Julia Roberts has won America’s hearts again, what a sweetheart. Elizabeth Gilbert sure knew what she was doing when she cast her to be the lead in the big screen adaptation of her book, Eat Pray Love. Ms. Gilbert, you are no dummy. Albeit the story stood on its own and pretty much anyone except Paris Hilton probably could have pulled in some serious numbers at the box office.
Ms. Gilbert’s story of love lost, divorce and self discovery while traveling to Italy, Indonesia and India has resonated with so many people, mostly women (but you boys should give it a shot), because I think we have all found ourselves down on our luck, fallen out of love and desperately trying to get the hell out of wherever we currently are, either physically or psychologically.
This brings me to my current love affair gone wrong and my desperation to get the hell out of dodge, most specifically, the DC Metro area. I seem to have fallen out of love with the area as I ride the rails to and from work everyday, at least that’s where it became most apparent to me, but we all know, its never about the Metro (insert any inanimate object here).
I recently moved back after a 10 year trial separation, so I know my impending divorce from DC isn’t a rash decision on my part. And you know, DC has done its part too, to try and make itself more appealing in our relationship, bring back its youthful charm from our courting days. While I have been gone many revitalization projects have gone underway, the streets are cleaner, the parks more vibrant, amazing museums have been established and there are delightful restaurants on most city streets. But you know, it’s not about where you are so much, it’s about who you are with, and my fellow DC’ers, you all are rude. Apologies for the generalization, I have found a few personable folk here and there, but you are few and far between. And this is more apparent on the Metro than anywhere else.
It all starts with the payment system. I don’t mind paying more to ride a safer, cleaner and more reliable train system, but none of these things seem to be coming about. And the passengers are not helping the matter at all. If you happen to ride the rails everyday and are familiar with the payment systems, don’t push the old lady who is having trouble figuring it out, out of your way. You, over there, in your high heels and big sunglasses, you just elbowed granny so hard you probably broke one of her fragile osteoporosis ridden ribs. Maybe it’s because you have your sunglasses on, and we are underground, maybe you didn’t see her? Doubtful. Buy her some Boniva and help her figure it out next time.
And enough with the disrespecting of the personal space. You see that broken down escalator everyday, it’s not getting fixed anytime soon, even though the pay hikes are supposed to be covering that (among 4,000 other issues). But you know what? You have two legs that work, so don’t get all up on old grand-dad with a cane and toss him over board like dead weight on a sinking ship. If I was that old man, I would smack you with my cane, but alas, the older generation seems to have manners, something you must have missed while rushing through your very important life. What are you in such a rush for? You know your connecting bus or train is delayed anyway.
Speaking of delays, lets talk about the fact that they exist, they certainly do. It’s a fact of life. Yes, they are annoying, but just take a deep breathe! When everyone is waiting for the next train, and it’s been more than five minutes, mass hysteria ensues. As the next train approaches everyone gathers and pushes to get right up next to the door as it opens. Those blinking red lights on the platform are meant as a warning to step back, not a countdown to freedom from the platform at Gallery Place. Its sick, it’s like watching orphans clamor for food at the orphanage, wide eyed and climbing over each other to get that one bite. Here’s the difference, those kids probably need to act that way, and you don’t.
I can promise you this; there will be another train, yes, you might have to wait another ten minutes, but unless you are on your way to save someone’s life, just wait it out (and furthermore, if you happen to be that one person who is on your way to perform life saving surgery, there’s probably a helicopter waiting for you somewhere, my guess is its not at L’Enfant Plaza). Fellow non-life saving surgeons on the train with me, even if you do get on that car, it’s going to be packed and you will be on top of the people who were already there, you don’t deserve that space, it’s like squatters rights. You are infringing on their personal space, no one wants your elbow in their face, or your big ass $1,000 purse rubbing against them as the train jostles to and fro. If you can afford that purse you can afford a private ride, so go take a hired car. But if you insist on riding the rails with the common folk who shop at Target, just remember, it’s not the last train out of the area, you will get to the sale at Louis, don’t worry. If not, they sell fakes up on the street.
