For the better part of 4 decades I have been fiercely dedicated to Boston’s trusty, rusty transit system, the MBTA. As a child my mom and aunts would tote me along on buses and trains to shopping trips downtown or to the South Shore Plaza. As a teen, the T was my absolute lifeline for hanging out anywhere within a 10 mile inner city radius with my friends. In my 20s, it became my loyal work transport, and of course by T was how I got to and from every ridiculous match.com date I ever had.
The things I’ve seen and smelled on these journeys could fill a small country. Every tine I step into a T vessel I know there is a chance I am going to be wildly entertained, repulsed, or charmed in some way.
When I’ve ever looked quizzically upon an unidentifiable substance and wondered “what is that ?”, it’s usually best that I don’t figure it out. Sometimes though, in dark times; my nose has been able to answer that for my eyes, those are rough memories …
But as a very short woman, the one true mystery that has plagued me for a lifetime is, “what’s worse? standing on a crowded train directly under the armpits of the people tall enough to hold the upper bar; OR sitting on a packed train and having the midsection of fellow passengers within mere inches of my face.
Take tonight for example. I made the mistake of sitting in the end seat closest to the door . This means, that at full capacity, when the door opens the person standing closest to me is going to have to squish in real, real, tight. What then, you might ask? Well then my shoulder has an ass crack on it; that’s what. So right now as I type, I have the entire ass of a stranger on my shoulder, I dare not make a move as this will end poorly for both of us. So I stare straight ahead, acting nonchalantly unaffected.
But if you recall; the train is packed. So the person standing directly in front of me is now being pushed in even closer by the new crop of passengers trying to squeeze in. This means, I’m now eye to , well, crotch, with my neighbor to the north.
So like any seasoned vet of the MBTA, I look down and stare at my phone and think of a time not too far from now when passengers will depart and my eyes and nose can be free to operate with reckless abandon. I dream of the long, hot shower I will take and 24 types of soap my shoulder will be scrubbed with.
Wine, you’re up !
Where Was I Going With This? 