Mass Transit and the loneliness of the commuter

I live in the Washington D.C. metropolitan area.  When I first moved here I had a decision to make.  I had no car, and I had to decide to buy one or use mass transit for all of my traveling needs.  After weighing the pros and cons carefully, I am glad to say that I decided to choose adventure over convenience. I would like to say my decision to ride the train was borne out of some noble cause, like saving on energy or a personal commitment to saving the planet from global warming. I mean that would sound classy and very politically correct, wouldn’t it?  But, if truth be told, my decision was based on selfish reasons.  My employer offered a per diem for taking mass transit, a kind of free pass, and by accepting the free pass traveling to and from work each day would cost me nothing, while driving a car to work would cost me gas and a monthly car payment.

So I moved to an apartment situated about 1 1/4 miles from a train station, and the next day I began my daily journey to and fro the depot.  The adventure lay in the walk itself, the interesting fellow travelers I would meet on platform and train, and the capriciousness of the train schedule, which it turns out had more of a mind of its own than the passengers it held captive.  

The walks started out pleasant enough in the early autumn light.  I could look around and familiarize myself with the surroundings and people.  One day while walking to the train I came across four people, three of whom were in the throes of vigorous conversation.  One guy was facing the other three — another man, a woman his age, possibly his wife, and an elderly woman who stood between and slightly behind them.  Perhaps she was the mother or grandmother of the other two or a distant relative.  I really don’t know.  But it was this elderly woman who struck me.  Her face had been sculpted by time the way water and wind etch crags and crevices into the face of the earth.  It had much character, and even more sadness.  And her body was brittle, the bones waiting to shatter upon the slightest trespass.  

The conversation between the man and woman and the third man had taken the form of questions and answers.  When the one man asked a question of the other two, they would always confer before answering, but never with the elderly woman.   Always and never.  A stark contrast.  She was never even looked at.  She was there yet not there, she existed yet she did not, and it was then that I realized the source of the sadness so prominently etched into her face.  Years of neglect, loneliness, and imposed solitude had taken their toll.  She could walk freely, eat when she wanted to, watch TV, listen to the radio, yet she lived a life of forced solitary confinement.  All her friends had probably died, and all that was left was probably her family, if they were her family, and the thoughts and memories that had been her life.  She was so old she didn’t count anymore.  Her opinion was of no merit.  I walked on leaving all but her behind, and I’ve always wondered what happened to that hapless older lady, if she found some gladness, a companion or two, or if she slowly faded away into exile.

Enough!

There had been these two teens who took a liking to me.  They were looking to have fun at someone else’s expense, and I, being a regular traveler on a schedule, was a juicy target that would keep on giving.  Even the unreliable value someone else’s reliability.  They would ride their bikes harassing me with silly name calling every time they passed.  This went on for about a month, until one day, one of them, the instigator, came a little too close.  Out swung my arm connecting solidly with the right side of his head.  He and bike went flying, each to their own destinations, while his buddy skedaddled on out of there leaving his friend to his own fate.  The one I hit got up screaming, barely holding back tears, “Why did you do that for?  We were only having fun!”

He was about 17.  Old enough!

As the seasons turned, it got colder, and the walks darker and less interesting. But you never know what you might walk into in the dark.  I remember standing on a corner, the sun still hidden below the horizon, waiting for a pick-up truck to turn before I crossed.  As he started up and turned, he ran up the curb whacking me on my side with the rear side of his truck.  I had never been struck by a moving vehicle before, and the new sensation surprised me, but little more.  It was really just a tap, although a solid one.  Having met briefly and with no more business to conduct, the driver went his way and I mine, he probably wondering what the Kthunk was, and me thinking about the story I could tell everyone at work.  I was now a casualty of a reckless driver, a national and local statistic, and I sure wasn’t going to let that slip by without telling a few captive co-workers. 

Have you ever been hit by a car?

Why, yes I have.  Let me tell you about it.

The train ride itself was popular.  Standing room only.  Too many people getting per diem, I guess.  One time I was stuck in the middle of a car, and it was so crowed I couldn’t make it through the mob to get off at my stop.  I ended up traveling all the way to Union Station in the heart of the city, where I disembarked shedding fellow passengers, flying elbows, swinging brief cases, and a heavy load of frustration.  I decided the heck with work and responsibility and ate a hearty breakfast to calm my nerves, and then spend a pleasant day at the Smithsonians.  

Returning, I hopped on the wrong train, the train that doesn’t stop at my stop, and ended up at Baltimore Washington International Airport.  Getting home required the purchase of another ticket going in the opposite direction and waiting for about 20 minutes for the next train to arrive.  When I finally landed at the correct station it was raining hard.  This is normally not a problem.  Just be patient, have a seat in the ticket office, and wait for the rain to subside.  But when it rains it pours, and it had already rained plenty on me that day, and this time the rain didn’t relent.  Instead it kept coming down heavier and heavier.  So I walked umbrellaless and raincoatless  the 1 1/4 miles home, my clothes absorbing water like an old dried out sponge expanding and expanding, getting heavier and heavier with each step.  Now I know that it is most certainly true that you will drown if you jump into the water fully clothed.

Well that did it.  Keep your per diem, stuff your global warming where the sun doesn’t shine, and the hell with any energy crisis.  The next weekend I bought a car and haven’t ridden the train since.

And so it goes.