Moral Crises on the Red Line, Part I

Every now and then the ride to work provides a glimpse into my innermost psyche, a snapshot of the person I truly am, and it’s not always pretty. Take this week, the week following the great blizzard of ’13. As one might imagine, the T was pretty crowded this week. One day, as I sat with my nose in my magazine, a man sat next to me. As we all know, the seats are kind of tight together, and while he wasn’t a terribly large man, I certainly was cognizant of someone landing there. He had a bag that he put on the floor between his feet, then he put his hands together and clapped them, silently but rapidly, much in the way someone might if they had, for example, a mental illness.

I didn’t think much of it. As I said, I was concentrating on my Harper’s. Although it pains me to admit this, I didn’t really pay much attention until I smelled him. You know the smell: eau de homelessness. Now, there is a part of me—my heart—that goes out to someone in that situation. A part of me that cannot believe we live in a society where some people do not have a roof over their heads on some (most?) nights.

But then there is also that other part of me. The selfish part, the part that doesn’t want any trouble. The part that, for an instant, looked across the aisle at empty seats and actually thought, “Should I move?”

I didn’t move, but not because I am a good person. I didn’t move because I didn’t want to be obvious. I didn’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings and I didn’t want my fellow riders to see what a lowdown, selfish, elitist snob I am at heart. He got off the train at Park Street, after some additional unusual behavior involving his hands.

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?

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.

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.