29 December 2010

Park Street Station:

I have sworn no fewer than 5 times at my 80 lbs of luggage that I've had to drag from transfer to transfer, from line to line (and which, I was just realizing, due to the hour, I would have to drag home instead of taking the bus which doesn't run past midnight). While waiting for the Alewife train to arrive and take me to Harvard Station, a couple on the other side of the tracks arrives. The guy carries a pizza box from which the girl takes a slice which she alternately consumes and feeds to the guy. Eventually they are approached by a (probably homeless) man. He does a double take at the pizza, stops, and says:

"Hey, can I have a slice of that?"

"Sure thing, brother," the guy replies. "Help yourself."

The homeless man watches as the pizza box lid is lifted, revealing a nearly whole pie. He reaches for a slice, but pauses momentarily.

"... Is it good?"

"Yes," they reassure him, "it's delicious."

Sufficiently satisfied with that answer, the man then takes a slice, thanks the couple multiple times, and walks off. It was a funny, quiet reminder to me that having a little more than I can conveniently carry is still infinitely better than being able to carry much more than I have.

2 December 2010

#66 Bus at Beacon Street:

The bus leaves the stop and moves forward several feet to stop at the red light. When the cross-traffic light turns yellow, he begins to inch out into the intersection. Simultaneous with the turning of his light comes a knock at the door. A man is standing in the middle of the street asking to be let in. The driver grumpily open the door and lets the man in who quickly proclaims, "One more coming!" and waves to the woman on the sidewalk.

At this, the driver reacts with anger: "No no no no no no. That's not how it works!"

He closes the door and drives away, leaving the woman standing about six feet away from the bus in the center of a lane of traffic. The man immediately pulls out his phone to call her with a sort of half-panicked look in his eye. Before the call connects, however, the bus pulls over at the next stop. The man hesitates, stands up, sits down, and stands up again, wondering whether he should get off and go back. In the end, he jumps to his feet and runs off the bus.

--Editor's Note--

The author would like to express how much he has enjoyed writing this blog. However, his ever-increasing work load has gotten the better of him. Thus, a change of rules is in order. Daily observations will be replaced with only occasional anecdotes of phenomenally obvious examples of bizarre behavior that would even catch the attention of a non-anthropomorphic sack of fruit. The author conveys his regrets as well as a fervent hope that you'll continue reading with as much fervor (albeit with less frequency) as you have previously displayed. Thank you.

The Editor

28 September 2010

#57 bus, inbound:

As the bus pulls away from a stop, a man begins to run down the street after it. This is no uncommon scene. However, when he catches the bus, he does not make any attempt to stop it. Instead he waves to a woman sitting near the rear exit. When she waves back, he stops running.

27 September 2010

Green line, Government Center Station:

A group of adolescents try to push their way onto an already full train. The first of about a dozen stops in front of a stroller that the rest don't see. Laughing, they start to push him forward. He objects, quietly at first, then a little louder, and finally with an outburst.

"Guys! ******! There's a ****** baby up here!"

Suddenly the mood of the horde changes. They quietly file past the mother and her child, looking at their feet. Only after they are well installed and are no longer endangering infants does their idiotic behavior resume.

26 September 2010

Red line, inbound:

The couple next to me discusses the future of a bag of sunflower seeds. Perhaps they should leave it behind. Or maybe he should hold it until they get there. Put it in this bag. Each possible solution was shot down, one by one, until he finally came up with the winning idea.

"I know, I'll wrap it in my shirt until we get outside."

He removes his shirt, wraps the bag of seeds in it, puts the bundle in a brown paper bag, and stows it under his seat. Contented, his partner offers no more resistance; this is apparently what she was searching for but could not verbalize. They ride in relative silence (and partial nudity) until I exit the train.

25 September 2010

Green line, inbound:

A very well-built man boards the train, takes an iron grip on one of the rails and spends perhaps five minutes examining the muscles in his arm. He flexes his bicep and admires it with no apparent shame. Now he is flexing each one of his fingers and studying the movement of the tendons up his arm for the movement of each one. Yet, while his interest may seem to be slightly scientific, his facial expressions reveal that his own physique impresses him very much.

