The Red Line, which was the epitome of jacked-up-edness yesterday.
Truth be told, I'm a bit of railfan. I love trains and, mostly, subways. The T has allowed me to live without a car, and I still get a thrill out of the idea of rapid transit under buildings and streets. It's relatively clean and safe, and my location puts me within walking distance of every major line, meaning, essentially, the entire city is just a Charlie Card swipe away.
As much as I love the T, however, it really got in my juice yesterday. Yes, delays can be expected occasionally, but a 40-minute delay at rush hour on Friday is bound to piss off even the most easy-going person.
Especially one who has to be at work.
Although the travel time between my door and my desk is only 30 minutes via subway, I always allow 45 minutes in case of delays. I also check the MBTA site for service interruptions an hour before I leave.
I logged on yesterday at 4:30 p.m., and saw everything was running on time. I left my apartment at 4:50 and got to Park Street Station at 5. Even though the temperature was pleasant, the subways are always hot (the heat from the lights, people and trains are insulated quite well by the streets above). Something was wrong, however — it was hot as hell in the station. As I descended to the lowest level, where the Red Line runs, I learned why: The platforms were packed with people. That's a bad, bad, bad sign.
I asked somebody what was up and she said she didn't know; they were just announcing a delay due to a disabled train. I had 10 minutes to spare before I had to worry about being late, so tried not to sweat it. Well, not literally — it was at least 90 degrees in the station and there was no air movement. It looked like everyone was leaking, there was so much sweating.
Twenty minutes passed. "I should call," I thought, but I couldn't because there was no signal that far underground. Thirty minutes passed and the same ambiguous PA message was being repeated. Finally, an announcer told us a southbound train was coming — but it was the disabled one, being pushed by another train. We all watched with sorrow as two empty trains rolled by.
Finally, minutes later another train came. Now's when the fun begins: Park Street is the system's busiest station, and commuters who've exited from the Green, Orange and Silver lines have pooled around the platforms with nowhere to go. They're all hot and they all want to get on that air-conditioned train bound for home.
First came the pushing. Then the cursing. Then the cramming. I made it on to the train and thought, "Well, I guess that'll do it. No more space here." Ha! A seemingly invisible force kept pushing me in farther and farther until everyone in the car was literally on top of his or her neighbor. Although I didn't have to hold on to anything (the human cushion worked well), it meant I was squished on my right by a guy with body odor that smelled like burnt bacon wrapped around feet, and on my left by a guy who was wearing a shirt that had to be one bartenders used to clean ashtrays.
Normally, the four stops that separate me from Park Street and JFK stations are a somewhat pleasant ride. A chance for me to ride for a few minutes or contemplate life. But yesterday it was an opportunity to work on breathing as little as possible.
Oh, and then there's work. Because I was designing the wire pages, my delay could affect the entire A section workflow (if I can't plan stories, copy editors can't read them). Getting into work 40 minutes late meant a lot of catching up. Fortunately, the paper was tiny. (Maybe there is a kind and benevolent God?)
I understand problems happen, especially when the system is as busy as it is on Friday. But seriously, the MBTA needs to communicate better. Instead of broadcasting the same vague message to a station full of pissed-off, overheated commuters, tell us what the hell is happening. "A train is disabled outside of Harvard Station. It's being removed now. A replacement train is leaving in 15 minutes." Is that so hard?
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