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February 7, 2008 If there’s one thing I’ve learned after months of commuting by public transportation, and there isn’t, it’s that we in the Greater Boston Area should be really grateful for the T. Most Greater Bostonians* ARE grateful for the T – you can tell because they complain loudly into the ether about it less than some things, like the level of driving skills of everyone else on our planet**. For those of you not in “the know,” the letter T stands for … train, maybe? Transportation something or other? I forget. I’d have to type a URL in a browser and really, who needs all that trouble? But at any rate, the T provides many wonderful things to Greater Bostonians, including:
Not that I am complaining, mind you. You have to consider the alternatives (because it’s the law in Massachusetts). If it weren’t for the Red Line, which shuttles me and about 7 quadzillion people to work and back every day (in the very same 10 cubic feet on a train car), I’d have to DRIVE. And that would never do. You see, in order to drive to work, I’d have to take Interstate 93, which now, thanks to the Massachusetts Department of Shameful Bureaucratic Fiascoes, goes UNDER downtown Boston in a network of tunnels known affectionately as the “Big Dig.” Bostonians love complaining about the “Big Dig,” even though it’s perfectly safe. A chunk of ceiling support structure has fallen onto a passing vehicle and killed people only once, after all, and we should be quite grateful that the city of Boston did their construction supplies shopping at “budget” prices. Nothing to be concerned about. A friend of mine from Tufts once described the experience of driving down the tunnel to the airport as feeling "like going down a Fallopian tube,” which makes me curious as to how she remembers this. I suppose in a sense it’s right – the egg goes through that long, dark, narrow tube just like in those helpful middle school charts that show you everything there is to know about the female anatomy except how the sperm gets there in the first place***, until, as nature intended, a piece of budget-quality ceiling support structure falls and crushes the egg. Therefore, I love riding the train. Seriously. It’s much easier to get stuff done while riding the train than it is while driving in gridlock traffic during rush hour (1962-present). By “get stuff done,” of course, I mean “zone out” (or, if you’re feeling gullible, “meditate”). This is really the most popular activity on the train, with listening to R&B music on your iPod with the volume set to “air-raid siren” coming in at a close second. I like zoning out quite a bit, although it can be difficult from time to time. When it comes to riding the train, a T passenger can have as many as two options – sit or stand. Each seat is wide enough for about 0.8 supermodels, or 0.53 Chris bottoms. This works fine when the train is largely empty and I can “spread out,” so to speak, over two seats. It works less well when the train starts to fill up with other passengers, who, inconsiderately, also want to sit down – sometimes next to you. It’s probably happened to everyone who’s ridden the T for any significant period – there you are, minding your own business, seated in an edge seat. Because you are a big guy who likes spreading his legs out while sitting down (okay, maybe this no longer applies to everyone who’s ridden the T for any significant period), the seat next to yours is one of the last to be filled. But this is okay with you, because a supermodel-proportioned person could easily fit there, you believe. However, the next tired and cranky person to appear at the subway door is not a supermodel, but a person whose rear end is – how can I put this delicately – so large that astronomers have given it its own Messier designation. This person invariably makes a beeline right for the seat next to you – which is already 0.3 filled by YOUR OWN astronomical rear end. This leads to an unfortunate dilemma – and remember, you have about 3 seconds to make the decision! Do you (a) innocently stare into space as though nothing is the matter, winding up being flattened into a pancake in order to preserve the illusion that both you and M68 can fit comfortably into two T seats that would have been rejected as "too narrow" for coach seating by AirTran? Or do you (b) dart quickly out of the way with the look of a terrified bunny rabbit about to be flattened by a falling tree, which might be taken the wrong way? Really, it’s better to do the right thing and give up your seat to someone well before you’re forced to. That is the moral thing to do, right? I mean, sure, it accomplishes some other benefits for us unfortunately-large-butted people, but those are really side benefits. The trick, however, is knowing who to give your seat up to. In Boston, never give your seat up to a man unless he is either obviously 90+ years old (preferably shaking a fist at “whippersnappers” – oh wait this is Boston. He wouldn’t say “whippersnappers.” He’d say “f-ing whippersnappers”), or being accompanied by a service animal of some kind****. Otherwise you will have offended his maleness by suggesting he looks like he needs to sit down. Not that guys have their maleness offended when they remain seated for an entire train ride right underneath a very pregnant woman struggling with screaming toddlers. The guy might even maintain an agitated expression suggesting something like, “If you WANTED to sit down, you should have gotten on BEFORE Downtown Crossing! Did you think of THAT?” No, it’s much better to give your seat up to girls, although some will still be offended. Many women, however, will happily take the seat. It’s really a win-win situation. Your tiny gesture might have, in some small way, made their day much nicer. And also, THEY now have to deal with M68! Bwahahaha! * That is, the Bostonians who eat a lot of carbohydrates. The carbohydrates here are delicious. |
Chris Guin is a 25-year-old software engineer at a Cambridge research company, and a recent graduate of Tufts University (M.S.) and Harding University (B.S.). He's Christian, conservative, and originally Alabamian, and he posts new C-Files roughly whenever he wants to, usually every month, if you're fortunate. You can see the complete C-File listing here, or see everything he's stocked away at Narf's Cavern here.