The MBTA commute from heck

Today's commute wasn't like yesterday's, but still, I'll be glad to be rid of the commuter rail, and start riding the T. I know the T has its problems, too, but not like the commuter rail. The commuter has terrible service, and the scheduling makes it pretty much useless except during rush hour. You can pretty much toss it on weekends, holidays, and midday and late night.

Thanks to the blizzard on Monday, yesterday the parking lot in Framingham was snowed in. I can't tell if more people ride the T when the weather's bad nor not, not wanting to stand out in the cold and wet. Anyway there are less parking spots because the city just piles up the snow in huge mounds without carrying it away.

And you have to deal with antiquated payment system where each day you put in four dollars into this big box-matrix, matching the number of your parking spot with a little slot into which you have to slip in money (any combination of paper and coins) with cold fingers while standing in a puddle and getting splashed by passing cars whose drivers are driving too fast because they're in a hurry to get a non-existent spot. Plus, the numbers painted in each parking slot are painted with white paint, and not some more visible color like red or yellow, so after a snow you can't always quite tell the number of your slot. 21? Or is it 27?

So, yesterday, the first thing I had to contend with is the normal traffic tie-up through downtown Framingham. I come in from behind MCI Framingham, so the road I come up backs up, like all the other roads, when a train crosses Rte. 126. Most mornings I scoot up the wrong side of the street since cars don't come at you, because they're tied up just like I am.

And I've always wondered if the horrendous traffic problem in downtown Framingham is left that way because it's just brown people that live over there.

Yesterday, there were no more parking spots in the lot, so quick I drove over to the gas station where you can hand the guy five bucks and park there for the day. But yesterday, again because of the snow, people where parked willy-nilly. Chasing down, then trying to talk to a guy fluent in Portuguese but not English took up too much time, and I watched the last train for a half hour slip out of the station. So, yesterday, I drove into Boston, and paid 19 bucks to park under the Common.

And while I drove and crept through one suburb after another, I thought of the billions of dollars that were spent on the Big Dig, and thought of the lack of visionaries in this state who could have taken that money, knocked down the Central Artery, built parking garages north and south of the city, and built a way cool public transportation system throughout the outer regions of the city that ran all the all day and night.

Today, after negotiating the traffic snarl, I got the last spot on the lot. I can't believe my life is reduced to the point where getting a parking spot constitutes reason to celebrate.

The 8:15 MBTA Commuter out of Framingham

Nope, the conductor didn't collect fares this morning. That's $6.25 I could have kept in my pocket if I didn't have the monthly pass.

No stations were called out, either, which made for a quiet ride. Most people probably know where they're going, but if there was someone making the ride for the first time, they were SOL...

The ghost MBTA Commuter Train from Framingham

At some point today on the 8:30 commuter rail out of Framingham, the conductor came on the PA system saying it was the 8:30 local to Boston, and he had no idea what happened to the 8:15 express.

This was after a few newcomers shivered on the platform today trying to figure out the train system. A train, the one we eventually rode in on, pulled into the station from Boston and was parked on the other side of the tracks. That was the 8:30. The 8:15 was late (and, subsequently we learned off the map) so even though the 8:30 had been sitting there for a few minutes, when the conductors yelled to get aboard, lots of commuters had to scamper up the stairs and over the walkway, including a woman who was going into Boston for an appointment with her cardiologist.

Also, today was another morning, which I've stopped counting, when the conductors didn't collect the fares in our car. It does kind of piss me off, though, when I just forked over another $210.00 for January's pass. Why do I have to pay and other's don't? Oh well, that's just the logic of the MBTA. Get used to it.

Good things on the Framingham commuter rail

Everyone, including me, ranks on the MBTA. It's not all bad. Really. There's a conductor on the Framingham commuter line. Her name tag says her first name is Pia. She's nice and friendly and there's always a good vibe coming from her. You look her in the eye and you get a smile and a good morning. The same goes for most of the conductors on that line.

So, maybe the person, man, woman, or beast, from the MBTA, who lurks on this blog from will take note of this and maybe reward these good folks.

On the commuter rail

On the crowded commuter train this morning, an older woman staggers down the aisle of the moving, lurching car. Not a single person, not a sinlge young, healthy person in the predominantly white, suburban crowd gets up and offers a seat, except for the old guy with the bad back.