23 September 2010

#66 Bus, inbound:

Today the 66 approaches an intersection and makes an unprotected left turn in the face of on-coming traffic. The "Boston Drivers" for all their fabled impatience slow down dutifully; not one of them touching their horns. This is something that happens every single day at most intersections in Boston. Everyone knows that commuter buses have eternal right-of-way.

22 September 2010

#57 bus, inbound:

I push my way through the clot of passengers who insist upon standing less than three feet from the entrance. As I do, I overhear two high school students talking.

"The next person who pushes past me, I'm gonna like [he makes a swiping motion with his elbow at face level], I swear."

"Ha! Yeah, seriously."

Three stops later, they both give up the seats they had found to the elderly couple who had just gotten on the bus. They smile politely at the thanks they receive and go back to standing in the front.

20 September 2010

Red line, Park Street Station:

When the doors open, the car I'm boarding is totally empty. I sit in the far corner on a bank of three seats with their backs to the window which face another bank of three seats across the aisle. The first occupant of the seats across from me is a single girl who sits down opposite me in the corner. Momentarily, a couple each carrying a backpack and a suitcase occupy the other two seats. They shuffle around, trying to arrange their luggage without losing anything, and end up inadvertently jostling their neighbor several times. With a huff, the first girl gets up and stomps off to the other side of the train. The girl with the suitcase looks at her, shocked, then looks at me. We break into smiles and chuckle silently across the aisle at the impatience of the recently departed. The next stop is mine. With a nod to my new friend I leave the train.

17 September 2010

Green line, outbound:

Another man boards the train with me. As I'm paying, we start to roll out of the station. When he swipes his card, a buzzer sounds indicating that its stored value is less than the fare due.

"I don't have any money," he says to the conductor. "Would you please let me slip by just this one time?"

The train operator apologizes and informs the man that he will have to get off the train at the next stop. The man offers no further plea or excuse. He exits the train several stops before he intended to.

16 September 2010

#57 bus, inbound:

A couple sits perpendicular to each other, she on a seat facing the side wall, and he facing the front of the bus. The woman has an elaborate tattoo covering one arm, a man who has been shot in the leg with an arrow bearing a colored banner that says "Esperanza". With her other arm, she reaches across the gap and grabs the hand of her companion, who is sitting holding leftovers from a meal in a styrofoam box. Neither looks at the other for my entire trip. They both look past each other, out their respective windows, hanging on to each other's hands.

15 September 2010

#57 bus, inbound:

A man boards the bus with some difficulty. He struggles to get a stroller with his daughter on board and around the many occupants who stand immovable, with characteristic selfishness. For her part, the man's daughter is enjoying the trip. She leans forward eagerly and energetically waves hello to every passenger with whom she makes eye contact.

13 September 2010

#66 bus, inbound:

A man boards the bus while on the phone. As he sits down, he loudly announces to the person on the other line that the seats on the bus are blue. The woman in front of him gets a strange look on her face, does a full, slow, 180-degree turn to look him in the eyes for about three seconds. Her face displays a combination of confusion, sarcasm, and derision. The man returns her gaze with no apparent effort and continues talking to his friend. He exits the bus several stops later still talking on the phone.

10 September 2010

#57 bus, outbound:

The girl sitting next to me receives a phone call. She has a peculiar accent that I can't place and she speaks with impeccable grammar. The man on the other end of the line is named Ken. He lives in Rhode Island and today is his birthday. He wants the girl to come down and visit him, but she has other plans in mind.

"I would, you know, but I can't. You see, my friend here in Boston is leaving town to go back to London tomorrow and, well he's from London and you're from Rhode Island..."

She left it hanging. The conversation ended quickly thereafter.

9 September 2010

#66 bus, outbound:

The bus is crowded and noisy enough that I have to end my phone conversation prematurely. At a stop two blocks further, twelve twenty-somethings exit the bus talking and joking. Their departure makes it painfully clear that they were the source of almost all the noise. However, the sudden and contrasting silence is so forceful that no other passenger attempts to break it. Apart from extremely brief, necessary communication, the next ten stops go by without a word spoken.

