Compass & Coffee Spoons

Could This Help Transit?

I got a lot of enjoyment out of this articlefrom the Miami Herald, via Planetizen. Here's a snippet:

"James Harris loves public buses so much, he stole one from a Miami-Dade depot last month and, wearing a genuine uniform, chauffeured unsuspecting fare-paying passengers around South Beach for hours, police and government officials said Thursday.

When Harris, 18, was arrested a few days later, he posted bail -- and promptly stole a second bus.

''He's a real transit freak,'' said Derrick Gordon, assistant director for bus operations..."

Photo from nycsubway.org--their 2001 Best Non-NYC Metro Area Bus Photo contest winner BusProwler, depicting "bus 9910, a Miami-Dade Transit 1999 NABI 40-LFW is parked outside a trailer park in Liberty City assisting in evacuating a flooded trailer park following the infamous No Name Storm of October 2000."

 

Cool Tool

Ask.com has this cool feature where you can calculate walking directions and distance. It's pretty spot on too. I just did my route to work and was going to show it until I realized that, um, I shouldn't post my home and work addresses online. I did do that walk today, though, and it takes about an hour. The estimate was 57 minutes, which I could definitely do if I stepped it up a bit.

So, here's a hypothetical walk from Pittsburgh to New York:

You can get there in 185 hours if you want! Pretty cool, huh?

Commuter Sentences: Cheapest Variety Show

This morning's bus ride was one of the more amusing in awhile. When I first got on, there were several interesting folks sitting in the seats near the rear door. The one woman, who I've seen before, was yelling at the 2 men sitting near her. She has a very interesting appearance. Her skin seems to have one of those disorders that causes spotting and discoloration. That's not what makes her odd--it just adds to the complete picture. She wears what can only be described as tatters. I'm not talking older clothing--but actual tatters. I'm not sure how it stays on. There is not a place where the jacket is actually in one piece. And, she wears the same thing all year, as far as I can tell. Her pants, shirt, and "tattered" jacket are all one color: the color of oatmeal. This set of people got off at Union Station, opening the space for more people.

Two gentleman got on, drinking from a Mountain Dew bottle. I don't think it was Mountain Dew. After a few stops, they had to move from their seats to allow space for a man in a wheelchair. This put them in close proximity to someone who somehow offended them. For the next, oh, 20-25 minutes, they were screaming at the guy, who, as far as I can tell, did or said nothing. I can't even recount exactly what they were saying, though I can remember some:

"Ain't nthin' wrong with you wanting to be white, but touch my friend again, and I'll whoop your ass."

"You remind me of my mother" (to a woman sitting a few seats away) "and that's the only reason I'm not getting down here."

You get the idea.

At some point, a man got on and sat behind me. He was continually commenting on the goings-on up front. I guess I looked tense. I was...between going to work and listening to the insanity, yeah, you could say I was a little tense. At one point, this man reached around and waved at me. I turned around:

"yes?"

"You look tense. You keep movin' your neck around. Maybe I can rub your back for you."

I admit, though a massage was tempting, I had to decline.

"Yeah, these big black hands will feel great on your back."

"No, thanks..."

I got off a block early. A very eventful morning. I think you could say I got my $1.25's worth!

Picture by The Washington Post Express, www.readexpress.com

Commuter Sentences: This Week in Transit

It was an eventful week on WMATA. Lots of delays, but of course, that's not what's most interesting about commuting.

I have started a new game on the Metro to pass the time. I call it "Gay or Married." It's pretty simple. I look at a guy and try to decide whether he's gay or married, because as most single ladies in DC know, it's quite certain he's one or the other. The only hitch to this is that you don't ever REALLY know the right answer. Still, it's something to do other than read the advertisements.  I stick with white men between the ages of 25 and 40. White because black men are much harder to distinguish, and let's face it, as Ice T told us on SVU, many of them could be "on the down low." 25 to 40 because that's the age group I'm most interested in. I also skip any obvious tourists.

