The end of the line.

Last night, I took my last Blue Line ride as a regular commuter to and from Downtown LA. It was quiet, uneventful and only just longer than average.

Still, it was a strange trip. I left work - for the last time ever - a bit later than usual. It was dark and the rain that was supposed to arrive earlier in the day was still holding off, though I could smell it coming. I took a moment to soak in the lights of downtown: the secret code of thehigh-rise windows, the swirling spotlights calling the Lakers faithful over to Staples Center, the reflection of all this off of the gathering clouds. I disappeared into the underground station.

The platform was busier than typical, but not crowded. I looked around at the faces of some folks and saw everything you can see: smiles, fatigue, concern, irritation. I wonder what I looked like? Can you see "laid-off" in someone's face? I don't know, but I felt separate. I no longer have a job to scurry to, to fret about, to ground me. I saw a colleague on the other side of the tracks, running for the Red Line. I thought about yelling out to her, but I didn't. I'd said my goodbyes.

When I got on the train - backpack, bags and as yet unnecessary umbrella settled - the first thing that happened never happens to me on transit: I got sucked into some smalltalk. A guy dressed in the standard-issue navy blazer, pants and tie of a building security person eventually asked me what I "did for work". That gave me practice in talking about my job in the past tense. He got off two stops later, thankfully.

It was full night outside and as I looked out the window, it was easier to see the reflection of the inside of the train car than anything outside. I didn't get to see my last regular glimpse of the warehouse district or south central. I could see streetlamps poking holes in the darkness and neon signs for junior markets. A smile hit my face every time I saw a house with Christmas light up already.

I talked to my wife about my day while riding the last bit through Long Beach, but ended the call so I could juggle all my stuff. I got off. Still, no rain.

The bus arrived, I rode, I arrived. Dinner was cooked, a bit of wine consumed. Addie and I celebrated what's coming next.

I can't wait.

Thanks, everyone for reading my Tales from the Blue Line!

Look for a new blog in the near future.

I can't figure out where these folks are coming from.

Seen on the Blue line this morning:

A tall skinny emo guy, in a candy-striped shirt and typical skinny, black jeans, sporting an ocean wave of a haircut... and holding a tiny kitten.

The Blue Line of Death. (Not like that this time, thank goodness.)

We got to Florence station this morning and the brakes started seizing up, grabbing after short intervals of forward motion and jerking us around rather spectacularly. When we got into the station and the driver opened the doors, he said:

“I’m having problems with the train so I’m going to turn it off for two minutes. Metro apologizes for the inconvenience.”

Needless to say, I was skeptical. I thought I was in for another long morning. But he turned it off. When the driver doesn’t touch the controls for a bit, the engines and A/C turn off (screensaver) and bit later, the lights and really the rest of the power goes off (sleep or auto-shut-down). He waited through this sequence and let us sit in the dark for about 30 seconds. Then he rebooted the train. It worked.

It’s like he hit “ctrl-alt-delete” or something. But I suppose the actual equivalent would be my favorite PC fix: unplugging the damn thing and starting over.

This is getting ridiculous. Trains in LA are just not safe lately.

I don’t suppose that I’m going to get away without blogging about this. Be warned: this is epic.

One week after the horrific MetroLink crash and a week and a day after this fender-bender, the Blue Line injures thirteen, but fortunately none seriously.

So my morning went like this:

When I got on the train, the accident had already happened, though Metro had not bothered to announce it yet. About halfway through my commute, the driver says, and I quote:

There’s been an accident at Washington & Griffith: Train vs. Bus.

This is an amazing quote for a couple of reasons. One, it sounds like he’s referring to a new version of WWE Smackdown or a new Fox Special or something. Really it almost sounds as if our driver considered the crash situation thusly:

The driver of the Train caught the eye of the driver of the Bus, and they gave each other a squintily apprasing look. Then one of them gave the secret hand signal for “It’s on like Godzilla vs. Mothra” and the other one replied in kind. And then they commenced crashing to see who would rule South Central LA.

(N.B. - the train wins every time. Every time. This is an immutable truth.) All I’m saying that it was a weird phraseology choice our driver made.

The other reason the announcement was amazing was that it caused everyone on the Blue Line to simultaneously whip out their cell phones to call work or home. (I must say that I did it too and thus spared my wife from having to go through the subsequent ordeal.)

We arrived at Washington station. This is where all the trains were turning back south instead of going on to downtown. I can see my building from here (it’s very tall), though I’d never felt quite so far away. We had to get off, but there was a train on the other side that said “Los Angeles”. Well yippee-doo! Maybe this won’t be so bad... We can just change trains and move on. But then the driver had this weird phraseologic choice:

There is a train going on to downtown Los Angeles, and I’m going to try and get you to it.