8 September 2010

Green line, outbound:

Because above ground stops require one to pay at a single kiosk at the front of the train, every boarding passenger must enter through the same door. Unlike bus people, train people don't seem to have a sense of who is getting on the train. Today, I am forced so close to neighboring passengers that I am almost constantly in physical contact with them. Yet, over their shoulders, I can see that the vast majority of the aisle in the rest of the train is empty. However, the two people at the far end of our clump refuse to make their way down the two stairs that lead to the rest of the train, thereby forcing the rest of us to squish together. Only after the train conductor stops the train, turns around, and yells do they apparently notice the available space and fill it in. We collectively breath a sigh of relief and follow suit.

7 September 2010

#57 bus, outbound:

A woman and her husband fight to find space for their two suitcases. Eventually they have to split up, he standing in the very front with one and she in the back with the other. The bus driver is weaving through traffic with near-reckless abandon, now honking his horn at two pedestrians who try to cut across him, now slamming on his breaks to avoid hitting a car that suddenly pulled out from a parallel parking spot. The passengers jolt forward and backward, grabbing on to rails, sometimes colliding with a neighbor. Only at the end of the trip do I notice an infant in a stroller, sound asleep. For the last two stops I watch her. She never opens her eyes, never flinches, and continues sleeping soundly until I exit the bus.

6 September 2010

Green line, inbound:

A man finishes his phone conversation with a significant other not only by making kissing sounds into the microphone, but by physically kissing it for several seconds. He hangs up, resumes rational behavior, and looks out the window.

4 September 2010

Green line, inbound:

A woman separates herself from her husband due to the sudden opening of a seat further away.  She persists in continuing their conversation by yelling across the dozen-or-so other passengers between them.  Now she spends perhaps three minutes reading an advertisement to him and explaining why she thinks it is funny.  However, the lack of context makes it almost entirely impossible to understand what she means.  Her husband smiles quietly at her description, but obviously has no idea what she's saying.  Eventually, they are reunited and peace is once again restored to the car.

3 September 2010

#66 Bus, outbound:

As I board the bus, three girls each wearing a brightly colored t-shirt and carrying a suitcase walk past the door.  The bus slowly moved through traffic, making its way up Harvard Avenue and eventually winding around to Allston.  At most of the stops, when we pulled over to pick up new passengers, the girls passed the door before we left.  In other words, during rush hour, the bus travels roughly at the speed of a group of luggage-carrying girls.

2 September 2010

Green line, inbound:

A man standing in the aisle removes his headphones to talk to a friend who unexpectedly boarded the same train. At the same moment, a British woman immediately behind him looks at her travelling companion as says (voice dripping with mock rudeness), "Move over!" The man, thinking she was talking to him simultaneously looks over his shoulder and shuffles away from her. She delivers an embarrassed apology. Meanwhile, the stream of boarding passengers has pushed the two friends far enough apart that they cannot converse. They look at each other and shrug. The man replaces his headphones and begins nodding, almost imperceptibly, to the beat.

1 September 2010

#66 Bus to Commonwealth Avenue:

When it's hotter than 90°F, Bostonians hide from the sun. At each stop, as the bus approached, people come out from under trees, from behind bushes, and even in one case from behind a telephone pole where they were waiting in relative comfort for their bus to arrive.

--Editor's Note--

Dear Readers,

The author wishes to make known that he has not abandoned his goal to write on each day he takes the T. However, due to a lengthy vacation, he has not had the opportunity to do so in the last several days. Stay tuned for more regular observations at the beginning of September.

Yours Truly,

The Editor

12 August 2010

Blue Line, inbound:

A man boards the train at Airport Station. He is wearing a long sleeved, collared t-shirt and khaki shorts. He epitomizes cool with his slicked-back hair, his gaudy rings, his silver crucifix necklace and his demeaning expression. I was about to take his attitude seriously until I looked at his feet. He was wearing tennis shoes and calf-length socks. On his right leg, poking about an inch up out of his sock, was tucked a comb.

