Line train go by, because it was too full, and I saw there was another train coming. Then I helped two ladies from Australia who were trying to get to the MFA. And it always makes you feel better to help someone, just a little bit, right?

Multitasking Nation

A few weeks ago, on my way home from work, I sat across from a young couple who appeared to be on their way to a Red Sox game. They had the hats on and the shirts. The young woman was drinking a Pepsi or a Coke, I don't remember the specific brand of drink. Anyway, the point is, she was so not into her date. I mean, it was obvious, even to a casual observer sitting reading the paper after a long day at the office.

She sat down next to a worker bee kind of guy. He was wearing jeans and a plain shirt, and he had a kind of canvas bag with him--clearly also on his way home after the workday. The girl was looking around, doing everything possible to avoid looking her date in the eye, and she dumped her Coke on this poor schmoe sitting next to her. Yes, he was wearing jeans. It's not like he had on a $500 suit, but still--I felt bad for the guy. She apologized and all, but what could she do? He had wet jeans, and she had an empty can. More Coke would be had at the ballpark, no doubt, and I guess he'd have a washing machine at home. But I remember thinking: Glad she didn't park herself next to me.

This is what I thought of last Thursday morning when, on a fairly crowded T day, a young woman sat next to me with a travel mug (which I assumed contained coffee). Yes, those mugs are sort of "spill proof," but she was not only sipping coffee, she was also fiddling with her ipod and reading a book.

That's when it occurred to me that this is what life has become for the average commuter--or possibly the average worker. Our free time is so precious, our private moments so rare, that we have to squeeze everything in. She was going to make the most of her ride. I, on the other hand, was wearing light-colored pants, and more than once I glanced away from my own newspaper to check the status of the cup.

On the Lam from the Red Line

Addictions often begin innocently enough. Your friend has a bit of pot, for example, so you go ahead and try some. The next time it happens, you really can't say no, I mean, they gave it to you. As a gift! You have to do it. By the third time--the third consecutive day--you begin to wonder if you are developing a habit. You make the first attempt to make a change. Maybe you even start hanging with a new crowd.

So it was that my own life of criminal activity began. The first time, it was completely unexpected. I was approaching the gate in South Station, T pass in hand, when there before stood the open gate. It wasn't closing. So I did what any red-blooded commuter would do: I walked through. Without swiping my pass. I  felt it was recompense for the two hours I spent stuck in the tunnel in May.

The next morning, at Davis, I sensed the absence of T personnel, who actually do sometimes supervise the morning activity. Oh, they are never there when the monthly pass fails, triggering the rapid-fire honking and the alarming message on the screen: SEE AGENT. But when you don't need them, they are there. Anyway, I happened to notice, after a woman passed through the gate ahead of me, that the message on the screen was "ADMIT THREE." Now, I don't know what that's about, I readily admit. But there surely was only one of her. And the gate was still open, so I passed through.

I think I mentioned in a prior post that I lost my T pass in the middle of June. No, that's not as bad as losing it June 2, but I was stung by the lost money and the need to buy a temporary, pay-as-you-go pass. That second time, I felt I had it coming to me.

That evening, on my way home from work, I was actively looking for my opportunity, like a thief looking for a weak victim. I didn't see any T personnel, and I just walked behind a man who had passed through. I said to myself, this gate is going to close right on me, and it started to, but wouldn't you know, it sensed a body and opened up again. I had my T pass in hand, and I was actually constructing a fiction in my head in case someone stopped me after the fact. I scampered down the stairs to the platform, but now the exhiliration was gone. I felt like a common criminal, jumping the turnstile (as we used to say back in the days of turnstiles).

Although no one was around, I worried that there might be cameras. I saw myself as the Whitey Bulger of the Red Line, a grainy image hunted by authorities. So I scrammed. Today I took the Watertown Express Bus, and was treated to a two-hour commute courtesy of a rain storm and terrible traffic downtown.

So, it's true: All criminals pay in the end, one way or another

If You See Something, Say What?

The commute has certainly seemed easier since the days have grown longer, the college students have largely fled, and vacation season has kicked in. The weather has pretty well sucked, but that seems to be the pattern of the last decade in Boston (2010 excepted). I have gotten by so far by wearing a slicker and a baseball hat on those blustery, wet walks across the Summer Street bridge.

