It strikes me that few of the people I encounter on the bus have any idea how to sit properly.
Most of the seats on a standard MTA bus are forward-facing, and arranged in pairs. The proper way to sit in these seats is to walk in crab-style, that is, sideways, body facing forward. When situated directly in front of an empty seat, one bends one's knees and lowers one's behind gently onto the seat.
That's how I sit. I was raised properly, that is, not by wolves.
The way almost everyone else does this sitting thing: Find an empty seat. Stand sideways in the aisle and quickly aim one's voluminous ass downward, roughly toward the seat. Drop all 350-lbs of weight heavily onto seat/slam backpack into passenger in window seat. Scootch butt around to face forward. Or not.
Sometimes this technique works, but most of the time that giant ass (if no backpack is present) lands partly on the person already seated by the window. Occasionally, but not very often, there is a "oh, sorry," but most of the time the offending Ass-Owner is annoyed at finding another person already in the seat.
Just about every morning and afternoon, I am treated to the view of at least one giant ass headed my way. Occasionally it's a smaller ass. But it's always an ass.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Long Time No Post
I haven't posted here in quite a while. It's not that the MTA isn't still raising my ire, it's that I've been busy with other projects. And I find I've been saving my best posts for Facebook.
However, a few things have been annoying me enough to post here again.
One of those things happened the other day. My brother, father, and I went to an Orioles game and felt that taking the Light Rail would be the most convenient means of transportation. It worked out very nicely the times we rode the train to Manufacturers and Traders Trust Company Bank Stadium, the stop for which is just a short piece away from Camden Yards, and we trusted it would work out well this time, too.
The trip down to the stadium was fine - the Orioles are in no danger of being in the playoffs, so the game was sparsely attended. That meant the train had plenty of seats. The trip home was a different story altogether.
We stuck it out to the bitter end of the game, which ended with a bizarre foul ball pop-up double play. We weren't the only ones, so many dozen people crowded the train platform for a 20-minute wait. In the meantime, my companions railed on about how the MTA should have trains ready and waiting to sweep passengers away from the area. Clearly they are not regular MTA users.
Eventually, a train arrived and I elbowed my way on to save a seat for elderly Dad. As we approached the Cultural Center stop, the conductor informed the train that there was a stoppage/blockage on the line ahead so he was dumping us all off at North Avenue. A mere two stops away. There would be a "bus bridge" available to take passengers to the next available Light Rail stop.
After a lightning fast mental calculation, 3 full Light Rail Trains (potentially 528 passengers)\83 passengers total per MTA Bus = 6.36 buses required, I realized that we were fucked, since there's no way in hell that seven empty buses would magically appear where needed. I called my darling husband and informed him of the situation, while at the same time tried to get the attention of my brother and father over the din of the train. My plan was to evacuate at Mt Royal, where the tracks were still easily accessible to the street, so Mr Minx could swoop in and pick us up.
I don't know how the poor schmucks fared on North Avenue, but my plan worked like a charm, and my knight in shining armor rescued us from further clusterfuckage.
This whole episode reminded me of something that happened on the bus a few weeks back.
Despite the "no food, drink, radios" sign on every MTA bus, people still insist on eating chicken wings, drinking coffee, and playing clearly audible music. Because they are above the law like that. One such fool boarded the bus at Baltimore and Paca and proceeded to drop a 64-oz Super Colossal Big Ass-sized styrofoam cup full of what appeared to be iced tea on the ground at the front of the bus. He picked up the cup, kicked the ice under a seat, and sat down. Unbeknownst to us, the bus driver called his dispatcher and reported the "dangerous situation." As we approached North Avenue, he decided to tell us he was throwing us off the bus and taking it in to the garage for cleaning.
By that point, the floor was dry--it was a hot day, and North Avenue is quite a bit away from Baltimore and Paca. We figure the driver had just found himself a nice excuse to cut out early.
So we got off the bus and stood on that lovely corner of North and Greenmount to await our next chariot. I suppose it could have been worse: we could have been put off at Preston and Greenmount, or by the Jail....