6 August 2010

Green line, outbound:

Two priests sit together, dressed in their black shirts and white collars. One sat, reading a book of prayer while the other stared out the window. With the exception of the book being closed and handed to the other, neither priest communicated with the other, and they very rarely moved. After several stops, they simultaneously stood, without any apparent attempt at synchronization, and exited the train.

5 August 2010

Kenmore Station:

The Kenmore station is where the B, C, and D Green line forks converge. To accommodate this sudden influx of trains, there are two tracks on both the in- and outbound sides. Today, my B-line train arrived, opened its doors, and waited. The C-line inbound showed up and left. Then the D-line showed up and left. Then another C-line. When the fourth train arrived, I had had enough. I jumped ship and ran over to it. Three other people followed my lead. No sooner had we gotten on our new train than the old one closed its doors and left the station.

4 August 2010

Green line, inbound:

A man stands across the aisle from me. He's wearing tattered denim shorts and a loose button-down, striped shirt. Under his collar is a harmonica holder; the harmonica is still in position near his mouth, on the other side of which is his girl. She is not wearing makeup, which doesn't detract in the slightest from her beauty. Their conversation is held while the one is no more than three inches from the other, lips to lips, eyes to eyes. And even though her arms are around his neck and her sentences are frequently punctuated with proffered kisses, he still can't resist looking away periodically to play a few lazy chords and sing.

3 August 2010

Red Line, outbound:

A college undergrad boards the train at Park Street with me. We sit across from each other. He is wearing carefully tattered jeans, a light blue v-neck t-shirt, and a jacket and has an impressive amount of dark, spiky hair. Three stops later, a girl enters the train, yells his name, runs to him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. They sit together, talking animatedly. Two stops later, the girl leaves the train with flourish, promising to keep in touch this time. This rendezvous was apparently serendipitous, an unplanned meeting in the place of highest variability.

2 August 2010

Red line, Longfellow Bridge:

Departing from the Park Street station, heading toward Alewife, the red line train makes its single foray above ground over the Longfellow Bridge. The train fills with the softer glow of natural sunlight and the windows suddenly display a wide river and a striking city skyline. The wakes of boats, which have passed under the bridge minutes ago, leave smooth, semi-straight lines on the otherwise choppy water. Two tour boats gurgle their way down stream filled with gawking tourists. In the distance, a sailing lesson; a flotilla of sailboats and their inexperienced captains try not to run into each other. At their proximity, I'm quite positive their success rate falls short of 100%.

The eeriest view of every day comes from looking North after the bridge on the outbound train. As we descend from the bridge into the tunnels, we pass a building with mirrored windows. The train passes close by, and its reflection is clearly visible to the passengers. However, since the exterior windows of the train are also reflective, one cannot see the interior of the train in the mirror. Today I stare at the mirrored building and peer into the reflection of the window out of which I gaze—looking for myself—and see only the train descend into darkness.

30 July 2010

Green line, inbound:

A man and his son, wearing identical white knit polo shirts, board the train but can't find a seat. The man stands at the bottom of the stairs which lead to the aisle and banks of seats and puts his foot on the middle step. When his son sits on his knee, he puts his arms around him and several times keeps him from falling. At the time, I was trying to make eye contact with each passenger in my field of view but found it impossible. Everyone was looking at them, instead.

29 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

A man and a woman simultaneously approach the last open seat on the car from opposite directions. The moment when they reach the seat is the first time that either of them notices the other. There is an awkward exchange of a few no-you-sit-theres after which they both decide to stand. The remainder of their trip is spent less than three feet away from each other, and not another word is shared between them.

28 July 2010

Green line, inbound:

A woman boards the train. She is elegant, slender, and about six-foot-four. She is immediately followed by a woman who, when sitting dangles her feet about 3 inches off the ground. They don't seem to notice each other, but their juxtaposition does not go unnoticed by the local passengers, many of whom furtively smile.

27 July 2010

Red line, Porter Square Station:

As the Porter Square passengers are boarding, a performer's guitar music can be clearly heard. The music is apparently familiar to the man next to me who has been quietly reading his newspaper with no sense of urgency. Upon hearing it, he turns around in his seat, notices (apparently for the first time) which station he's at, gets up, and runs out of the train only moments before the doors close.