Today, after I left my car at my parking spot and began my walk to the Davis Square T, I walked right into an encounter with a former colleague who lives on the same street where I park. This is the first time we've actually run into each other, although I saw her at Christmas and mentioned my new situation. I considered hiding behind a bush or returning to my car until I knew she had passed--not because I didn't want to talk to her, but because I didn't want to talk to her all the way to Park Street (which is where I figured she'd get off the train).

As it turned out, when we got to Davis, she took the escalator down, and I said I was going to take the stairs. "Okay," she said. "Have a good day."

So, great, I figured, she wasn't in a chatty mood, either. I boarded the train, which was unusually empty. At Porter, when it began to fill up, an unusual person got on board. She (or he?) was one of those people whose gender is ambiguous. She (I finally decided the person was a woman), had on gender-neutral clothing, some kind of light black jacket and black pants. She had short dark hair, and was carrying an enormous backpack. When she boarded the train, she seemed to be trying to look for a seat. There were still a couple left, so sensing her movement out of the corner of my eye, I assumed she was trying to decide where to sit--or whether to bother, given her heavy burden.

She was holding onto the post across from me, then crossed over to my side. She kept crossing back and forth, turning herself around, looking up and down the car. Then she walked down the length of the car and continued the dance at the other end.

I have to admit, the phrase, "If you see something, say something," did come to mind. What if that gigantic backpack is a bomb and this person is a suicide bomber looking to take down a bunch of Red Line commuters? Should I get off at the next stop and report her? But then I'd be late, whereas if I say nothing, I could be...dead? Worst of all, if she were a bomber, well, that would certainly screw up the rest of the morning commute for my fellow riders!

I thought of my former colleague, who I was pretty sure was seated in the next car over. Perhaps she would be spared. Or, perhaps the terrorist was waiting until the train was on the Longfellow Bridge, and she was hoping to take down the bridge as well.

When I got to work, I reported the incident--to my significant other, who usually receives an e-mail from me shortly after I arrive at my desk. "I've heard there are a lot of nuts who ride the Red Line," he wrote back. 

Yes, the imagination runs wild on a Friday morning in summer. As you already know by my being able to write this, she (he?) was no terrorist, just a run-of-the-mill Red Line kook. I made it to work and back safe and sound, with the only tragedy being I seem to have lost my blasted T pass.

So, if you see something, say something. Or, as others say, if you fear something, you'll see something.

Ah, Spring! Time to Shop?

Spring is probably the best season for the Boston commuter. The early light makes it easier to wake up in the morning, the traffic has let up a bit with the college year over, and the crowds on the T seem a bit lighter--perhaps people are already taking vacations? Spring fever days? Calling in sick because of the awful allergy season?

It helps that this week I worked only three days. Monday was a holiday, and Friday was a "comp day" for me (because of my employer's conference the week before, wherein we all worked 14 hour days).

And the T has been in the news. Ridership is up again (although the economy appears to be tanking), and the T has hit upon a new way to make money: Selling tchotches. No, the MBTA does not have the cache of the London Tube, but for some reason they are thinking people will be willing to fork over real money for things like an Orange Line sign or a Blue Line mousepad. Check out the NECN story on this.

I'm not sure this is the salvation that the T's finance director really needs. Though, now that they've caught the counterfeit-T-pass guy, that should help the bottom line. This is the guy who worked for a company that issued T passes. He figured out a workaround to the system and was authorizing bogus passes that people were buying on Craig's List.

Which begs the question: When figuring those April ridership numbers, did they count the bogus rides?

The Wednesday that Will Live in Infamy

Yes, I'm still talking about Wednesday night. The Boston Globe's Brian McGrory captures the episode well in today's column--without even being there. That's why he's a columnist and I'm a ...blogger with two followers.

Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry

"The Red Line is experiencing delays due to a disabled train at Alewife." Or Park Street. Or wherever.

We've all heard those words announced over the MBTA loudspeaker from time to time (okay, well, we've all strained our ears to decipher the words through the static). But, aside from the inconvenience of being late or having to find alternate transportation, have we stopped to consider what that really means?

Yes, it means the train is not moving. But the train isn't sitting in the tunnel by itself; there are people on that train, by gum! What does it mean to them...the passengers and crew...stuck...sometimes for hours...without food or water...or bathroom facilities...like tonight...like me?