Eventually, another 48 came trundling up the road and the other displaced passengers and I clambered aboard and even found seats. Including a woman with a 64-oz Super Colossal Big Ass-sized styrofoam cup...
...who proceeded to dump the entire thing on the floor.
Deja vu all over again. Thankfully, this bus driver didn't care if any of the passengers slipped and fell in the mess and I was able to get home without switching vehicles yet again.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
However, a few things have been annoying me enough to post here again.
One of those things happened the other day. My brother, father, and I went to an Orioles game and felt that taking the Light Rail would be the most convenient means of transportation. It worked out very nicely the times we rode the train to Manufacturers and Traders Trust Company Bank Stadium, the stop for which is just a short piece away from Camden Yards, and we trusted it would work out well this time, too.
The trip down to the stadium was fine - the Orioles are in no danger of being in the playoffs, so the game was sparsely attended. That meant the train had plenty of seats. The trip home was a different story altogether.
We stuck it out to the bitter end of the game, which ended with a bizarre foul ball pop-up double play. We weren't the only ones, so many dozen people crowded the train platform for a 20-minute wait. In the meantime, my companions railed on about how the MTA should have trains ready and waiting to sweep passengers away from the area. Clearly they are not regular MTA users.
Eventually, a train arrived and I elbowed my way on to save a seat for elderly Dad. As we approached the Cultural Center stop, the conductor informed the train that there was a stoppage/blockage on the line ahead so he was dumping us all off at North Avenue. A mere two stops away. There would be a "bus bridge" available to take passengers to the next available Light Rail stop.
After a lightning fast mental calculation, 3 full Light Rail Trains (potentially 528 passengers)\83 passengers total per MTA Bus = 6.36 buses required, I realized that we were fucked, since there's no way in hell that seven empty buses would magically appear where needed. I called my darling husband and informed him of the situation, while at the same time tried to get the attention of my brother and father over the din of the train. My plan was to evacuate at Mt Royal, where the tracks were still easily accessible to the street, so Mr Minx could swoop in and pick us up.
I don't know how the poor schmucks fared on North Avenue, but my plan worked like a charm, and my knight in shining armor rescued us from further clusterfuckage.
This whole episode reminded me of something that happened on the bus a few weeks back.
Despite the "no food, drink, radios" sign on every MTA bus, people still insist on eating chicken wings, drinking coffee, and playing clearly audible music. Because they are above the law like that. One such fool boarded the bus at Baltimore and Paca and proceeded to drop a 64-oz Super Colossal Big Ass-sized styrofoam cup full of what appeared to be iced tea on the ground at the front of the bus. He picked up the cup, kicked the ice under a seat, and sat down. Unbeknownst to us, the bus driver called his dispatcher and reported the "dangerous situation." As we approached North Avenue, he decided to tell us he was throwing us off the bus and taking it in to the garage for cleaning.
By that point, the floor was dry--it was a hot day, and North Avenue is quite a bit away from Baltimore and Paca. We figure the driver had just found himself a nice excuse to cut out early.
So we got off the bus and stood on that lovely corner of North and Greenmount to await our next chariot. I suppose it could have been worse: we could have been put off at Preston and Greenmount, or by the Jail....
Eventually, another 48 came trundling up the road and the other displaced passengers and I clambered aboard and even found seats. Including a woman with a 64-oz Super Colossal Big Ass-sized styrofoam cup...
...who proceeded to dump the entire thing on the floor.
Deja vu all over again. Thankfully, this bus driver didn't care if any of the passengers slipped and fell in the mess and I was able to get home without switching vehicles yet again.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Oh No, I Gotta GO!
Since nothing particularly offensive or interesting has happened on the MTA of late, I thought I'd share another transportation-related story with you.
In the early 90s, my best friend Kate moved to Chicago for a spell. During that summer, some friends and I flew out to visit her during Blues Fest. I'm not a huge fan of flying - I hate the rigmarole of dealing with airport security and cramped flying conditions, of course, but the worst part of it is the constipation.
Airplane air dries me out. Completely.
Anyhoo...after a couple days with clogged pipes, I did something stupid. We went as a group to Ed Debevic's for dinner, and I ordered Ed's Southwest Chicken Salad. Which happens to contain beans. While they may be good for the heart, they are most decidedly not good for the plumbing, if you know what I mean.