Tuesday evening on the D6, there was an altercation between the driver and a handicapped man. To be honest, I don't exactly know what the issue was. What I could gather was that he wanted people to give up their seats and maybe someone wouldn't? When I got there, the space for his chair was clear, but he was rattling on and on about something and pointing at the sign screaming "Federal Law," and the driver was saying "Sir, my number is" blah blah "Call Metro if you have a problem." At any rate, I was relieved--because of their argument, I was able to catch the bus from the metro at Union Station. Oh, and bonus: not only was I able to reach the bus in time, but it was free because the SmarTrip thingy was broken! Woo hoo. I'll try not to spend that 35 cents all in one place.

Thursday morning, I encountered the "huggy couple" on the metro. I've seen them more than once. They started off separately on either side of the door and then the woman goes in and leans against him--front to front--for the remainder of the trip. The first time I saw this, I thought perhaps someone had died and she was crying. No, just very comfortable with PDA.

I did a lot of walking this week--mainly because of getting up late or coming home late and not wanting to wait...patience: not a personal strength.

Life in Steerage

Picture from http://www.airfarewatchdog.com of an Eastern Airlines Super Constellation. As you can see, NOT a recent photo!

I had a work trip on Thursday. Though the flight was only 2 hours, it seemed interminable. First, it took off an hour late. Second, the flight was packed, and I had what was quite possibly the worst seat: 25d, the last seat in the plane, adjacent to the rest room. I swear every person on the plane used the rest room...twice. Each time, I got a nice whiff of lovely rest room odor. I wanted to tell them to get their prostates checked, going that much on a 2-hour flight. I may have if half of them weren't female. Third, the seat was small and my butt was large. I don't think I've ever been so uncomfortable in an airline seat. For a second, I thought "I don't think I'm going to fit. I had a French chap beside me. I gingerly told him that I was trying to keep my butt as compact as possible. It was insane. Every time he pushed down on the armrest, because he was also clearly uncomfortable, it drove into my thigh...excruciating. Fortunately, on the way back, I had an empty seat beside me, so I could lift the arm rest and give myself more room.  When I got to my destination, it was not over. I had to wait through two shuttle buses to get to the rental car center and then had an hour drive. I was home not a minute too soon on Friday!

Commuter Sentences: Walk Away The Pounds

As I stood shivering waiting for the bus after work (note to self: remember hat and scarf), I struck up a conversation with another waiting passenger. Or, rather, he struck it up with me. I have no reason NOT to believe him, though it seems rather incredible. Apparently, last year, he was a size 9x, had a 60 inch waist, and weighed 550 lbs. Now, he weighs 190 and walks, get this, 22 miles a day! Starting at 5:30, he walks up the Potomac to Great Falls every day, except for Wednesdays when he climbs the Monument steps. The trip takes him 3 hours. The first time he did it, it took him 18 hours. He has several seniors ranging up to 91 years old who he makes walk 1 mile each day (I didn't get into where these seniors are or how he makes them walk). He said he hasn't changed his diet at all. "It's not what you put in your mouth, it's what you do with it once it's there. Look at the bus drivers. They eat and it all just sits and they're all wide down the bottom." Once a month, in fact, he eats a dozen doughnuts, and he has an enormous breakfast each day. This whole story pointed to the fact that the only person who can change one's life is oneself. He said as much. He also said he has walked to 17th Street NE before the bus arrived there. I DEFINITELY believe that!

Commuter Sentences: Love Thy Neighbor

On the way to work this morning (okay, I'm blogging at work, but give me a break, it's lunchtime), I decided to walk to the metro, given that I skipped the gym. So, I walked past my homeless friend near Union Station who said "2 more days to the weekend--think positive!" I love him. I have the feeling many people do, because yesterday he had a pot of hot coffee there with him.

