We’ve officially hit November in Boston, and although winter is actually more than a month away, I feel it in the air already. Waking up to the weather app announcing temperatures in the low 30s gives me full-body goosebumps indoors, even though my rational self knows I should be used to this by now. I know now that extra mental effort will be required in getting dressed, adding outerwear to the previously solo act of innerwear.
Only a year ago, I was home in New Jersey, where a sweatshirt and leggings would have sufficed any November commute. I really miss my heated car, with heated seats, and my insulated coffee mug. Not to mention the very short walk from my car to school and work. I am positive high-school-me was oblivious to her good fortune! Campus life at BU has left me feeling like a young recruit on their first week at boot camp, rudely awakening to the unforeseen costs of city life.
How can I be ready for a nap by 10 a.m. after my ever-changing treks to class, riddled with erratic crowds, traffic sirens, and backwards-blown umbrellas? While the T is ranked above cities like New York in terms of its accessibility, for me, this claim to fame wouldn’t be my first impression.
Note to self: forget taking the T during rush hour if you haven’t mastered the seasoned art of squeezing in between little pockets of space like Elastagirl; it’s a necessary survival tactic.
I use it frequently at this point with everyone packed in like sardines, shoulder to shoulder, balancing coffee cups on backpacks, looking at the ceiling to avoid making awkward eye contact, and acknowledging how little personal space there is — I can tell what half the other riders had for breakfast. I know this description sounds a bit dramatic, but I am serious when I tell you that I have witnessed someone drop an iPad from the upper level, splat onto a man’s head without the slightest recognition or apology (he was bald, so it was hard not to notice the aftermath). We all felt super bad for the guy, but had a shared understanding that this is just life on the T.
This is my call to action: We, riders of the T, must dedicate ourselves to the promise of heightened spatial and social awareness. If you choose to ride the T, please brace yourself and try to imagine you are doing the Karte-Kid- balanced-crane move during stops or starts to avoid knocking over 10 people like a line of dominoes. My friend told me that one time, a girl’s chunky heel punctured her ankle because she wasn’t holding on, and once again, in T-esque fashion, the culprit barely acknowledged the assault. If your germaphobia prevents you from grabbing the pole, at least grab onto a friend.
This morning, after my yoga class near Packards Corner, I made the semi-rookie mistake of trying to get on the T during the early morning rush. The outrageous overflow looked like we were definitely breaking an occupancy code. My 8 a.m. brain quickly turned my body away from this unnatural stuffing of public transport and made the spontaneous decision to walk back to my dorm despite the 26 mph winds (I again will bring up the need for a mid-morning nap).
Usually, walking is faster and way less stressful than taking the T. But I’m sensing that the choice to walk is only made possible by the milder Boston weather; when there are several feet of snow on the sidewalks, I’m going to need a new game plan.
So, we know that although the T is considered a national superstar in accessibility. Many of my personal T journeys have been (at least a little bit) chaotic or inconvenient in one way or another. But I’ll fully admit my tendency to be hypercritical. Several of my friends have even declared that The T is their preferred method of transportation.
Before I wrote this article, I interviewed a friend while we were riding the T, and I asked her if she had any interesting (or horror) stories to share. Her answer was definite that she had in fact never experienced any T-grief, but (can’t make this up), literally 2 minutes later, the T responded to her praise and fully stopped, losing power underground. There were no announcements or updates, just a few inaudible garbles of random words coming from the speakers just before the audio totally cut out. I can picture the T-operator haphazardly half-pressing the audio button on their end, but who really knows what goes on the other side?
On a recent ride, I watched as the car came to a full stop, but the operator forgot to open the door. If you love the sound of late-to-work people with thick Boston accents (I do), tearing apart whoever was on the other side of that door-controller button, you definitely should have been there with me. But, again, just life on the T.
Aside from the “announcements,” another T feature I do not love is the mysterious squishy wall tape that is meant to somehow request a stop. I never know exactly which spot to press, which seems counterintuitive to such a crucial part of the T-riding experience…actually stopping. Nonetheless, I do have to give credit to the city of Boston for making a recent upgrade to the now much more intuitive system. Hooray for clearly marked “stop” buttons on every handrail so that you don’t have to reach over three people to request a stop.
So, things are looking up! Let’s hope the T continues its glow up. As they say in Game of Thrones: “Winter is coming.”
What are your spookiest T horror stories?
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