What?, I’m thinking at this point, just make it wait, idiot! Use the radio! Don’t leave it to chance!

For a minute, I thought he might have done it. But just as our train came to a stop, the other train’s doors closed. We got off. I thought maybe that they’d see their error and open that train up and let us on. Nope. It left for downtown.

And it was almost completely empty.

Stay with me now. There’s 4-500 people on the platform at Washington Station, 96% of whom are going to downtown. I can only ask: why? Why did they not hold it for the five minutes that it would have taken to make the transfer? It was mayhem on the platform. I laughed really loud. Others had a different reaction judging by the number of shouts of ‘hell no’ and ‘this is bullshit’.

I stayed calm, and while others pushed and shoved their way to the bus bridge, I waited. Another train arrived a few minute later, full of people. It’s marked Los Angeles! Yay! I was right. So we all get on, and Metro employees and fare inspectors have a grand time cramming us all on like sardines, while the driver said - in all seriousness - things like “Please make room!” and “There’s only a few short stops to go!” and my favorite: “Get to know your neighbor!”

We stood on the train for about 10 minutes before they let us know that they couldn’t go north because of the work that was being done to crashed train.

We get off. I wade through the crowd of cursing commuters and eventually make it out to the street where the Metro sheriffs and others were helping to form a line to wait for the bus bridge. This line turned out to be the Gitmo (pardon the tacky reference) of Disneyland lines, featuring a disgruntled female sheriff shouting at us to “hug the fence” and a large deposit of fecal matter (human or canine? hard to know) covered by a newspaper. I had the bum fortune to get stuck standing near this steaming pile while we waited.

I was the last one on my shuttle bus, which gave me a chance to chat with the driver. I found out a lot of the stuff that was in the LA Times article I linked to above. The guy was in a really good mood. More on that in a minute.

The bus ride was pretty quick. More police were directing traffic away from the scene of the accident. We got to drive right by it, so I saw the giant dent in the bus in person, as well as the contraption that they were using to re-rail the train. I was really relieved to hear at that point from the bus driver that no one was on the bus at the time of the accident.

We went two stops and had to get off and then back on the train. Didn't have to wait long at all. This driver was working this bus-bridge-like train ride all by herself. Like the shuttle-bus driver, she was in a happy mood too: “Everyone going to downtown? Good!” Two more stops and I had arrived. I got to work at 8:30, 1 hour late. All told, that's not bad, but I had pretty much spent my energy for the day right there.

Overall, I’m pretty impressed at the way Metro handled this. I give them a hard time here sometimes, but things went pretty smoothly considering the relative severity of the crash. Other people I’m sure would disagree. The Metro people were pleasant - except for the ‘hug-the-fence’ lady - clearly enjoying themselves. I don’t think they were showing disrespect. I think they were happy to have something to do that was out of the ordinary. Let’s face it: transit driving - bus or train - involves a lot of repetition. They got to do some thing different for a change.

As for the ride home? Nothing to report. And I prefer it that way.

Celebrating 9/11 with a Transit Fender-bender.

I think I’ve mentioned on this blog that working in a tall building in downtown LA on 9/11 is - at the very least - a bit creepy.

(3:01 p.m. “Live Blogging” - That was fun. My train almost hit a car while passing under the 10 freeway between Pico and Grand stations. Now we’re waiting. At least we’re in the shade. I need an iPhone or something so this could be live. Donations accepted.)

But this year, no one at work mentioned it. I avoided reading about it. I was slightly miffed as I left work of the two sets of flags a half mass in our plaza. Not that I don’t honor the memory of the people that lost their lives, but it was just a sigh-inducing moment. Some of us are trying to move on.

(3:10 p.m. - Okay, we did hit that car. But the driver said it’s going to be clear soon. We’ll see. I didn’t feel it, really. Per usual. I’m in the back of the train...)

Maybe it’s the way the Repubs have hijacked (pun intended) 9/11 as their personal emotional scar. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been 7 years and we still can’t seem to catch a 6-foot-5, Arab billionaire on dialysis. Maybe it’s because it’s a reminder (as if anyone needed one) that John McCain wants to continue the legacy of Bush and Co.

(3:16 - Another train just went around us. This is officially sucking. Why do I bother trying to go home even a little early?)

This is kind of turning into a weird post. Sorry about that. Anyway, it seems that the visceral impact of 9/11 is lessening over time. I’m really noticing it this year. That’s all I’m saying. I’m getting a bit distracted here.

(3:21 - Still sitting. Folks are getting a bit restless. We are apparently waiting for a “supervisor” to come to the scene and clear us to proceed. I suppose no is not the time to let metro know that an elevated or buried train would have been pretty damn helpful.)