"No, that's all right," she says.

"No, really, take a seat. I kinda like standing," he lied.

"Well, if you insist," she said, gratefully.

Before he absorbed himself back in his book, he looked at the faces of all his fellow commuters, and wondered just what the hell happened to manners, and respect, and taking care of your fellow man.

How can one person talk so much?

On the commuter train out of Framingham (I don't know which one because they're all so late you have no idea which one you're on anymore) a woman in a green blouse and black skirt got on in Wellesley. It was so crowded that her friend got a seat behind me and she stood over me and talked. And talked. And talked. Non-effing stop. One long rambling monologue in my ear as I tried to read. Every so often she'd say to her friend, well, I'll let you do your charts, but then she'd just take a breath and launch into some other inane, boring topic. Coffee at work, how she likes it, they have a machine that you can choose your flavors but it just doesn't taste right, so she likes to get it somewhere else, but today, because the train's late she just may have to drink it...on and on and on like this.

Some people are just not born with the self-censor gene. The only thing I could think of is God bless the people who have to live with her, who can't get away from her inane chatter.

This morning's MBTA commuting tale

This morning I got on what’s becoming the chronically late 8:47 commuter rail out of Framingham for Boston. Feeling lucky because I got an aisle seat. As the train leaves the station the man behind me starts talking in a loud, penetrating voice, in a cadence that is as jerky as the train. He starts by asking someone if he wears a hearing aid, then says he does, too. Ah, I think, conjuring up some sympathy, that’s why his voice is so loud. He goes on to say he was in Vietnam and a shell exploded nearby. More sympathy. But as we head towards West Natick, he launches into religion, and Jesus. Between West Natick and Natick he relates a story of a holdup in a New Hampshire store, where the robber gunned down three people. Enough, I think, I’m not going to listen to this all the way into Boston. When the train pulled into Natick I got up to find a better seat. The man was sitting alone, intently leaning into the vacant space next to him.

Sad, so sad. I hope there was someone meeting him at the end of the line.

Today's MBTA Framingham fiasco

Well, the 8:00 local never showed up. At some point a trained pulled into the platform from the east and we--all of us lemmings--just sat there for awhile. Then another train pulled in from the west. The conductor said that that train was an express and would leave before the train I was sitting on would leave. I, and the rest of the mob, hustled up and over bridge that goes over the tracks to the other side of the station. I was behind some fat guy lugging a backpack and I was so glad we weren't trying to escape some crisis 'cause the bastard would have died right there and taken a bunch of us with him.

We all clamored aboard the train and, you guessed it, it just sat there while the other train high-tailed it out of there and we limped into South Station around 9:45.

Couldn't have happened on a better day. I had a ton of rush jobs waiting for me at the office, and my manager from Detroit was in town. Thanks MBTA. You're the best.

Today's MBTA commute

Who has that much to say? Who can talk that much?

Well, obviously the guy I had the pleasure to sit in front of today on the 8:00 out of Framingham. Not sure when he got on, but I was suddenly aware of this droning...this constant, flat, one-note Indian accent going on and on and on. I put on headphones, and tried to listen to Dr. David Greenberg lecture on the music of the Renaissance but the dude was just talking way too loudly.

I took the headphones off to see what he was going on about. I don't know...Natick, MCAS, something...shut up.

Glancing over my shoulder once or twice didn't even phase him...even after we locked eyes. I guess he thought I was just another interested listener.

MBTA train commuter tip #43

When choosing a seat on the crowded 7:47 express out of Framingham into Boston, pick one next to a woman or an Asian. Or better, an Asian woman. A woman is more likely to move over into the center spot than a man, giving you the aisle. I've actually asked women if they don't want that aisle seat, that it's okay, that I'd didn't mind sitting in the middle and they always declined. A woman, and an Asian, will more likely be smaller than a man, so there will be more room. Women and Asians won't sprawl all over the place like a man has a tendency to do, staking out his spot in the urban jungle.

Note to the two hogs I had the pleasure of sitting in between this morning on the commute in:

To the doof on my left. Yes, you're a doof. You need to lose a substantial amount of weight. And I'm not sure why you had to sit there with your legs spread, but dude, if you were getting off on me you're damn lucky I didn't have coffee yet.

