MetroRiderLA

If I were to pick a birthday celebration that I am most fond of, I would have to say it is July 13, 1996. The best birthday present I ever got was a subway.

It was 10 years ago today that the Red Line extension to Wilshire Boulevard and Western Avenue opened. Yes, a whole decade has passed by since the subway was extended out of downtown L.A.

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Here’s your chance to make up for the time(s) you ignored the poor kid in the lunch room getting beat up for his snack pack. The next time you’re on the bus and a crazy cracked-out homeless lady runs on, screaming about how she wasn’t going to pay and that everyone can go “f*%#” themselves, taunting the driver to call the “ma-f*@#in” cops, kick her off.

How it all well down was absolutely inspiring. A group of friends and I were taking the 2 bus east on Sunset, just east of Wilton, when a lady dressed in rags and carrying several empty folded-up McDonald’s happy meal boxes as if they were gold, rushed onto the bus. She stormed passed the driver screaming for him to take her to the police station. It seems she had exactly a “dolla seventy five” that the bus driver’s mama either wanted or had, I couldn’t tell. Though confused by her bewildering comments, I assumed it was a put down. When the bus driver patiently informed her that he was going to call the cops she encouraged him to do so in so many words and the bus was silent.

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Following the footsteps of fellow MetroRiderLA blogger, Wad, I’ve also decided to add a definition to the expanding Los Angeles Public Transit dictionary.

Timetables - n. - a listing of irrelevant times that say when busses are meant to arrive at specific destinations, but instead arrive four deep as if the drivers are in a race.

The Gateway Center at Union Station. July 3, 2006

I come out of my building for the second day in a row only to see my Rapid pulling away in the distance. Whatever, I can wait. As I get closer, I see a regular old normal bus at the stop down the block so I jog up. But as I get closer, I see a mechanic messing around underneath and a fellow in a wheelchair sitting patiently-esque on the lift. Eventually he does what he has to do and our friend is freed! Hooray! We can get on the bus!

No we can’t. The empty bus drives away. So I look back to the Rapid stop and see a slight commotion. A completely different wheelchair-bound fellow has apparently taken a spill off the curb and fire trucks and ambulances are coming for him. It looks like they know what they’re doing.
Up the block from me, I can see my Rapid coming for me so I stroll up to the stop. A 207 passes the Rapid and races to the stop I just came from as the Rapid pulls to a stop. Everyone gets off, and the driver zooms away. So I turn around and run back to the 207.

No problem, There are a ton of people trying to get on. In fact, There’s a bit of pandemoneum as people are jumping into the back door (without even paying!!)
I have a monthly pass and felt no moral conflict with jumping on with them.

Halfway home, the driver stops and hops off the bus for a few minutes, apparently doing some sort of mid-trip repair work.

You don’t get this kind of entertainment sitting in your car on the freeway. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I’m sitting outside of the Federal Building on Wilshire and Veteran looking at four Metro Rapid busses parked in front of me… wait, make that five, a 761 Rapid just joined the flock. The grass looks soft, the best our federal tax dollars can buy, so I take a seat and take in the sun. Must be a Bermuda mix, worth every penny. And it seems like I’m not the only one appreciating the soft grass because to my right is one of the Rapid drivers, a large black woman reading what looks to be one of Tom Clancy’s latest nail biters. To my left is another Rapid driver, and another and another after that. And wouldn’t you know it, here comes that sleek looking 761 to join the party. I smiled at my situation.
5 Rapid busses. 5 Rapid bus drivers. 20 some Rapid riders. And nobody going anywhere. Something seems awry; does it not?

Then I awake from my pondering to the honking of a forty something lady with dyed hair who’s yelling out the window of her Volvo station wagon to an equally annoyed and overly stressed woman in a white Mercedes. The honking and muted yells continue till the Swedish rectangle wins the heroic battle and moves forward two extra feet in front of her German engineered nemesis. And watching it all, as I just did, sits a man in a jeep wrangler staring at me with envy. I point to the bus and smile, pressing my ass a little bit deeper into the soft federal soil, for I’d rather wait an extra couple minutes than sit in that mess any day of the week.

*Just after posting this I happened upon a like-minded post by fellow Metro rider, LA Metro Mole (June 10, 2006 “so you won’t have to stand in the hot sun…” post). He offers more helpful advice though and I suggest you all check it out, both rider and administrator alike. Thanks LA Metro Mole.