26 July 2010

Green line, outbound:

Two girls with identical yellow t-shirts sit close together at the Park Street Station. When the D-line train arrives, one stands up, approaches the train, and boards. Only after she is on board does her travelling companion follow suit. They sit to my right.

Across from me, an attractive girl in grey sweats and a purple hoodie tries to sleep. Her hand, placed over a tattoo on her neck, keeps her head from bobbing. But her elbow keeps slipping from its place, which jolts her awake. Eventually, she gives up and rests her chin on her chest.

To her right, a man in a business suit—right down to his tattered New Balance shoes—dozes. Periodically he opens his eyes to change the song he's listening to on his iPod.

At Fenway Station, a 20-something man boards the train wearing a t-shirt which informs us that Johnny Cupcakes will never say "die". And here I thought I knew everything about Johnny Cupcakes...

23 July 2010

Green and Red lines:

Exiting the School of Education building on BU campus, I saw my train arriving at the Blandford station. The Park Street station transfer from green to red was equally seemless; the doors closed behind me as I entered them. When my train arrived in Alewife, I caught the bus by sprinting out of the doors like a horse from the gates, continuing up the stairs, through the turnstiles, and onto the bus platform. I was the second-to-last passenger to board. I had to run for every transfer, but the end result was the fastest ever commute from BU to my house: 45 minutes.

22 July 2010

Green line, outbound:

An elderly woman boards the train. As she approaches the nearest row of seats, a younger businessman stands to offer his to her. As he does, the train surges forward, throwing him back in his seat. They look at each other and laugh. She tells him not to worry about it, that she'll only be riding a few stops, and stands nearby. The next stop is mine; I exit the train.

21 July 2010

Red line, inbound:

Today, in my immediate field of view, passengers are reading Operation Certain Death, The Girl who Played with Fire, The Metro News, Less Than Zero, The Wall Street Journal, and The Harvard Business Review. In almost every case, each work is being read by the owner and periodically by the adjacent passenger who has nothing of his own to read.

20 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

The train is crowded, but not so full that each person doesn't have his own space. Still, as with every day, there are only four directions people face: forward, backward, and to either side. When I boarded, I took a spot immediately to the right of the doors and faced the opposite wall. The girl behind me did the same, standing next to me. At the next stop, ten more people get on. A married couple crosses to the opposite side and faces it, standing side by side. A mother and her young son stand in the center aisle facing each other, one forward and one back. Two business men stand directly in front of me and face the close wall, staring directly at me from a distance of two feet. In any other milieu, we would be uncomfortably close. Here, now, we don't even make eye contact. One by one, the passengers enter the train, pick a spot with some free space, and choose to stand facing one of the four cardinal directions. Only momentarily, to turn and talk, or to stay balanced do people ever stand oblique. Even then, it's short-lived. Soon, invariably, they turn back.

19 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

A 5-year-old girl is sitting across from me, exhausted and draped over her suitcase. Beside her stand both of her parents, each of them with a suitcase. They stare tiredly out the window, watching the stations go by. Two minutes before their stop, the little girl sits up. Her suitcase rolls down the aisle, but she seems too tired to go after it. In a last minute grasp, her mother snags it with her foot and draws it back in. She secures the suitcase, pats her daughter on the cheek, collects her own belongings and makes for the door. Slowly, the daughter slides to her feet, dragging them along as the family makes its way home.

18 July 2010

Kendall Station:

Two men arrive simultaneously at the top of the stairs which descend to the platform. One of them stops briefly to tie his shoes. As he does, a train arrives. Both men hurry to swipe their cards and get on the train, but only one of them makes it. The man with newly tied shoes must wait for another ten minutes.

16 July 2010

Park Street Station:

A passenger gets on the green line inbound to Park Street. It initially appears that he is not wearing a shirt, but when he turns around I can see that he is wearing a backless orange silk dress. He strolled up and down the car offering to sell people a book about meditation (several copies of which he toted behind him in a small cart on wheels). Insofar as I was able to observe, he had no buyers.