Now, Kate lived in Park Ridge, IL. Ed Debevic's was in downtown Chicago. More than an hour apart via public transportation. One of the longest hours of my life.
Not long after boarding the train back to Park Ridge, I started to have stomach cramps. The realization that I might crap my pants right then and there put me into a panic, which in turn led to cold sweats. Among my traveling companions was my brother, who immediately sensed something was wrong and took my hand.
"Squeeze hard when you feel a cramp," he urged. And I did. I squeezed and clenched and sweated the whole way to the metro station where Kate had parked her car. Her apartment was still a bit of a drive away, and I had to go NOW. She remembered that there was a HoJo's nearby, one where I knew the bathroom's location, since we had eaten there every morning on a trip to town the year before. She sped off as fast as she could, with me in the front passenger seat, ready to jump out even before the car had come to a stop.
Within 15 minutes, the ordeal was over, and I was back in the car, still pale but much relieved. Needless to say, I avoided beans for a good 15 years afterward.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
In the early 90s, my best friend Kate moved to Chicago for a spell. During that summer, some friends and I flew out to visit her during Blues Fest. I'm not a huge fan of flying - I hate the rigmarole of dealing with airport security and cramped flying conditions, of course, but the worst part of it is the constipation.
Airplane air dries me out. Completely.
Anyhoo...after a couple days with clogged pipes, I did something stupid. We went as a group to Ed Debevic's for dinner, and I ordered Ed's Southwest Chicken Salad. Which happens to contain beans. While they may be good for the heart, they are most decidedly not good for the plumbing, if you know what I mean.
Now, Kate lived in Park Ridge, IL. Ed Debevic's was in downtown Chicago. More than an hour apart via public transportation. One of the longest hours of my life.
Not long after boarding the train back to Park Ridge, I started to have stomach cramps. The realization that I might crap my pants right then and there put me into a panic, which in turn led to cold sweats. Among my traveling companions was my brother, who immediately sensed something was wrong and took my hand.
"Squeeze hard when you feel a cramp," he urged. And I did. I squeezed and clenched and sweated the whole way to the metro station where Kate had parked her car. Her apartment was still a bit of a drive away, and I had to go NOW. She remembered that there was a HoJo's nearby, one where I knew the bathroom's location, since we had eaten there every morning on a trip to town the year before. She sped off as fast as she could, with me in the front passenger seat, ready to jump out even before the car had come to a stop.
Within 15 minutes, the ordeal was over, and I was back in the car, still pale but much relieved. Needless to say, I avoided beans for a good 15 years afterward.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Bus Operators
Bus drivers, or "operators" as the internal announcements call them ("if you see anything suspicious, please notify your bus operator immediately"), come in all different shapes, sizes, and personalities.
The MTA switches out drivers periodically - every couple of months or so - so there's always someone new. The current batch of drivers I encounter every day is a quirky one.
One is a rather gruff African American man. He was the daily driver on the 7AM #48 last fall, but now drives that bus only a few days a week. He seems somewhat impatient with boarding passengers, shouting, "step up!" to the ones waiting behind the person currently at the fare box. He also shouts at people who, after boarding, hang around the rear doors. "Step out the back door!" he admonishes, a statement that is somewhat confusing. Some people, I'm sure, think he wants them to exit, but actually he wants them to stand clear of the doors. You see, there's a sign at the front of the bus that states passengers must stand behind the yellow line. The yellow line at the front of the bus is about level with the back of the driver's seat. However, the line at the back is in different places, depending on the style of bus. In older models with stairs, the line is at the edge of the top step, however, in the new ground-level buses, the line is at the door. So if this driver's concern is to keep people behind the yellow line, he doesn't have to worry as much when driving a new bus. Regardless, he yells anyway.
The driver who shares his route in the morning is a grumbly 50-something Caucasian man who yawns loudly and stretches at red lights, and talks to himself the rest of the time. He doesn't seem dangerous, but he does seem a little crazy.