To the John Cleese look-a-like on my right: Lose the hat. I know it was expensive, but there's no hope left for you. You look like a cuckhold, and your Indiana Jones hat ain't gonna save you.

Today's commuter story

I had ten minutes to pay for parking, walk to the platform, and catch a train. You pay by shoving money--in this case, four dollars--into a slot in a big metal box that has slots that correspond to each parking space.

A man came up to me. I'm used to this. The parking and train situation is a bit confusing, and everyone from the town of Framingham to the MBTA haven't gone out of their way to explain it. So people are always stopping others to ask questions. But today this man wanted to know if I had jumper cables. His car wouldn't start.

"It's a new car," he said, "and I don't know why it won't start."

He pointed in a general direction, but I didn't see anything that looked like a new car. Maybe he bought it used, but it was new to him. I felt bad for him. I wish I could have helped him out. We've all been in tight spots, where things aren't going right, and a helpful hand is always a relief. I would have liked to have been that relief to that man.

I thought for a second, then said, "No, sorry." I could feel his letdown, so I said, "I know they open at 8:00," pointing to the gas station across street.

"They do?"

"Yeah. Good luck," I said, and headed to the train platform.

The thing is, I do have jumper cables. I just didn't have time to help him and catch my train at the same time. It's only later I wished I had just reached inside the truck and given him my cables. Are you thinking that that is going too far in helping a stranger?

No, you see, those cables were given to me by, well, I don't know who she was; she wasn't a girlfriend. I'm still not sure what she was, but she gave them to me for a Christmas present, and the moment she handed them to me I realized they were an obligation present. You know the kind: One not given from the heart, but given only out of a social obligation. Her manner, her faked concern that it was the wrong gift told everything. And I remember sitting on the floor of her living room feigning delight, but inside knowing she couldn't have cared less. Just one more way she lied. Some might say the cables were even Freudian, an attempt to jumpstart a dead relationship. Or a symbol of the dead relationship itself. But I don't think so. Frankly, I don't have use for symbols in my life any more, Freudian or otherwise.

I've thrown away everything she ever gave me. It's the most cleansing feeling in the world, so freeing to purge the things associated with a person who caused so much pain in your life and was cruel for no other reason except for her own selfishness. To destroy not all memory because that is impossible, but as much rememberance as I can. To strain and push back time to a point where she wasn't in my life. When these things didn't exist, when I did not own them, or they me.

But this morning I realized I still had one more thing she had given me: the jumper cables shoved and forgotten behind the seat of my truck. It would have meant nothing to me to give them to that stranded man this morning, no more than it meant to that woman on that Christmas morning. And my action might have changed a bad memory into a good one. My action could have made two people feel better--the stranger and me. But I wasn't thinking. Like that woman, I was too intent on my own selfishness to do anything good or kind. And I missed my chance.

Two commuting stories

It was one of those mornings. No matter that I gave myself plenty of time to get ready, I was still racing around because I simply am horrible at time management. An extra cup of coffee, a little something to eat, take the dog out, spend a little time with Sue before we both got shot out of the cannon called daily life. When I was tearing across the orchard I noticed the clock in the truck said 7:45 which means it really was 7:40, and I was trying to make the 8:00 train. I did make it in time to board the train waiting on the platform in Framingham. I found a seat, pulled out my book, then reached into my back pocket for my wallet where I keep my train pass. The little plastic card wasn't in my wallet. I knew where it was: it was in the pocket of the shirt I wore yesterday, which was lying on the floor of my closet where I threw it when I got home. To top it off, the fare is $6.25, and all I had was a five and a one. I looked at my watch and realized I didn’t have time to get off the train and go to the bank. I didn’t know what else to do, so I looked for a conductor and threw myself at his mercy. I explained the situation, telling him all I had was the six bucks. He mumbled for me to take a seat. When he came to collect tickets and I handed him the six dollars I had, he said, "I thought you said you had a pass," and I said I did but not on me. “Just make sure you have it tomorrow,” he said, and moved on. I settled back with American Fuji, feeling a little less pressured thanks to the sympathy of the conductor, who could actually have made my life pretty miserable at that point.