Well, on the metro, I went to sit down and had this guy rushing from the other end of the train to sit where I was sitting (2 seats available). I mean, he REALLY wanted that seat. As I watched him write a list on his daily planner pad, I was formulating ideas about what he was about. I was confidant that if he were a character in a made-for-TV feature-length film, he'd be either a.) a serial killer b.) the bumbling office eccentric who everyone makes fun of for being uptight and anal or c.) spy in the manner of Robert Hanssen (i.e. guy from Breach...the fedora helped in this regard).

He threw me for a loop when he pulled out Washington Hispanic. I didn't peg him as Hispanic. But then I thought maybe he just picked it up near the station for something to read, lest he have a moment with nothing to do.

Well, just shy of our stop, Farragut North, the train stops because--and I quote--"a wheelchair person is laid out on the edge of the track so trains are traveling at a reduced rate of speed." So, he says to me "What do you suppose that means?" Each announcement over the next 10 minutes clarified the situation a bit. It seems someone fell out of their wheelchair. No one really explained to us, however, why no one just helped them up and away from the edge. So, we had a bit of interaction over the whole ordeal--he felt it could be an attempted suicide. I felt it was Metro trying to get more creative with their excuses.

But, in the end, I don't think he's a serial killer or spy, though he may be a bit anal, who isn't. It just goes to show how jumping to conclusions about other people can cause irrational thoughts and behaviors--from road rage to simple snapping of a checkout person at a customer...in the end, we just need to be more sympathetic and have more interaction.

Okay, this kumbaya moment is officially OVER.

Commuter Sentences: Sometimes a Short Distance is Actually Very Long

I left work around 6:30 and then got to Union Station around 6:45. I had about 10 minutes to wait for the 6:55 D6--or, around 40 minutes, which is what it actually took. So, it took me, all said, about an hour and a half to get home, which means, I probably could have walked home faster.

Commuter Sentences: Another Day, Another Commute

Another classic commute...this morning, on the bus, I said "excuse me" to a guy who was taking up 1 3/4 seat...all sprawled out. Well, you'd think I'd asked him to donate a kidney to me rather than to move his legs over and pick up the bag off of the seat.  Jerk.

On the metro home, I was behind a black guy who was humming. This is a variety of a musical commuting species which includes "black guy with loud headphones" and "black woman singing." Now, I'm not being racist here, just factual. It's simply that the only white people who ever have the nerve to sing in public are either a.) Britney Spears--and we can see that doesn't always work out well, er. b.) crazy. The closest any white person comes to entering this species is "White guy tapping his foot and grooving his head," which is just embarrassing. Both the "black guy with headphones" and "black guy humming" are generally being on the quiet side, more or less asserting to the rest of us that they indeed have rhythm. "Black woman singing" is rarer, but you can't help but notice because they don't hold back. It's like an audition for American Idol.

I missed the bus on the way home by a fraction of a second. I was literally standing on the median of Massachusetts Avenue waiting for traffic to let up or for the light to change. No luck. I should have followed the guy who cut in front of traffic, but I was too little a risk taker. The bus was mere feet in front of me as I crossed the street. What a let down. I decided to walk, but had horrible shoes on...c'est la vie. C'est la commute.

Commuter Sentences: Rainy Tuesday

I took the Circulator today and discovered that it's the cheapest way to travel. Because it's only $1, and transfers to other buses are free, I can get home for a buck, including the transfer to the D6.  I find it funny that someone who regularly indulges in buying coffee out at like a 1000% markup is being stingy with 35 cents.

Anyway, at the Union Station bus stop waiting for the D6, there was an umbrella salesman. I wish I had a digital recorder so I could share this because I'm sure my writing will not adequately convey this.

"It's GO-ing to RAAIIIN. Buy an umbrellaaaa. Only five dollahs.."

That's totally not getting the inflection in his voice. There was something so funny about it. He was really industrious. Even though no one was walking past, and the only people near him were me and another woman who had been standing there for quite awhile (i.e. clear we weren't interested), he continued to chant and chant and chant. You gotta admire that.