My other favorite type of passenger is the one who almost relishes the delay; they use it as an excuse to post up in the car (once they get on) and re-create their living room right there on car 4801. I saw this just the other day, it was so unreal I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and tell everyone on the car they had been Punk’d (alas I think that show is in syndication at this point – Ashton has Demi, who has Bruce, who has a pension). Anyone who knows DC knows Five Guys restaurant and burger joint. The place is phenomenal when you want to erode your insides with an amount of grease and oil that rivals the spill in the Gulf. But here is the thing; those burgers should be enjoyed in a non-enclosed space, not the Metro. This is especially true if you get a burger with all the toppings, those onions? They reek; they would smell even in a Bath & Body Works shop, they would over-ride this year’s Christmas scent. But yet, here we are, on the Metro, right under the sign that says “No eating, drinking, spitting, or playing music without headphones” (I love the “no spitting” rule, was it that rampant of a problem? Or did camels used to take the Red Line?). I see Joe “I don’t care about the rules” Rule Breaker Extraordinaire Metro rider post up, next to Suzie “I carry sanitizer even in sterile settings” Rule Abiding Metro rider, and begin to ingest a Five Guys burger. This thing had it all - oozing cheese, fried onions, pickles, mayo, ketchup (at least an attempt of a fruit or veggie – way to go Five Guys) basically the works…you get the picture. This guy isn’t even trying to hide it like some others who break off a piece of granola bar in their bag and pretend to yawn as they pop a bite of crunchy goodness in their mouth. He is all out chowing down! So of course, Rule Abiding Metro rider moves to an open seat as soon as one is available. Lucky her, because this guy wasn’t even close to being done. Dude breaks out the bag-o-grease, also known as french-fries, and an orange soda for good measure (and for some vitamin C presumably). He realizes he now has more space, and instead of taking a hint, or letting someone else sit down, he just moves over and take up more room, like a nice pleather loveseat in his apartment. He kicks back, places his arms the width of the seats and posts his feet up on the wall. Just when I think all my senses are equally offended he breaks out his phone and plays music on it, for all to hear, thanks DJ, play your music all night long for us. Good thing I had my club clothes on per casual Friday at the office. As he bops his head to his fresh beats the conductor comes on the intercom to let us know we will be delayed in the tunnel/living room of Joe Metro rider for quite sometime. Life is grand, especially with Kid Cudi screaming from a t-mobile.
Here is the thing, if we are all going to be in this together, the pay hikes, the delays the general misery of the Metro, shouldn’t we all just try to make it easier on each other? No one seems to have camaraderie in DC. I just moved back from Boston, and let me tell you, I have never been to another place where people join together in dire circumstances (I mean how many years did they wait for a Red Sox World Series win? Answer: ask any Yankee fan). Maybe we could all learn something from them, and maybe the Redskins would pull out a Super bowl victory for us too. OK, now I am talking crazy. But basically, in Boston, if there was an old lady trying to cross the street with bags of groceries? Ten people would attempt to help her and eventually carry her through the streets with her bags and up the ten flights of stairs in her old apartment building. If there was a pregnant woman on the train? Everyone would stand up for her, to the point of it almost being awkward, like a standing ovation “hooray for getting knocked up”. When there was a delay? People would turn to their neighbors, complete strangers waiting at South Station and make small talk, “Hey how about the Sox this year?” There was no pushing, no rude comments, and no lack of general respect for people. And it’s funny to me, because a lot of people say that New Englanders are rude, but the thing is, DC is not just the capital of the country, it’s the capital of rude.
So here I sit, contemplating on where to go to lunch, and the red line metro car doesn’t really suit me as much as it did Joe Metro. I choose my lunch location by a couple things these days. Since the customer service in DC is so poor it’s hard to find a place to grab a bite without being offended on many levels. I rank my lunch places by customer service quality, food quality and then price. It used to be the exact opposite in Boston, because just about everywhere I went I wouldn’t have to worry about the service or the food, so I focused on keeping some change in my pocket for a Sox game ticket. Alas I have found a place; near my office that serves good food with a smile and friendly atmosphere, but it’s a bit expensive. So basically now I pay to be treated with a regular level of respect and courtesy. And this place is pretty good, but it’s not Italy, Elizabeth Gilbert had it right when she started her journey there.