While this was going on, Sue was having her own little commute from hell. After the conductor told me to sit down, I called Sue to see if she was still at the apartment and could check to make sure the pass actually was in my shirt pocket. At $210.00 a month, the pass is something that I like to know I won’t have to replace. She, however, was on Summer Street, stuck behind a man driving a car with the trunk filled with boxes and going, according to Sue’s speedometer, 12 mph. Sue had to be in court in Barnstable on Cape Cod at 9:30, an hour and a half away, and this guy seemed hell-bent on making sure she wasn’t going to make it. We’ve all driven behind a joker like this. We’re in a hurry, life’s pressures are encroaching, and the person we’re following is aware of that fact and passive/aggressively controls the situation and the people around them by impeding them. Yeah, maybe Sue was driving a little close to his bumper, but who wouldn’t at 12 mph? And, as a line of cars grew and crept along behind this guy, instead of pulling over and letting people pass by, he hit his brakes and drove even slower.

It’s not about you and your low self-esteem, mister. It isn’t about you having to cry out to the world, “I’m a human being, too, damnit, and I want to be noticed.” It’s about you being a controlling jerk and selfish to other’s lives around you. Get over yourself.

Two people having a tough time getting to work. In the first case, someone had the power to make someone's life just a little easier, and chose to do that. In the second, someone took the selfish choice.

Quiz: Is this a Democrat or a Republican?

I keep saying you can’t tell the Democrats from the Republicans anymore. Freshman State Rep Pam Richardson, in the Commonwealth of Taxachusetts who has a “D” listed after her name, filed a bill in the Legislature to combat the underground economy. The UE comprises people who are paid cash under the table and don’t pay tax on the income. Around this neck of the woods in Massachusetts, that’s code for the Brazilians who work for landscapers and contractors, but let’s not drag this down into the mud and turn it into a racial issue. It’s not, although it would be an easy crack to make that Richardson’s wealthier and whiter Northside constituents are coming down on their poorer and browner Southside neighbors. But we know there are assorted contractors and the like who live on that side of Framingham who surely take a payment or two under the table. It’s really a class issue, once more highlighting the growing gulf between those that have it, and those that don’t.

It’s just a little funny to see a Democrat trying to take money from a worker’s pocket. It used to be Democrats understood the working man and woman’s plight and did whatever they could so people could hang on to what little they had. Outside her district, there are a lot of people who are really struggling and do whatever they can to make ends meet. I mean, by many standards, I make a pretty good wage even as a lowly writer, but I still have to do a little work on the side and I still don't always make ends meet. (Note to Rep. Richardson: I do pay taxes on my freelance work.) Maybe instead of trying to take money, it might be more helpful if Richardson would either a) use her brain and influence to help people earn a better living, and b) use the aforementioned characteristics to reduce the reasons for the underground economy. Here are just a few suggestions.

Work on making housing affordable. Forget the cost of a house, has anyone looked at the cost of renting an apartment lately? Rent can be more than a mortgage, and that's without utiliites.

How about focusing on public safety? This goes hand-in-hand with housing. Funny how it works, but the most affordable housing tends to be situated in the most unsafe part of town.

How about working on the cost of commuting to our jobs? Can we get a break on car insurance in this state? Or how about more, meaning better and cheaper, public transportation? Train fares just went up, so to get to my job in Boston I take three hundred bucks right off the top of my monthly income just to park and ride the train. It’s still cheaper than driving and parking in Boston, but just so you know, I didn’t get a raise to cover this.

Richardson’s background is all in education. That cute picture on her Web site shows a couple of kids. Does she know what the cost of education is? I’m not talking college. Wait until one of those kids wants to plays sports in school. Or needs a calculator the size of an IBM computer for algebra. These are the sorts of things that keep working parents up nights.

How about tax reform? Or at least better use of our taxes. People really hate to see their taxes wasted. Richardson’s answer to solving the UE is to put together an 11-member task force. Billed to the taxpayer’s, I’m supposing. Let me get this straight: She’s spending our money to figure out how to take even more? Nah, she’s not going to last. In four years she’ll be out of a job without a steady paycheck, and then maybe even Richardson will be working under the table.