I hate driving. And I've never driven as much as I have since moving to Southern California. If I had any other choice -- a train, a bus, a dog-sled -- I would take it. But in SoCal, the car is king. So I drive. Unfortunately, so does everyone else. And that sad fact confirms my belief that a driver's license should be way, way harder to obtain....
Driving was not mandated on the East Coast. In DC, I had ample alternatives for transportation. True, I complained about each and every one - but at least they were there. Everyone I've ever met has been impressed with the metro (our version of the subway) in DC. The carpeted, color-coded metro system was pure bliss when I first arrived in our nation's capitol. Granted, because all city stops are underground, I didn't know where the hell I was or how I got there for my first three years (much like the Floo Network in the wizarding world ...). But it took me where I needed to go. I didn't worry about gas prices. Or car insurance. Or parking.
Of course the problem with public transportation is that anyone can take it. And who did I hate the most? Not the bureaucrats dressed entirely in tan with their lanyards and work badges on after hours (how super-swell that you work for the Chamber of Commerce). Not the tourists either. It was the interns. More specifically, the summer interns. Interns and tourists are both necessary evils in the nation's capital. Here's the difference: tourists know they're not important. Interns don't.
I loved overhearing (and by "overhearing" I mean "making fun of") metro conversations between 19-year-olds discussing how the Senator was relying on them to report back from such-and-such hearing and it was vital that the memo be finished tonight. Or how intern #2 had spent all day researching a constituent issue in the Library of Congress and had brought home multiple documents to read in order to properly inform this constituent about why we have daylight savings time. But the item that annoyed me the most, was that all these interns were in my way. Not figuratively -- literally. In the fucking way.
During summer months, interns stood all over the escalators rather than standing to the right and walking on the left -- which is the #1 Rule that must be obeyed in order for a civilized society to function. (Rule #2 is do not leave your window air conditioner on the porch or the neighborhood crack whore will steal it. Learned that one the hard way...). In addition, these interns refused to move to the center of the car, crowding the doors of the train so no one else could exit or enter. They also reeked from the repulsive stench of stale beer because they were all so hungover from the night before. So even when I was able to push my way through the masses into the inner sanctity of the car, I threw up in my mouth a little.... (BTW, I never behaved that way when I was 19. I was an angel.)
All those years of bitching...I never realized that the alternative was to sit in traffic day and night on "the" 5 or "the" 15. And now I know why the "the" is used before naming the interstate on the west coast and not the east -- because the fucking interstate is "the" only way to get anywhere. ...how I long for an intern to vomit on my shoes in an enclosed underground space....
The bus was yet another safe alternative in DC -- no, really. The schedule was not always reliable, but it made life very simple. Hell, even the tourist contraptions were a mode of transport for my friends and me. All my friend Brendan wanted for his 30th birthday was to do a bar crawl via the "Old Town Trolley." We hopped on. We hopped off. We drank. We hopped on again. Both the driver and the tourists were super-annoyed at the end of the day -- although I think that was less because of our obnoxious-drunken behavior, and more because our buddy Chris passed out spread-eagle in the back of the tram...and unfortunately for all involved, he was free-balling that day.... But yet again -- how I long to hang in a tourist contraption with my free-balling friend rather than face another commute on the 5.
Marathon driving is now my reality. I'm not happy about it. It's definitely a deterrent at times. I have a lot fewer people to make fun of on my daily commute...but until I figure out the Floo Network for myself, I guess I'll just keep bitching.
Driving was not mandated on the East Coast. In DC, I had ample alternatives for transportation. True, I complained about each and every one - but at least they were there. Everyone I've ever met has been impressed with the metro (our version of the subway) in DC. The carpeted, color-coded metro system was pure bliss when I first arrived in our nation's capitol. Granted, because all city stops are underground, I didn't know where the hell I was or how I got there for my first three years (much like the Floo Network in the wizarding world ...). But it took me where I needed to go. I didn't worry about gas prices. Or car insurance. Or parking.
Of course the problem with public transportation is that anyone can take it. And who did I hate the most? Not the bureaucrats dressed entirely in tan with their lanyards and work badges on after hours (how super-swell that you work for the Chamber of Commerce). Not the tourists either. It was the interns. More specifically, the summer interns. Interns and tourists are both necessary evils in the nation's capital. Here's the difference: tourists know they're not important. Interns don't.
I loved overhearing (and by "overhearing" I mean "making fun of") metro conversations between 19-year-olds discussing how the Senator was relying on them to report back from such-and-such hearing and it was vital that the memo be finished tonight. Or how intern #2 had spent all day researching a constituent issue in the Library of Congress and had brought home multiple documents to read in order to properly inform this constituent about why we have daylight savings time. But the item that annoyed me the most, was that all these interns were in my way. Not figuratively -- literally. In the fucking way.
During summer months, interns stood all over the escalators rather than standing to the right and walking on the left -- which is the #1 Rule that must be obeyed in order for a civilized society to function. (Rule #2 is do not leave your window air conditioner on the porch or the neighborhood crack whore will steal it. Learned that one the hard way...). In addition, these interns refused to move to the center of the car, crowding the doors of the train so no one else could exit or enter. They also reeked from the repulsive stench of stale beer because they were all so hungover from the night before. So even when I was able to push my way through the masses into the inner sanctity of the car, I threw up in my mouth a little.... (BTW, I never behaved that way when I was 19. I was an angel.)
All those years of bitching...I never realized that the alternative was to sit in traffic day and night on "the" 5 or "the" 15. And now I know why the "the" is used before naming the interstate on the west coast and not the east -- because the fucking interstate is "the" only way to get anywhere. ...how I long for an intern to vomit on my shoes in an enclosed underground space....
The bus was yet another safe alternative in DC -- no, really. The schedule was not always reliable, but it made life very simple. Hell, even the tourist contraptions were a mode of transport for my friends and me. All my friend Brendan wanted for his 30th birthday was to do a bar crawl via the "Old Town Trolley." We hopped on. We hopped off. We drank. We hopped on again. Both the driver and the tourists were super-annoyed at the end of the day -- although I think that was less because of our obnoxious-drunken behavior, and more because our buddy Chris passed out spread-eagle in the back of the tram...and unfortunately for all involved, he was free-balling that day.... But yet again -- how I long to hang in a tourist contraption with my free-balling friend rather than face another commute on the 5.
Marathon driving is now my reality. I'm not happy about it. It's definitely a deterrent at times. I have a lot fewer people to make fun of on my daily commute...but until I figure out the Floo Network for myself, I guess I'll just keep bitching.
As an East coast transplant to the West...I hear ya. Believe it or not BART riders in SF need to take lessons from Metro riders. No courtesy step to the side so passengers can get off the train easily. BART riders just bum rush the doors.
ReplyDeleteThere was many a day I would yell "Stand on the right; walk on the left!" down the Tenleytown metro escalator. And if anyone stopped to ask me directions, I would politely say, "I'm so sorry, I don't speak English." ...I miss those days....
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