While bus operators on the morning end of things seem to be consistent, I never know who I'm going to get in the afternoon, when buses are usually late or occasionally do not come at all. The majority of time, however, there's one of two African American women. One I call "The Avoider" because she tries her best not to pick up passengers. The Avoider, once she closes her doors and pulls away from the corner, will not allow other passengers to board, even if she is waiting at a light and the passenger wannabe is standing in the street, banging on the closed door. There have been times when I've trotted to the bus and had the doors close in my face because I was not already on the bus stop during the 10 seconds she had the doors open. I'm usually very polite, saying "hello," "good morning," "thank you," whatever to the operators, but The Avoider gets no such niceties from me; however, the times she's left me on the corner earned her a barrage of well-deserved expletives.
During the school year, the bus gets very crowded with standing passengers and most of the time there are also dozens of people waiting on the bus stops. The Avoider, once she sees a crowd, will not stop for them. If there are passengers who wish to deboard on a crowded corner, she will pull over across the street from the designated stop and allow them to get off, but she will not allow additional passengers to come onto the vehicle.
The other afternoon driver I encounter most regularly is exactly the opposite. If there are 65 people on the bus, packed cheek to jowl, she will attempt to pick up another 10 or more passengers, sometimes sitting through several light changes until the passengers already on the bus have filled every inch of floor space in order to allow the new people on.
I don't think it's right for people to be made so uncomfortable. There should be more buses in the early morning and in the afternoon during the school year, but I suppose that's too hard for the MTA to figure out.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
The MTA switches out drivers periodically - every couple of months or so - so there's always someone new. The current batch of drivers I encounter every day is a quirky one.
One is a rather gruff African American man. He was the daily driver on the 7AM #48 last fall, but now drives that bus only a few days a week. He seems somewhat impatient with boarding passengers, shouting, "step up!" to the ones waiting behind the person currently at the fare box. He also shouts at people who, after boarding, hang around the rear doors. "Step out the back door!" he admonishes, a statement that is somewhat confusing. Some people, I'm sure, think he wants them to exit, but actually he wants them to stand clear of the doors. You see, there's a sign at the front of the bus that states passengers must stand behind the yellow line. The yellow line at the front of the bus is about level with the back of the driver's seat. However, the line at the back is in different places, depending on the style of bus. In older models with stairs, the line is at the edge of the top step, however, in the new ground-level buses, the line is at the door. So if this driver's concern is to keep people behind the yellow line, he doesn't have to worry as much when driving a new bus. Regardless, he yells anyway.
The driver who shares his route in the morning is a grumbly 50-something Caucasian man who yawns loudly and stretches at red lights, and talks to himself the rest of the time. He doesn't seem dangerous, but he does seem a little crazy.
While bus operators on the morning end of things seem to be consistent, I never know who I'm going to get in the afternoon, when buses are usually late or occasionally do not come at all. The majority of time, however, there's one of two African American women. One I call "The Avoider" because she tries her best not to pick up passengers. The Avoider, once she closes her doors and pulls away from the corner, will not allow other passengers to board, even if she is waiting at a light and the passenger wannabe is standing in the street, banging on the closed door. There have been times when I've trotted to the bus and had the doors close in my face because I was not already on the bus stop during the 10 seconds she had the doors open. I'm usually very polite, saying "hello," "good morning," "thank you," whatever to the operators, but The Avoider gets no such niceties from me; however, the times she's left me on the corner earned her a barrage of well-deserved expletives.
During the school year, the bus gets very crowded with standing passengers and most of the time there are also dozens of people waiting on the bus stops. The Avoider, once she sees a crowd, will not stop for them. If there are passengers who wish to deboard on a crowded corner, she will pull over across the street from the designated stop and allow them to get off, but she will not allow additional passengers to come onto the vehicle.
The other afternoon driver I encounter most regularly is exactly the opposite. If there are 65 people on the bus, packed cheek to jowl, she will attempt to pick up another 10 or more passengers, sometimes sitting through several light changes until the passengers already on the bus have filled every inch of floor space in order to allow the new people on.
I don't think it's right for people to be made so uncomfortable. There should be more buses in the early morning and in the afternoon during the school year, but I suppose that's too hard for the MTA to figure out.
Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.
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