(3:28 - We’re moving again! Huzzah! Half hour. I suppose that’s not too bad.)

Uh... 9/11 and stuff. Oh, well. It was a good distraction anyway.

(4:53 p.m. - Got home. That sucked: the bus was late too. So all told, a nearly 2-hour one-way commute. Not the best way to spend time.)

Stench.

It’s late August, so all you Blue Line riders know what that means. Yes, that’s right... it’s “stench” season, where even the smelliest of Blue Line denizens go that extra mile to make us gag. Now some of these people are truly down-trodden and deserve sympathy and a leg up in addition to a shower, but a large percentage of them are in fact construction workers that work in the hot sun and then seemingly choose not to shower for three days.

The most skillful offenders always manage to find a way to make sure that their arms are in a position as close to my face as possible by clever use of the overhead handrails.

Maybe the worst thing, though, is getting onto a train at the end/beginning of the line in downtown LA, and finding that there is a lingering stench glurping about the train car. I usually go in and sit down anyway - it’s my only way home, after all. That’s when I start wonder, though, if I was lucky enough to get the seat that the stench just vacated. This is far from a comfortable feeling. It is - in fact - the epitome of first-dregree olfactory assault with a side of creepy, nasty grossiness. Plus, I’ve ofen considred burning the clothes I’m in when this happens, but today, I’m wearing new pants.

Maybe I should rethink my wardrobe until late October.

Did I just hear that right?

The scene: 7:28 am. Grand Ave. Station. Two Blue Line trains going in opposite directions. I’m on the Northbound train (of course).

Heard on the outside loudspeakers, so all the world can enjoy it:

My driver (female) “Oooh, you so luckyyyy!”

The other train driver (male): “That’s not luck, baby. That’s skill.”

I have no idea what they were talking about, and I think I’m glad.

Why do I even try sometimes?

I’m not at all superstitious. I don’t really believe in karma. Or in curses. But I have to say that it's hard not to have a bit of a complex about trying to leave work early on a Friday afternoon when I’ve a Monday - or in this case a Monday and Tuesday - off. When I try to do this, something happens to the Blue Line. Every time. Sometimes it’s extra slow for mechanical problems. Sometimes there’s an accident. Sometimes they have emergency track maintenance. It’s always something. It's always slow and crowded. And it happened again. I promise that I have not found religion... though I may start planning for train suckiness in these situations in the future.

Roundup:

Seen on the Blue Line recently: a baby duck. It’s a zoo on here.

Overheard yesterday on the Blue Line:

Young Latino skateboarder number 1 (after a long, long silence): “I think I’m going to be a Navy Seal.”

Young Latino skateboarder number 2 (without blinking or looking up): “My ass.”

Silence again.

Seen today on Long Beach Transit, Line 111: a middle-aged, skinny gay dude, with no teeth, black fingernail polish, a Laguna Beach tee-shirt from the 1980s, all topped off with a beautifully embroidered ivory-white yarmulke. We get all kinds in the LBC.

How not to get a Cadillac. (Dirty words ahoy!)

It's been awhile. There are lots of reasons and some of them are even good.

Book writing, book reading, video games, baseball season, the Lakers, Dancing with the Stars... I said some of them were good.

The big one that stemmed the blogging was easing up on the primary-watch. As there haven't really been any in a month, I've tried to stop watching the race go by in real time. I've been only partially successful. I still know exactly what's going on. I do think that we're nearing the end. The signs that HRC has more than peaked are appearing more frequently. Obama keeps closing the gap in PA, and is close in IN and way up in NC. 99% of all the superdelegate announcements go for Obama. Some want to support him so much that they break state party rules. Oh, yeah... there was that little speech on race that he gave too. Not bad (read: insanely historic).

Enough about that stuff. Yesterday, the Blue Line had a hiccup - what they like to call 'mechanical problems'. When I tried to go home for work I had to wait on the platform at 7th/Metro Station with 500 of my closest Blue Line buddies. After a 20 minute wait we got on. It was standing room only, so I was lucky enough to get the seat I wanted. There was no way I was going to be able to use my laptop though, so I read a book. A large black lady in a security guard outfit ended up standing over me with her jacket on one arm such that it was in my face. I moved it a little, and she apologized.

So we're finally moving and I'm reading and then we're out of the tunnel right by the Staples Center and the lady, like many people do when cell reception comes back, got out her phone and called someone. I was really into my book, so I was trying not to listen to her, but it got really difficult. I won't give you the blow-by-blow - here are the highlights.