Tonight I was on the infamous disabled train. Only three short months into my Red Line career, and I end up with a whopper of a delay. Left the office at 6; got home at 9:30. During the span of time in between, there were many, many "I'm sorry's" from the T personnel. And, truthfully, none of us passengers blamed the T staff, who were about as distressed as we were and were doing their best to get the bloody thing in gear. Still, they have clearly been drilled on the importance of apology, and I couldn't help wonder if they spent less time saying I'm sorry maybe they could spend more time trying to get the train moving.

Were we told "there is a problem with the train," and that it would be "moving into Davis momentarily." Ah, to be so close to my destination and yet so far away. After the first hour (and five or six apologies and "momentarily" comments) people who had been sitting offered seats to those who had been standing. The temperature rose, and we wriggled out of spring coats.

No phone service, but anyone who was getting the T alerts would know about the delay. Or would they? When I got home I had just one T alert about the Red Line running slow (at 6:07 pm) due to a signal problem at JFK/UMASS, nowhere near Davis.

I was pretty calm--what can you do? I thought of everyone behind us. No one was getting into Davis with us sitting in the way. I was slightly worried that someone might freak out. Or that someone had the measles. But I didn't feel in danger (until the nice T lady announced that we were not in any danger; I mean, if they have to say it, there must be something dangerous.)

I also made a mental note to always be prepared for this in future:

• Have plenty of reading material.
• Have a fully charged iPod touch (to play Angry Birds when people are talking too much for me to read).
• Use the restroom before leaving home or work.

Because you never really know when something like this is going to happen. (Although, 9 times out of 10,  I believe it happens when you are headed home, not when you are headed to work. Sorry.)

T Beats bin Laden!

Yes, it's true--news about the increase in T ridership was actually the lead story in Thursday's Boston Globe, knocking Osama bin Laden "below the fold" for the first time since Monday!

As of March 2011, T ridership was up 5 percent over volume in October 2008. The story reported that the upswing is likely the result of a recovering economy (more people going to jobs) and rising gas prices. Green line riders saw the heaviest increase, but the Red, Orange and Blue lines were logging 516,700 riders per day.

Although I've rarely felt more like a number than when I read that, I can certainly agree that this is news that trumps the third consecutive day of bin Laden round-the-clock coverage.

And, speaking of bin Laden, today's news reports are that his terrorist associates were plotting to derail trains in the US in recognition of the 10-year anniversary of 9/11. Now I have that to worry about. Just when I had almost--almost--put a hold on my other train-related fears. Like the fear that a crazy person will get on the train and shoot everyone. Or the fear that somehow it would be possible for someone to transmit bedbugs from their home to my person just by sitting in close quarters in those tightly packed cars. Or the fear that the Longfellow Bridge will collapse just as my train reaches the point of no return, and I'll sink into the Charles with hundreds of my fellow riders, the train car becoming our collective underwater tomb.

The small consolation is that the story would doubtless make Page 1, above the fold. And probably for several days.

Sanity, At Last

I've been away for a while, first just busy, then traveling for a week in London and Barcelona. I'll say more about that (and the excellence of the public transit in those two cities) in a later post. For now, I must remark on the best thing that has happened so far in my short time commuting on the Red Line.

Earlier this week, despite it being school vacation week and, one would expect, less busy for commuters, the train was completely packed. And I mean completely. Packed. Like sardines packed. I was most fortunate to have a seat, but sometimes those people standing, hovering above you can really put a shadow over your reading material. Plus I was really scrunched in between two other people.

But I digress. The great thing that happened was this: At Harvard Station, the conductor announced that the train was being redirected and would go "express" to Charles/MGH (bypassing Central and Kendall Stations).  No doubt some of the riders were inconvenienced by this action, most of all those who were unable to translate the static-y announcement that was repeated several times at varying volume. But I was ecstatic. I mean, finally, sanity. The train is already too full. Why stop and let more people on? Really?

Why the T doesn't do this more often I don't know, but I will attempt to find out and report back.

Counting My Blessings

Today was a lovely spring day in Boston, with mild temperatures and beaming sunshine. I went to the gym in Watertown, which requires an earlier than usual "awake" mode for my person in order to make it to the Davis spot in time to get to work. While exercising, I watched a news story of a T electrician who had fallen in a 30 foot hole between the tracks at the Charles/MGH station. So sleepy was I that it took me a few minutes to make the connection. "They're busing passengers from Kendall to Broadway? Wait a minute--that means me!"

