NOTICE / On the Train

I took the train home tonight. The sign above the turnstiles said that the next N Judah was in 15min, the following 16. So I used a trick I learned when I first moved to the city and got on a train headed in the opposite direction. Two stops later I hoped off, caught my train at its first stop instead of waiting on a crowded platform for a crowded train.

Because of all the delays, this train was still crowded. People jammed all next to each other in the weird formation that happens in the older MUNI trains–crushed together near the doors, carefully arranged in a slalom down the aisles since there is only really enough room for one person per pole. If you get in that lucky position, second only to actually getting a seat, you are still awkwardly hovering over the seated passenger in front of you, still awkwardly trying to balance your backpack on your feet so it doesn’t touch the floor, and gripping the pole or bar to steady yourself.

You also get an intimate portrait into your fellow passenger. Standing over someone for 45mins you inevitably stare at the top of their head. Is their hair died? Is it full of product? Seems to have been a long time since a wash. The woman in front of me was greasy–maybe she didn’t leave herself enough time this morning, or maybe she is trying the “no-poo” movement. I had lots of time to ponder this as the train slowly snaked through the streets.

The woman next to me, behind me sort of, did not follow one of the first rules of the train, which is to REMOVE YOUR BACKPACK. Remove it when there aren’t a lot of passengers, remove it when you’re sitting, remove it when you’re standing, remove it when you board in a station or hop on off the street. And most importantly, if, after my train ride, I could recognize the scalp of my fellow passenger in a police lineup, for God’s sake it was crowded enough for you to remove your backpack.