15 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

A man steps onto the car and has nowhere to go. The car is completely full and the only place for him to stand is just out of reach of all the handles and rails which surround him. Yet he stands, not a bead of sweat forming in the uncomfortable heat, totally composed, never losing his balance, without ever using an external means of support. Even as the numbers begin to dwindle near the end of the line, he remains in his place, totally unshaken by the quickly accelerating train.

14 July 2010

Red line, inbound:

An attractive, college-aged girl sits in the last available seat in the car. The man next to her takes immediate interest and begins a flirtatious conversation which proceeds in a rather formulaic fashion. She dutifully half-nods (with occasional "uh-huh"s) at each of his statements, offering no conversational reply or eye contact. Yet he persists in talking to her until his stop. After he leaves, she looks down at her shoes for a moment before rolling her eyes and smirking sardonically.

13 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

The train lurches suddenly, sending a tall, lanky man sprawling into the passengers next to him. He turns to sheepishly apologize but does not get a response. The three passengers around him barely seem to have noticed; they stare ahead out the window or at the floor. One of them vaguely waves his hand in dismissal of the event. I don't notice when any of them get off the train.

12 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

A family—two parents, two small children—are occupying three seats. The boy is sitting on his knees looking out the window in astonishment as the world flies past him. He seems totally unconcerned with the fact that his little sister is screaming very, very loudly. His parents on the other hand are trying everything they can think of to quiet her. They sit on either side of her, talking softly in her ear. Now they're trying to figure out which of their laps would make her happy. The answer is "neither". Dad is giving up, and mom is getting frustrated. Nothing seems to be working, and the tantrum is just getting started. Yet, in the midst of all the wailing, they catch each other's glances, pause momentarily, and smile at each other.

11 July 2010

Harvard Square station:

An announcement over the loudspeaker from the driver:

"Everyone stand back from the doors. They will close momentarily and reopen after the crew has changed places. I repeat, the doors are going to reopen."

The doors close halfway and then reopen suddenly

"Please, people, just let us close the doors. We aren't going anywhere. You will still get on the train."

Another failed attempt

"Everyone stand back! You people need to learn how to listen. No one else gets on the train until the doors are closed and reopened, got it? Now step off the yellow line and wait your turn!"

The doors close, the crew changes, and the doors reopen.

"See, people?! That wasn't so hard, was it? Let's go now."

The train rolls out of the station.

9 July 2010

#76 Bus to Alewife:

When I board the bus, it is full—every seat taken, and place for one more to stand. In a minute or so, we stop to pick up three more. Slowly, the passengers standing in the aisle shift, turning and shuffling, finding a new place closer to the back. As if by magic, just enough space for three more people appeared up front. Minutes later, we picked up another two, then one more at the next stop, then another, then another two. At each stop, the group accepted the responsibility of shifting, each person playing his block in a gigantic moving game of commuter Tetris. And each time, the new passenger found available space.

8 June 2010

Green line, outbound:

Two small girls dressed in identical tennis outfits are riding with their hispanophone grandmother. For a while they talk and laugh in Spanish. Then the older of the two girls proceeds with an English lesson.

"Hello."

"Hello."

"How are you?"

"How are you?"

"No! Tienes que decir, 'I'm fine, thank you.' Otra vez."

This process repeats several times until the greeting is mastered. When I leave the train, they are again joking with each other in Spanish.

7 July 2010

Red line, outbound:

A man boards the train and sits in the last remaining seat in the car. At the next stop, the entire row except for himself and the girl he was sitting next to get up and leave. They exchange awkward glances as they find themselves—total strangers—sitting immediately next to each other with a bank of available seats nearby. Neither wants to remain (due to the awkward proximity) and neither wants to be the first to move (as if to indicate the one is repulsed by the other). Eventually, the seats refill. A few stops later, the girl exits the train.

6 July 2010

Kendall Square Station:

A man in a reflective orange vest strolls around the station, sweeping up trash. Between the slats of the tracks are unrecoverable bits of refuse: a cup, a water bottle, a piece of paper. Someone's cell phone has fallen down there and landed directly under the electrified rail. There's a green light flashing on it; someone has left a message.