She was talking to someone about her sister. I think. I believe the quote was (beg pardon for the coarse language): “She done fucked every motherfucker in the hood! Ain't fuckin' nobody on 104th street she ain't fucked!” Apparently her sister was charging for these... services because she managed to buy a Cadillac with her hard-won proceeds. I know they were hard-won because the woman also mentioned that her sister's “fuckin' pussy ain't worth no motherfucking $20.” I hope the Cadillac was used. Side note - I now realize that it's next to impossible to use 'fuck' as an adverb (she danced fuckily across the floor? - doesn't work) or the woman would have done so.

She finally got off that call and commented out loud to nobody in particular the train was “movin' kinda slow and I'm late for work.” Another guy told us that there had been an accident down in Long Beach. They went back and forth. She uttered not a single profanity. Not one. And as you can imagine, no one would have been surprised to hear them, since everyone on the car heard the earlier conversation. I thought, Now she's polite? Know your audience, I guess. Then she got back on her cell phone, and things returned to normal - almost fuckily so.

Snakes on a Train.

I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. Both my wife and I have seen snakes on the Blue Line. She recently, and me a while back. The two sitings have a few of things in common:

1. Neither snake was caged.
2. They both involved a lot of ohhing and ahhing from the other passengers. Addie and I talked it over. We were not impressed.
3. Both people wore their snakes as clothing. The one I saw was worn as a belt. The one Addie saw was worn as a scarf. Even for fashion-trendy LA, this seems dangerous.

I have also seen hamsters, dogs, cats and a box turtle - all were properly contained. And none were worn as clothing - though a box turtle might make a good broach.

[Unrelated - I discovered this morning that a typical ride from Willow Station to the end of the line at 7th/Metro Center is almost precisely one Glen Gould performance of Bach's Goldberg Variations long.]

And now, some 'liveblogging':

[Related to 'Unrelated' - Someone is blaring soul music on a boom box this afternoon. I'm blocking it out with a kick-ass recording of Brahms' 4th. Take that, generic crooner!]

[Unrelated to either the previous 'Unrelated' or the 'Related to the Unrelated' - Some late-forties white dude is mining for green gold for all he's worth. Get me off this train.]

All aboard!

As crazies go on the Blue Line, some are easier to take than others. Nobody likes the speaking in tongues lady. But the 'All-aboard' guy is a different story. He was on the train recently. He always brings a little old-time flavor to our modern light rail. He's this harmless near-deaf guy that gleefully yells 'all aboard' at every stop just as the doors close. As weirdos on the Blue Line go, I'll take him every time.

That crazy Latin lady just came by: An experiment in live blogging.

[I decided to leave in the typos. More authentic that way.]

So there's this lady who like to speak in tongues on the Blue Line. In one respect, I can't say I blame her. If there's one place that folks can find religion, it's on the Blue Line. She's a Spanish speaker, but it's still easy to tell she's speaking in tongues. It's kind of crazy.

Everybody knows her and she just sat down next to an older black lady who's not taking any crap. She tells her to get lost.

The crazy lady calls her a criminal and is now calling the train operator. I just heard her speak english, but she's speaking in toongues at the driver!

It donesn't work. “Ma'am? You're talking crazy.” He doesn't say any more. Crazy LAdy is talking to herself now and going to the back of the train.

The black lady says she doesn't mind people praying, but that people shouldn't pray like that. Then she adds this gem: “If she wants to be blessed, I'll bless her.”

And... scene. Good times.

The Clumping of the Morons: An Informal Study in Non-strategic Thinking.

I type up a lot of stuff on the train. Blogs, essays, the book I'm working on, so I've developed a carefully vetted strategy to get the seats that are conducive to using a laptop. I won't bore you with the details. So you might think that the following might be unfair, but I don't care. The Blue Line tried its best to kill me recently, and naturally, I'm still bitter.

A Blue Line train is comprised of three cars with four evenly-spaced doors apiece. The platforms are pretty long and at most stations, they can only be entered at the ends. This causes an annoying phenomenon I like to call “The Clumping of the Morons.” See for some reason, some people - more than enough of them to make this post necessary - can't be bothered to move to the middle of the platform to get into the comparatively empty middle car. They walk onto the platform, and, apparently worn out from the effort, stand there, unable to proceed to an area of the platform that will enable them to get a seat. They then act surprised when they get on an end car and find that there are no seats. Even controlling for the 2-5 people per stop that run hard to catch the train and are forced to enter the first door they get to, that's a lot of morons that may or may not be lazy as well.

So now there are clumps of people just inside every door of the end cars, slowing everything down because people can't get their asses (a high percentage of which are spectacularly enormous) on and off the train fast enough. Some of the drivers get irritated and remind people that there are in fact 12 total doors on the train and would they mind using them all, pretty please? That just causes the people on the outside to push a bit harder to get in. I'd probably be less irritated if they'd also deign to stop bumping my laptop and reading over my shoulder. Morons.