My morning emails to the office staff group address have become legendary at the place I work. In short there is always something that messes with the seamless process that is supposed to be a daily trip-to-work.
In the olden days (circa 1996) there were the rare occasion s that the Washington Metro would have a problem that caused the next train to be delayed an extra few minutes, but they usually arrived soon and reporting lateness to the office was not necessary. The MARC commuter trains had their hot weather slow downs and powder-snow short circuits when it was sucked into an electric locomotive and melted. Those instances were mostly few and far between.
Looking back at my 16 years of commuting, it appears to me that 2006 was the seminal year when something changed. The change was most probably the result of the accumulation of quantum (that is very small increments) degradation. That notwithstanding, the accumulation has manifest itself as daily disruptions that result in extended work days and days when one “should have stood in bed.”
I was talking with our new intern who rides into DC and the office in a vanpool with two of our regular staff and management. He was asking about how long it takes me to commute. My reply was that my day lasts about 11 hours when one adds the dork hours to the commute hours. The facts are that it takes about 1.5 hour in the morning and about 1 hour-15 minutes in the evening, when everything goes according to the plan.
As we talked, a colleague stopped by and rested her forearms on the half wall that defined the corner work space where the intern sits. She said, “I’m fortunate that it take me 20 minutes to get here. And when everything is really messed up, I can still walk.”
Kevin asked, “how long would that take?”
“Two days.” Then a strategic pause and, “there are a lot of bars between home and here.”
My legendary reports and epic misadventures on the train prompted a woman in our Pacific Northwest remote office to ask that she be added to my report distribution list. Since those days, Twitter has come online and could suffice to share the word about. I didn’t consider the narrative of my challenges to be of interest beyond my immediate circle of co-workers.
The vast majority of Americans sit along in their metal shells and compete for lane space and places to park. For them everyone they can see around them is an adversary, someone who will get there (where ever that is) before them. Drivers continually change lanes in vain attempts to choose the one that will move them along faster than the others.
For those of us who choose trains and subways, there is a sense of comrade-ness that is borne of being in the same boat under the same circumstances, all subject to being just as late as everyone else. That equality is lost when the doors of the MARC open at BWI and the mad rush is on to get to the their cars and start their engines and jump out of the gate for the sluggish climb to the top of the hill where Amtrak Way meets MD 170. But while on the train there is a calm that is not resignation to immutable forces but one where friendships can be formed and loose affiliations form that are able to transcend the drudgery of commuting 40 miles every day on the train after driving sometimes 25 miles just to get to the station.
The Car 5 Gang is one such loose affiliation of misfits, knuckleheads and eccentrics. This is the place where everyone knows your name (and usually are glad you came.) Long absent members who had temporary schedule changes or leaves of absence are greeted by name when they appear in the vestibule doorway. Sometimes the schedule change that keeps them away persists but a spurious change of fortune brings them back to the 5:20 train in Car 5. They always know where the gang will be and seeks them out.
The Social Director, Trish, has been keeping the membership apprised of the upcoming plans to revisit Bamboo Bernie’s to listen to The Reagan Years band again. There is a competing venue that may in the long run win out. It is in White Marsh and is a week or two earlier for TRY. I recommend a good set of OSHA compliant earplugs to save your hearing for your Golden Years. It is not that TRY is in any way a bad performance, but they ARE LOUD.
The most recent Friday homeward-bound commute was well attended by 12 of the Gang, three large pizzas and 2 six-packs. Not everyone drinks the beer, but most everyone at one time or another has the pizza.
Dinner conversation taboos are always ignored on Car 5. Politics, economics and religion are always on the plate. The topic of gun control and de facto registration in the form of having to report who you sell one of your guns to popped to the top of the agenda. Through all the bantering on pro and con positions, I said, “I don’t know anyone I would trust with a handgun around me. You are more likely to be killed by someone who gains control of your gun. You provide your own murder weapon.”
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