My weekday mornings typically start peacefully with a leisurely metro ride to work. The 35 minute ride easily lends itself to a quick cat nap or several chapters of whatever book I happen to be reading. Normally, I revel in my commute. I silently yet smuggly pity all those haggard souls who are forced behind the wheel only to sit in DC's infamous bumper to bumper traffic quietly wondering when the person behind them is actually going to crawl up the back bumper of their car. For this among many other reasons, I typically revere the ease and tranquility of the metro. Worship it even.
But then there are days like today.
Getting on at the end of the line means I nearly always get a seat - a beautiful and coveted thing. This morning was no different. I took my seat in Vienna, pulled out my latest favorite book and settled in to enjoy an uneventful ride. Two stops later my bliss was rudely interrupted by the I'm sure kindly, but nonetheless annoying, man who takes it upon himself to share the word of God with metro riders through the joyful art of song. Except he's totally tone deaf and he makes me want to rip my own ears off. But taking the metro in the afternoon means that you learn to tune out crying toddlers and obnoxious teenagers, so I tilt my head still further down and pray silently to go deaf.
Two more stops and the piece de resistance! A woman gets on the train and proceeds to the seat next to me. I'm in the inside seat and by some miracle we've made it four stops without the train completely filling up. She gives me the "is this seat taken" smile and I slide my coat off the part of the adjacent seat it was overlapping. And then she sits down. Except it's not a "sit" so much as a slide into the seat and in doing so she actually moves me with her ass. I swear. One minute I'm sitting comfortably in my seat, the next I'm pressed against the window like one of those creepy kids you see at the zoo trying to be one with the animals. The kicker here, and I know this is going to sound sizist, but trust me, that's not what I'm going for, is that the woman sitting next to me doesn't really need more than her seat. She's just rude and completely lacks any self-awareness as to the space she's taking up. I make it another two stops like this before I realize that if I stay here any longer I might be compelled to commit an act of violence that involves my book and the side of her head. So I excuse myself to stand.
No sooner do I stand up than a woman gets on with a small child in a stroller. I don't know exactly how old, I'm not great at the age guessing game. Old enough to be a stroller and young enough to still be spitting up. Which he then goes about doing. Spits up right at my feet. Thankfully, and this is the tiny silver-lining to this whole black cloud of a ride, not actually on my feet. Now I have irrationally angry written all over my face, but I try to bite it back because the mother looks mortified. And she really shouldn't. Babies are babies and there's not much you can do about that as a parent. As an innocent bystander, however, I can move myself the hell down the train away from the rotting stench of curdling milk. But by then it's in my nostrils and I can't seem to shake it no matter how many passengers I put between us. And then, like some gift from God, the driver announces my stop and the doors open, ending my hell and torment.
So the next time I get all smug about the tranquility of my commute when compared to the average driver or worse say something arrogant about how by using public transit I'm doing my part for the environment, remind me of my commute this morning. And then don't be surprised to hear me say, "Can someone drive me to the car dealership?"
aww, ntin sounds like a shit ride. the baby vomit woulda taken me over the edge. but, alas, i still feel public transporting is WAY WAY better than car commutes. one bad ride once a month, even once a week is better than the life-stunting stress of driving in heavy traffic.
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