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Things that I've learned on the MTA.

Having spent the better part of thirty years avoiding the City Buses, Subway Trains and The Long Island Railroad, I know realize that I may have deprived myself of a very valuable part of my education. Therefore friends, I will take all of you for a day on the MTA.

I will start our journey on Queens Boulevard. We're going into Manhattan. As I enter the bus I notice the kindly Octogenarian. She's leaning on her cane, so
that the exhausted High School Basketball team can all sit comfortably.

You can learn some colorful language if you listen in on their conversation. How nice the three year old girl across the aisle is also learning these new words.

Let's see what we can find on the back of the bus. Here we find the young lady describing, in detail, on her cellphone, the escapades of previous night, with her boyfriend's brother. She's planning on having them tattooed onto her arm in Chinese lettering.

Whew!! We hit 60th Street, let's take the number 6 train to Grand Central. Although it's a short trip, we hear all about the virtues of Jesus. When we get off at 42nd Street, on the way to the Number 7 Train, back to Queens, I am delighted to hear the lovely tones of the washboard band playing "You're having my baby."

On to the Number 7 train. Here comes my favorite person, the battery salesman. I'm always tempted to ask him if they are included. (Stolen from Steven Wright.) Here's a new guy, the squeegee man. My glasses have now been forcibly "cleaned" for Five dollars.

I'm going to get off at Woodside and take the Long Island Railroad.

"Ouch, what was that!" Damn it, I was hit by somebody clipping her nails. That's all for our short journey as we get off in Forest Hills. I'm walking home!

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
bluedressdevil
Aug. 22nd, 2010 02:27 pm (UTC)
My experience with public transit have ranged from your story to quite pleasant. Last week I was in San Francisco. One bus ride on a Saturday night allowed me to discover what my hell would be like. Crammed on a bus with a bunch of 20 somethings who are partially intoxicated and like all 20 somethings including myself at that age, think they know everything. The only solace was an older gentlemen who appeared to be homeless. I tried to telegraph with my eyes to me that not all white people were so annoying.

On the same weekend, my husband and I abandoned the more popular bus route (as the buses kept flying by us pack to the gills) for one two blocks up that ran through a seedier part of town. Everyone on the bus no matter where it stopped seemed to know each other. People were going to their Sunday jobs at the grocery or trying to find parts for their ancient Cadillac. It was like a social club on wheels and I felt like we were intruding by getting on since we were obviously not locals. But I badly wanted to join their warm circle of familiarity.

Hardest part of public transit is that its truly public.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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