Upon leaving the gym, I heard that the firefighters had, in fact, freed the man, who had suffered severe trauma to his legs. Still, I thought, the Red Line will be a mess. I acted decisively, and drove to Watertown Square to catch the 504 express bus to downtown.

The MBTA express bus is a beautiful thing. I took an express for many a year in my younger days. What worried me was not knowing if I'd find parking. Imagine my joy when I pulled into the Watertown Yard and found it only half full--at close to 8 am!

Not knowing how much the parking cost--or how much money and what denominations I had on me, exactly--I had the foresight to pull my roll of quarters from my stash in the car. My luck was doubled when I found a $5 bill in my wallet, the exact cost of parking. The bus was waiting, and I marched on, T pass in hand.

"It doesn't take that," the driver said.

"It doesn't take it?" My heart sank. As it turns out, the subway/local bus pass is useless on the beautiful, glorious express bus.

I had the money, so I paid. In quarters, much to the disgust of the driver. And the Watertown Yard had my car, so I paid to go back to it tonight. But at least I didn't fall in a hole and break my legs. And I didn't ride the Red Line today.

The Red Line Workout

There are 82 steps in the series of stairs that lead from the train platform to the street at South Station. Climbing them is my morning workout, mainly because I can't get to the escalator, clogged as it is with people still wearing their puffy winter coats well into March. I don't mind the stairs, because I like to keep moving, but I sometimes feel winded at the very top, and I have to wonder, "Am I really out of shape?"

In the morning, waiting for the train at Davis, I try to position myself in an open area where there aren't too many people. This is my strategy for getting a seat. Getting a seat is not guaranteed, even though the train originates only one stop away. I usually stand on a narrow strip of the platform, because fewer people squeeze in there. This puts me toward the middle-rear of the train.

Lately I have noticed, when the train is gliding into Davis, that the first car often has many free seats. One day, I tried to stand toward the front end. It worked pretty well, because I got a seat, and when we got to South Station, I was so far from the escalator that the crowd had cleared by the time I got there. That day, I rode the escalator.  It's striking what can make one happy at 8:16 in the morning.

Every Day Should Be Friday

Okay, so I have not written a blog post for a long, long time. I admit it, my commute to downtown Boston is not all that fascinating. More important, my commute has left me precious little time to do anything other than work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. Or, to quote a greeting card I got from a friend one time, with a picture of a goldfish in a bowl, "Ate, slept, swam around the bowl. Ate, slept, swam around the bowl. What's new with you?"

Today was Friday. And Friday is the happiest day of the week. The commute is so much easier on a Friday. I pulled out of the driveway at 7:34; got to the parking spot at 7:49; got to Davis Station at 7:54. Train arriving…didn’t run…still made it. Walked up stairs at South Station at 8:16 am.

I believe that calculates to a 42-minute commute, minus the five minutes or so it takes me to walk across the Summer Street bridge to the office. I actually got there about 8:26...less than an hour door to door, my own personal best!

It has been a busy couple of weeks since I last wrote. For the second time in six weeks I got the random search. This time they swabbed my bag with a cotton-like square and put the square into a machine. Checking for explosives, no doubt. Happy to report I was clean. Even happier to report I didn't miss a train because of it!

All of the snow has melted, and getting to the parking spot in north Cambridge (Davis Square vicinity) is much easier than it was a month ago. This week, as I walked to the train, the birdsong was amazing. Who knew there were so many crazy birds in north Cambridge waiting for the time change to happen so they could sing their little hearts out every morning? And what are they thinking, settling in Cambridge, when they could be out in, say, Concord, near Walden Pond or some more bird-friendly place? What kind of bird decides to settle in Cambridge?

Something to research for future.

Sorry You Were Stabbed, Where's My Train?

No sooner did my friend Meems assure me that my stretch of Red Line was the best ("You don't get any unwashed drunks falling in your lap on the Alewife to Downtown stretch"), then I read in the Boston Globe about a stabbing at Park Street. In true Boston fashion, the story mentioned the impact on the commute before reporting the condition of the victim:

"A male was stabbed aboard an MBTA Red Line train yesterday evening, causing delays during rush hour, officials said."

