As all our lives went rolling on the clicking wheels of trains

[quislibet]

First, the newspaper I was on about yesterday seems not to have put out a new issue since April, although it is meant to be monthly. (Individual issues are fifty cents apiece; an annual subscription, twenty dollars. This reminds me of the special deal available to American tourists at some gift shop near Istanbul in the autumn of 1990: postcards were a couple hundred Turkish lira each, or four for a dollar.)

But that's as may be.

So transportation was vexing this morning, but that's nothing new, really.

Let us in fact call the following "Transportation Scenario 7." I'm not exactly sure what numbers 1-6 should be, but this combination of events is not uncommon, and so I will certainly have occasion to complain of it again:

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TRANSPORTATION SCENARIO 7 comprises (is comprised of) the following:
- A. I oversleep by a few minutes -- perhaps as much as ten.
- B. Lacking time to catch the 8:30-ish train, I opt for the bus that leaves about ten minutes later and walk to the nearest stop.
- C. At about 9:00 I decide that even if the bus were to arrive immediately, the 9:15 train will get me to work much sooner. I walk to the train depot, and the bus I had been waiting for passes me along the way, just for the insult.

Let us pause for a moment. This combination, A, B, and C, might by itself be common enough to merit the designation "Transportation Scenario 2," leaving "T.S. 1" to represent travel between Salem and Boston in a timely fashion by means of the modes of transportation I have chosen -- which is indeed rare enough to need a designation of its own, implying, of course, that it is worthy of comment. -- And yet we are not done with T.S. 7; accordingly, we continue.

- D. Upon arrival at North Station, I ride the first available Green Line subway train for a few stops and change at Government Center (or after) for the "B" train. No such train, however, arrives for at least 20 minutes.
- E. I get to work and complain to someone about my specific commute, usually leading to more general uncomplimentary remarks about the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority.

----

But nonetheless the ride into work was not without its rewards.

- Walking down a side street in Salem to avoid the insulting sight of the bus, I observe a 1923 Model T pull out of a garage. I know it is a 1923 model because the driver says so to a man walking by. I hear the sound of a passing bus a block behind me.

- On the Green Line, a woman holds a Kleenex (or some other brand) over her mouth without cease, even when speaking to her man. Is she hiding a disfigurement, perhaps supernatural in nature? Is she afraid of SARS?

- On the train from Salem, a kinship group of four sit in two seats across from me. A woman of about 40 and a "tween-age" boy sit in the further seat; in the nearer, a woman -- she is, say, 20 -- and a girl of perhaps 5. The two women are speaking, as near as I can tell, about the younger woman's employment opportunities in the health-care field. The conversation is mostly conducted in Spanish, but whenever the younger woman mentions a local place-name ("Beverly" comes up often) she switches easily into unaccented English for a sentence or two.

The boy is in his own headphone-induced world. From where I am sitting, only his baseball cap announces his presence.

The little girl has a babydoll with a hollow soft plastic head. She pushes down on the top. "Doesn't this look like a teacup?"

Comments

[rojagato.livejournal.com]

"Doesn't this look like a teacup?"

I remember doing and thinking the same thing, although I said it it out loud. I also wished I were actually doing it to my brother's head, since I was pretty sure it was just as empty and squishy as the baby doll's.