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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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