The good news is that he was close to Mass General. Unlike many Red Line commuters, he is expected to survive.

All Roads Lead to a Similar Misery

Today was a relatively good commute. I decided to drive to my parking spot via Route 2, as if I were going to Alewife. There was a bit of traffic at the series of lights on Park Avenue, prior to getting onto the Route 2 ramp. Also minor backup getting onto Route 16. But once I was through that last light, it was clear sailing. I actually got to my spot in about 25 minutes.

Add a five-minute walk to the Davis T station, with a train to Alewife coming in, and I was at work at 8:30.

So, now I've tried virtually every route I know to try, and it all comes out the same: One hour + to get from my house to job at Fort Point Channel.

I know, I know: Leave earlier. That's the key. Left the house at 7:30 this morning. Oh, but did I mention I got a seat both times?

Also got a "random search" on my way home tonight. They only looked in my bags. If I had been wired with explosives on my person, they would have totally missed it. Thank goodness I am a peaceful, law-abiding citizen, as my father used to say.

Pinch Me, I Must Be Dreaming

For the second day in a row the commute took only an hour and I got a seat both coming and going. This morning's ride was actually kind of hard to gauge, as I went to the gym first. Got out of the gym at around 7:20, moved the car, and was downtown by 8:09.

On the downside, I worked a long day. Left the office at 6 and was home around 7:05. Not bad, though obviously I'd like to be home earlier.

I don't know what's up with this week, but whatever it is, I hope it continues!

Why Can't Every Day Be Like Today?

I knew the minute my car hit the road that today was different. I'm not sure if it was because it was Valentine's Day, and maybe people took the day off to spend a romantic weekend with their respective honeys. But there were, simply, way fewer cars on the road--and people on the Red Line--than any day last week, by far.

Luck was with me from the start, when I made three green lights in a row. I had brought the GPS with me, because I was considering trying a new route. In the end, I faced a fairly tolerable backup on Mass Ave just before it crosses Route 16.

I even got a seat on the train! And not a cramped seat jammed between two large people in overstuffed coats, but a nice end seat, with room for my bag next to me. I sat and read the paper in peace.

Tonight I worked rather late, but for the first time, the first train into South Station was going my way. Again, a seat was to be had.

Today will be a tough day to beat.

Globe Editorial Stands Up for the T

Tap parking revenues at Logan to ease dire state of the MBTA - The Boston Globehttp://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/editorial_opinion/editorials/articles/2011/02/13/tap_parking_revenues_at_logan_to_ease_dire_state_of_the_mbta/

Wherein the Boston Globe argues that income from parking fees at Logan Airport should contribute to improvements in the MBTA.

Most memorable quote of the story:

Each year, the T pays more to service its debt than it takes in at the farebox.

Can that be true?

I'll Get to Read on the Train

After eleven years working at a job seven miles from my home, I recently began a new position located in downtown Boston. I knew the new commute would be worse than my old commute, but I actually welcomed the time I'd be spending on the bus or train. I was reclaiming my "reading time," I told myself and anyone else who would listen.

Now, with one week's experience as my guide, I embark on this blog to share my angst about using the MBTA's Red Line. I don't intend this as criticism of the fine people who work at the T. They work hard and do their jobs well. Still, the frustration of the past week's travel requires an outlet, and this is it.

A lot of the frustration has nothing to do with the MBTA but rather with the difficulty of getting to the train. I live in Arlington, Mass., which has been described as "close to everything, convenient to nothing."

Friday, February 11, took the prize. I actually got to Davis Square early, just before 8, feeling like I had all the time in the world. No sooner did I enter the station than the dreaded announcement came: 

Attention passengers, we are experiencing significant delays due to a disabled car on the northbound side at Harvard. Expect twenty to twenty-five minute delays.

I was traveling south (or "inbound"), so I thought it shouldn't be so bad. But, of course, if the trains cannot go north (or "outbound"), then they cannot make it to the end of the line where they turn around a go south. As I descended the stairs to the platform, the reality became clear: A sea of humanity was waiting on the inbound side. Not only would I not be getting a seat, I'd be lucky to get on a train.

As is usually the case in these circumstances, the first three trains to arrive were on the northbound (read, troubled) side. I seriously considered going north to Alewife and then just sitting on the train until it came south. Next time, I might.