5 July 2010

Blandford Street Station:

As the inbound train approaches, a woman with a suitcase stands up and prepares to board. The train creeps to the station, stops without opening its doors, and then departs without allowing new passengers to enter. Muttering under her breath, she pulls out her phone and dials.

"Honey? Yeah, I'm going to be cutting it a little close today, they're in "express mode" today. Yeah. ... Ok, love you!"

Ten minutes later, as the next train approaches, she turns to me.

"This one better stop, or we're really going to have problems."

It did. We didn't.

4 July 2010

Green line, outbound:

An extraordinarily large man proclaims loudly and several times in succession that he does not possess "super-intense T-skills" in reference to his ability to remain upright during transit. However, the large (and consequently empty) alcohol container he is holding provides a more probable explanation.

2 July 2010

Red line, inbound:

A group of five gets on the train; they're heading to the airport. Four of them have backpacks and carry-ons. The fifth carries only a pillow.

1 July 2010

Green line, inbound:

A girl with red sunglasses in her hair is nodding—too tired to keep her head up straight. With each renewed effort to sit up, her eyes again close and her head leans forward. Over and over again she repositions, trying to find a way to stay awake, but eventually she gives in and falls asleep against the window. As I exit the train I see that she is very protectively huddled over a frosted cupcake in her hand with a clear plastic cup over it to preserve the icing.

30 June 2010

Red line, outbound:

A girl is sitting across from me who piques my interest. She is taller than most girls, perhaps 5'10" with long, slender limbs and is wearing a blue t-shirt with pink denims and sandals. Unlike other T-readers, she is concentrating on her book with no apparent difficulty. She never glances up or looks around at other passengers. In the ten minutes she sat across from me, I watched her turn at least 4 pages. I can barely concentrate enough to read a paragraph. The book, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates by Tim Robbins, is stamped by the Boston Public Library. It must be engrossing because as she reads, she thoughtfully ruminates both figuratively and literally—rather visibly masticating her gum. When the train arrives at Davis Square, she slides a bookmark between the pages, stuffs the book into her purse, and exits the train without the slightest acknowledgement of another fellow commuter.

29 June 2010

Alewife Station:

Three Chinese women approach the train, talking loudly. As they arrive at the doors, they begin clasping each others' hands and waving goodbye to one another. Two of them get into my car. The third leaves them at the door, walks along the train, and enters the adjoining car, finding a seat there among the passengers.

28 June 2010

Red Line:

6:30am — Inbound from Alewife to Park Street. Of the 30 people in the car with me, 28 of them are reading a newspaper or a book. Another is sleeping. The last is furtively observing everyone else's behavior.

1:30pm — Outbound from Park Street to Alewife. There are perhaps 45 people in the car. Only one is reading. The rest are sitting, staring ahead out the window or at the wall.

27 June 2010

Red line, outbound:

Three girls, one with neon green shoes and a bright orange shirt, step off the train, talking excitedly. 30 seconds later they get back on the train in a much more sober mood and try to pretend that they hadn't left in the first place. In another 30 seconds they were back to their original mood. They got off (and stayed off) at the next station.

26 June 2010

Alewife Station:

Three 20-something guys arrive almost simultaneously from different directions, meeting in the center of the atrium.  They greet each other with hugs and one of them passes a backpack around to the rest.  From it, they draw Boston Red Sox t-shirts.  Changing into them on the spot, they swipe their subway passes and descend to meet their train.

25 June 2010

Harvard Square station outbound to Alewife:

Two college students whisper to each other even though the station is empty but for them and me. As we wait for the train, my eyes stray to the graffiti of a vandal who has a bone to pick with the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority and a serious need to study spelling:

"Fashist MBTA"

24 June 2010

Green line, inbound:

A man with a yellow mohawk jumps up to offer his seat and the empty one next to him to the man who had just gotten on with a 5-yr-old. The father thanks him profusely for his generosity and then sits, holding the squirming child on his lap. The other seat still remains empty. The man with the yellow mohawk stands next to it for several stops before exiting the train.