A Positive Public Transportation Experience

I went to parking court today. Last Wednesday, I parked my car on Bigelow Blvd and actually put money in the meter. I usually don't do this. I'm getting really ballsy about my parking luck because I "never get parking tickets." I can park all day in the Strip or Downtown and not get a ticket. But then, when I do put money in the meter, I emerge from grading freshmen placement exams in a flash flood to find a parking ticket plastered to my wipers.

The fine? $45. The crime? Parking in an evidently no stopping 4pm-6pm zone. This was allegedly well marked. But I swear to you, when I arrived at 3:51, nearly late for my 4pm appointment, there were many other cars on the block. And the ticket was written at 4:01pm. Gross.

I decided to contest it, since I'm 38 weeks pregnant and it takes me a long time to walk everywhere. I headed downtown to parking court, where the judge agreed to lower my fine to $25. The guy behind me had charts and pictures and diagrams. I just had my pregnant belly and a limp since my right hip hurts. The experience was entirely worth it if only for the chance to pee in possibly the most frightening public bathroom of my life, deep in the bowels of the parking garage where the homeless gather and the hot, stinky urine ammonia stings the eyes.

After court, I boarded the 71A en route home. There was no way I was risking a ticket on the way to parking court! This bus driver was a fine example of humanity and amazing driving skills. As we turned onto Craig, just about to swing right onto Centre, a herd of fire trucks emerged from NOWHERE, sirens blaring.

For several minutes, I allowed myself to drool as the mega-hunk firemen wiped sweat from their brows, clutching axes and hoses and looking generally very sexy in their firemen gear. These were all young, buff firemen, too. No balding or middle-aged folks in sight. Just perspiring young heroes in the June heat, fighting an apartment fire. I wanted to offer them lemonade and watch them slowly drink it...

Then it occurred to me that the bus was entirely boxed in by this flesh parade. All of the other passengers had exited the bus to walk, save the 2 old men with canes sitting on either side of me. It wasn't like any of us could walk home!

The driver looked at us, sighed, and then proceeded to totally Nicolas Cage a-la-Gone in Sixty Seconds maneuver the bus in REVERSE! He wove in and out of the fire trucks and ambulances until he was back to Bayard. This might not sound impressive to folks who drive Smart cars or little Honda Fits. But this is a bus. A city bus on a street full of emergency vehicles and hot firemen.

When we finally turned for our detour, I erupted in applause. The two old men just stared at me. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Possibly the best bus ride of my life. I feel indebted and wish I had written down the bus number so I could call and compliment this gentleman!

Two Transit Updates

I rode the bus this week! It was interesting, to say the least. For starters, the 71A driver had to make the bus "kneel" for me so I could get in. As in I tried several times to lift my left enough inches to mount that first step and just could not. There was something in the way of my hip bending, and that something was Baby Love. I felt like a little old lady as the bus beeped and scooted and sighed. 6 more weeks!

I was then very excited to learn that the Port Authority has posted its proposed route changes online. Citizens can go to the website and voice thoughts/opinions. I told them I liked option 2, the Radial Plus plan or whatever it's called. I mostly enjoy the idea of a rapid bus to my neighborhood, thus eliminating the hoards of Shadyside dwellers who overflow the buses and cause genitals to be crammed against my ear on rainy days.

I think all my two readers should go to the website and read, learn, and voice opinions on the bus changes: http://tdp.portauthority.org/paac/

Oh Lordy

I know it's been awhile since I've written here, but today's bus ride was quite remarkable and I need to help myself digest it. For starters, I sat where I always sit. 2 rows back from the handicapped seats, in a window seat.

I pulled out my knitting and went to town, giggling to myself as I discovered that the fare box was broken and all the passengers were riding for free, yet unable to process this bit of fortune. It was like they were all united, talking to each other about the wonder of this broken fare box. It was actually pretty stimulating.

Then the old ladies started piling in. There were at least 6 of them, filling all the handicapped seats. Behind them in the first row was a pregnant woman with her toddler child and, on my side, a great big fat person and a dude with a foot cast.

When the bus got to Craig and Millvale, a wheelchair-bound person wanted to come aboard. Plus there were several other frail-looking old ladies in line behind this wheelchair person. There was chaos. "Where are we supposed to sit?" hollered the old ladies. Eventually, the pregnant woman with the toddler stood in the aisle so an old lady could sit, but the great big fat person just sat there. This refusal to give up a seat has given me a plan.

When I am hugely pregnant and there are no seats on the bus, I will press my enormous pregnant belly into the face and mouth of the able-bodied assholes who don't give up their seats. I'm thinking specifically of the Ugg-booted cellphone talkers or headphone-wearing saggy pants boys. They are about to get a mouth ful of Lev belly, and I will feel happy about it.

WTF?

I rode Etienne to campus today for the first time in awhile. Halfway here, on Ellsworth, a man made me upset. Here's the scenario: Cars parked all along the right side, so constant worry/danger of car doors opening into me and killing me. Cars coming behind me and angrily passing me a little too close for comfort, many beeping their horns in disapproval of the berth I give myself for the said door scenarios. Cars streaming in the opposite direction, thwarting the angry drivers from passing me.

