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Riding on the Metro.
Sep. 12th, 2008 08:01 pmTaking the Metro to work at night has been a bit iffy.
I have the good fortune to have a train that will get me into downtown pretty much precisely on time. Maybe a few minutes late, depending on how fast I can walk and how fast the trains are going, but nothing that I can't fudge with a few minutes at the end of the day.
On the other hand, at that time of night, trains only run every twenty minutes, so if I miss that train, I end up being almost half an hour late for work, an interval I definitely cannot fudge. And trying to catch an earlier train means I'm spending almost a half an hour in downtown late at night, which is pretty pointless.
And catching that sweet-spot train is made difficult because, as the MTA says, "All service after 9:00PM is subject to minor delays for system maintenance." Is that a problem? I mean a delay makes the train easier to catch, right?
Well, sometimes. Other times, "delays" for the MTA also includes "negative delays," that is, trains leaving several minutes earlier than scheduled.
So, I'm hurrying my way down the hill to the Metro Station, and I don't know what kind of time I'm making. It's rough, because my walk to the Metro happens at exactly the same time that Wicked lets out at the Pantages. So I have to fight my along way against a horde of slow-moving theatergoers trying to get to their cars.
Once I make it to the station, then I have to deal with the mass-transit newbies. See, during rush hour, when all the commuters are trying to get on and off their trains, everyone understands the etiquette of the escalator—if you want to just stand there, you do your just-standing in a single file along the righthand side, so that the people who wish to utilize the stair aspect of the device can move past on your left. The folks casually making their way home from the theater or an early night in Hollywood don't care about this. I usually say, "Excuse me," and make my way past them. Today, I did this through a group of three men, but as I passed, I heard one clearly remark, "See, now he's going to get there five minutes earlier than us," which was met with snickering.
I didn't respond to them, because I knew I didn't have time. The trains this week were running early this week, and I didn't know what time it was. What I knew was that if I was going to make the train, I needed to be on the platform now.
When I saw the station clock, I knew I'd arrived at the same time that I had the previous night. It had been adequate then, but that was no guarantee of tonight. As I loped by the ticket kiosks (unnecessary with my monthly pass), I heard the screech I was dreading. Maybe it was the northbound train? When I got to the final stairs, I could see the lack of passengers. Maybe it was just a slow night? But when I reached the platform, I knew it was gone. I waited a few minutes till the clock ticked past the regularly scheduled arrival time, and then I headed back out for plan B.
On my way back up, I walked through the snickerers from before, who'd apparently been delayed buying their tickets. I thought now would be an appropriate time to respond. "Missed it by seconds, guys. Thanks for moving."
Yeah, bitchy, I know, but bitchy in kind.
So I wasn't really prepared for the "SCREW YOU!" that was shouted at the back of my head. It sounded like the one who'd commented first.
The moral of the story, if you can't take the heat, don't be a dumbass.
Plan B is, of course, my car. One of the thigns that kept me driving for so long is that my downtown commute is so easy. If I had worked during the day, I'd have switched to Metro long ago, back when I lived in Sherman Oaks. But with the empty highways of late night, and the uncongested drive against traffic during rush hour, it seemed like
Still, it's an easy backup plan for me. After missing a train, I can walk back home in time to stop in for a forgotten item before getting in the car and driving into work. I don't have paid parking anymore, but there's street parking where the meters don't start running until 8 a.m., a half hour after I finish my day. So I drive in and park right outside the building, with minimal muss and fuss.
Of course, one of the things I miss about driving home is shopping after work.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ojouchan gave me a list—before I left house, or e-mailed during work—and I'd stop at the supermarket on my way home to pack the car full of groceries before reaching home. The same supermarket is still on the Metro stop, but I can't carry as much home, and the time it takes to get off and back on the trains is annoyingly longer for such a meagre
Still, on that day, I knew we needed some bread, and I wanted to pick up some more salad dressing. There was probably something else pressing, because it was enough to get me out of the train and headed to the store. I wished I could call Ojou. There's always something I forget, even when I plan; but my cell phone has been acting weird, and pretty much the only time I can use it now is when it's plugged into the outlet in my car. And of course, my car was back at . . .
And that's when I remembered: the story I told you above, and the story I'm telling you now happened on the same day.
I'd driven to work, and blissfully ridden the Metro back home.
And now my car had been sitting in a metered parking spot for 25 minutes next to a flashing light that pleaded, "Ticket him! Please! For the good of the coffers!"
It was a frustrating ride back. And a frustrating sprint up the hill to the car. But despite sitting out there for forty minutes, I didn't get a ticket. It was a relief for me, but it was kind of anticlimactic for the story.
