Wednesday, May 23, 2007

I'm Not On The Train

I moved to a city that has a light rail system, albeit an expensive and not necessarily reliable (hey, even dangerous!) one. Having moved from a city that doesn't have such a system, or any system, really, I am mostly positive about it. With the notable exception that I've caught like 4 colds since the start of the year, almost certainly traceable to the shared breathing situation I'm in for an hour per day, it's been great. Reading on the train, no matter how bumpy, beats stuck in traffic all day every day.

But that's not to say that it isn't a challenge. For one thing, most of my fellow train riders have a less-than-sunny outlook on riding the train. Or going to work. Or something like that. The sighs and long faces I see trundling down the aisle towards me make me self-conscious about my hair, and worried about our national psyche.

I can't make people like their jobs, or like their mornings, or like their lives. I can only hope.

To be honest, though, I don't really hope for them to be happy. That's their choice. I just wish they'd take more showers, not smoke so much, and talk on the phone less. I mean all these things in the least altrusitic way. I'd prefer for them to be clean, healthy, and more desirous of face-to-face communication in their daily lives, but I care more about how these nasty lifestyle traits of theirs affect my train-riding experience. Unfortunately, the average commuter sitting next to, in front of, or behind me on the train has either walked out of a sewer, recently smoked his clothing so as to better preserve it, and/or is loudly talking on his cell phone. Bonus points for the guys with the walkie-talkie feature, the inventor of which I would like to punch in the groin.

But the interesting observation of the day - and please confirm, any of you who ride trains on a daily basis - is that there's a good chance (maybe 90%) that a person who starts a cell phone call while on the train will, in the call's first 10-20 seconds, announce to the party on the other end, loudly, that he or she is on the train. People who ride trains: watch for this. Yeah, it's a function of the mobile phone society; we have no idea where the other person is when we call, and often we're calling to find out exactly that. Or we just want to know. But still, it's fairly obnoxious for a person to announce to a room full of people, on a train, that he is on the train. It does confirm to the party on the other end that he has completed rolling himself in the mud and leaving stale cigars in his coat pockets, I suppose.

That said, I enjoy the train and look forward to riding it to work in the morning. It's overpriced, and it's often late, but it beats driving.

That I haven't adjusted to, sadly. I have a theory that, once one learns to drive in one region of the country, one cannot move to another region without thinking that the drivers in the new region drive like rabid crazed idiots. My adjustment to the driving style of the atlantic states has been rocky at best (New Jersey, I'm looking at you, here).

So, I like the train. A Philly SEPTA commuter on his cell phone is annoying; a Philly car commuter on his cell phone is just plain dangerous.

2 comments:

Meg said...

You know those new signs on all the SEPTA trains: "Yes, you are talking that loud." and "Be considerate of other riders: keep phone calls as short as possible and use your inside voice." I saw a conductor enforcing it a couple of days ago. There may be hope yet...

Meg said...

Also, to those of you who do not have the pleasure of using a light rail system, a typical phone conversation, generally on one of those goddamn walkie talkie phones. (This isn't boyscouts, people. A phone you can use mobily in which others don't hear the other side of the conversation is supposed to be a step forward in gadgetry.)

Pal of obnoxious tool ("POOT"): BEEPADEBEEP. Yo, gawg. Where you at?

Tool with walkie in train ("TWWIT"): BEEPADEBEEP. (yelling) Hey, dawg. I'm on the train. Where you at?

POOT: BEEPADEBEEP. You're on the what?

TWWIT: BEEPADEBEEP. (yelling) I'm on the train.

POOT: BEEPADEBEEP. You're on the train?

TWWIT: BEEPADEBEEP. (yelling) Yeah. On the train. The R7.

POOT: BEEPADEBEEP. You ain't on the train, dawg. I'm on that train.

TWWIT: BEEPADEBEEP. (yelling) What, you thinking I's playin' you? I'm on the train. Headed to Trenton.

POOT: BEEPADEBEEP. No shit, dawg. Me too. Where you at?

TWWIT: BEEPADEBEEP. (yelling) I told you. I'm on the train.

POOT: BEEPADEBEEP. Naw, dawg. I mean where you at on the train?

You'd think, after such an exchange that the two friends would find each other and go talk in person. Alas, no. They continue their conversation the ENTIRE 40-MINUTE RIDE HOME! (At least, I think they do. I tend to leave for another car once it appears that there is no end in sight for the conversation. The times I have stuck it out, TWWIT continues yapping on, oblivious to the fact that he has emptied the car he is riding in.)