Amid all this, a white sedan begins to beep, beep, BEEP its horn and the driver comes to a stop. In traffic. He rolls down his window and begins to point at me and speak. The beeping was enough to startle me and put me on edge. The pointing flabbergasted me. Hearing him say, "Excuse me, where can I find..." filled me with rage. Mind you, I have safely decided not to pull over to offer him directions in the middle of the road. Over my shoulder I scream, "I can't STOP in the road to talk to you" and continue pedaling, trying to regain my composure.

Imagine, if you will, a car pulling over on the Turnpike and motioning for you, in your Mini cooper, to stop in the passing lane and have a chat over the median. The danger and chaos that vision brings to mind is exactly equal to the notion of a cyclist stopping amid traffic to speak to someone. The whole idea gives me shivers. What a moron!

This will be the last day I ride my bike on vehicular roads until the baby comes. Between the morons, the assholes, the long light messing with my head, and the high winds of winter, it just doesn't seem like a safe place for my kidney bean.

Two Days, Two Outcomes

Yesterday was like the good old days of bus riding, before the initial cuts and my move to a home 20 minutes' walk from the bus stop. I climbed aboard the 71A (on time!) and a few stops later, my good friend Katherine got on. We got to talk to each other and watch a really cute pair of kids eat lollipops. It was fantastic.

On the way home, the bus came just as I arrived at the bus stop. When I got on, I initially thought it was a full house because a pack of morons with backpacks was clogging the standing area near the handicapped seats. But I bored through like a drill bit and came out past the clog in a sea of available seating. There were at least 5 seats in the back of the bus, and none of them were the middle seats crammed between elephant bottoms. 5 decent seats. It was so great!

Then today, I had to drive to the post office. I had a lot of parcels to unload and bike riding was inadvisable. I pulled the Nissan into the lot, completed my transactions ahead of the rush, and then tried to leave. I say tried because as I was driving toward the exit, a 295 year old woman began backing out of her parking spot, directly in my path. I tried different methods of beeping. First a few spatters. Then a long, pronounced horn honk. Then finally I just kept my terrified fist pressed into the horn. I couldn't back up because there were people behind me. I just stopped as she continued hurtling toward me. The moment seemed frozen in time and I recalled the time that cracked out 'ho rear ended the 71A on Negley in front of my eyes.

This dinosaur had no idea I was honking or, if she did, she had no idea I was aiming my honks at her. She was on a bee line. Then, I think due to divine intervention, she decided to look out her passenger window. At this point, her car and mine made a perfect T mere inches apart. She saw me, looked startled, and then pulled forward. About a foot.

A minute passed

She inched up again

Another minute passed and I started in with the beeping again. By this point there were cars coming from the other direction and we had a true cluster fuck in the post office parking lot. This is the type of situation that causes mythical postal workers to go insane.

She eventually got back in her spot and we all exited safely. I can only be thankful that we have stripped my own grandmother of her car. Now that all this crap with the Port Authority is settled, perhaps this woman's loved ones will do us a favor and shred her license so she can take the bus to send her letters from now on.

Cars Are Indeed Coffins

After class today, I walk a half mile west to catch the bus east. I want to ensure a seat on the 71A, when it eventually arrives. I am successful and, glasses fogged, settle in for a long and bumpy ride home. Thirty-five minutes later, we arrive at my stop. It takes this long to travel 3.5 miles in the rain, with the bus passengers packed in ass to face like so many tinned fish.

I deboard and begin my long trudge uphill, alternating which arm carries my combination flashlight umbrella, as the rain soaks into my shoes and makes me grumpier than all my hormones combined.

I arrive at the intersection of Hampton and Jancey, look both ways, and begin to cross. I see the huge lights of an industrial van approaching, not slowing for the stop sign. The driver does not see the stop sign and, in fact, speeds up as it nears me. Evidently the van driver does not see me, either, in the growing winter darkness. I freeze in the middle of the road, too far from either curb to make it and petrified by my fear. I start yelling "Hey! Hey!" and waving my arms like a bug.

The van screeches to a halt, breaks smoking in the rain, inches from my face. My heart races. I am terrified. My legs nearly give out. The van revs its engine, impatiently, waiting for me to cross the road. Get out of the way. Without a blink or a nod or a single acknowledgement of wrongdoing, the van roars into the distance driving too fast for neighborhood streets. This van, that almost killed both me and my embryo.

There is no safe way to journey from here to there. Not in a world so full of angry assholes.

Timing is Everything

Yesterday I ended class at 410 instead of 415. Yeah, yeah. I'm cheating them out of some education. But it was ok because I scooted out the door and across the street just as the 71A was pulling up. And there were SEATS on it! Lots of seats! I had a seat the whole ride home. I couldn't believe it. Five more minutes and I would have been standing there for an hour only to eventually get a crammed bus with some stranger's junk pressed against my ear and no seat for at least 12 stops.

Yesterday was a good day for transportation. Good day.

Today Corey is riding his bike to work despite the accumulating snow outside. This makes me a little wary.