I have the good fortune to have a train that will get me into downtown pretty much precisely on time. Maybe a few minutes late, depending on how fast I can walk and how fast the trains are going, but nothing that I can't fudge with a few minutes at the end of the day.
On the other hand, at that time of night, trains only run every twenty minutes, so if I miss that train, I end up being almost half an hour late for work, an interval I definitely cannot fudge. And trying to catch an earlier train means I'm spending almost a half an hour in downtown late at night, which is pretty pointless.
And catching that sweet-spot train is made difficult because, as the MTA says, "All service after 9:00PM is subject to minor delays for system maintenance." Is that a problem? I mean a delay makes the train easier to catch, right?
Well, sometimes. Other times, "delays" for the MTA also includes "negative delays," that is, trains leaving several minutes earlier than scheduled.
So, I'm hurrying my way down the hill to the Metro Station, and I don't know what kind of time I'm making. It's rough, because my walk to the Metro happens at exactly the same time that Wicked lets out at the Pantages. So I have to fight my along way against a horde of slow-moving theatergoers trying to get to their cars.
Once I make it to the station, then I have to deal with the mass-transit newbies. See, during rush hour, when all the commuters are trying to get on and off their trains, everyone understands the etiquette of the escalator—if you want to just stand there, you do your just-standing in a single file along the righthand side, so that the people who wish to utilize the stair aspect of the device can move past on your left. The folks casually making their way home from the theater or an early night in Hollywood don't care about this. I usually say, "Excuse me," and make my way past them. Today, I did this through a group of three men, but as I passed, I heard one clearly remark, "See, now he's going to get there five minutes earlier than us," which was met with snickering.
I didn't respond to them, because I knew I didn't have time. The trains this week were running early this week, and I didn't know what time it was. What I knew was that if I was going to make the train, I needed to be on the platform now.
When I saw the station clock, I knew I'd arrived at the same time that I had the previous night. It had been adequate then, but that was no guarantee of tonight. As I loped by the ticket kiosks (unnecessary with my monthly pass), I heard the screech I was dreading. Maybe it was the northbound train? When I got to the final stairs, I could see the lack of passengers. Maybe it was just a slow night? But when I reached the platform, I knew it was gone. I waited a few minutes till the clock ticked past the regularly scheduled arrival time, and then I headed back out for plan B.
On my way back up, I walked through the snickerers from before, who'd apparently been delayed buying their tickets. I thought now would be an appropriate time to respond. "Missed it by seconds, guys. Thanks for moving."
Yeah, bitchy, I know, but bitchy in kind.
So I wasn't really prepared for the "SCREW YOU!" that was shouted at the back of my head. It sounded like the one who'd commented first.
The moral of the story, if you can't take the heat, don't be a dumbass.
Plan B is, of course, my car. One of the thigns that kept me driving for so long is that my downtown commute is so easy. If I had worked during the day, I'd have switched to Metro long ago, back when I lived in Sherman Oaks. But with the empty highways of late night, and the uncongested drive against traffic during rush hour, it seemed like
Still, it's an easy backup plan for me. After missing a train, I can walk back home in time to stop in for a forgotten item before getting in the car and driving into work. I don't have paid parking anymore, but there's street parking where the meters don't start running until 8 a.m., a half hour after I finish my day. So I drive in and park right outside the building, with minimal muss and fuss.
Of course, one of the things I miss about driving home is shopping after work.
ojouchan gave me a list—before I left house, or e-mailed during work—and I'd stop at the supermarket on my way home to pack the car full of groceries before reaching home. The same supermarket is still on the Metro stop, but I can't carry as much home, and the time it takes to get off and back on the trains is annoyingly longer for such a meagre Still, on that day, I knew we needed some bread, and I wanted to pick up some more salad dressing. There was probably something else pressing, because it was enough to get me out of the train and headed to the store. I wished I could call Ojou. There's always something I forget, even when I plan; but my cell phone has been acting weird, and pretty much the only time I can use it now is when it's plugged into the outlet in my car. And of course, my car was back at . . .
And that's when I remembered: the story I told you above, and the story I'm telling you now happened on the same day.
I'd driven to work, and blissfully ridden the Metro back home.
And now my car had been sitting in a metered parking spot for 25 minutes next to a flashing light that pleaded, "Ticket him! Please! For the good of the coffers!"
It was a frustrating ride back. And a frustrating sprint up the hill to the car. But despite sitting out there for forty minutes, I didn't get a ticket. It was a relief for me, but it was kind of anticlimactic for the story.