In one of my previous entries, "Dear PAT, I Hate You," I mentioned that I lost a pair of my gloves during the commute from hell. They were cheap gloves, the stretchy once-size-fits-all kind, and they came in a two pack for under $5. Anyone else would have cut their losses and bought a new pair (or used their second pair), but no, not me, because I don't like losing things.
One time, in my younger days, after a night of debauchery, I awoke to discover that I couldn't find my favorite necklace, which I was certain I'd been wearing the night before. After digging around my apartment in the odd little places in which we sometimes place things unexpectedly, I discovered a single bead from my necklace in the bottom of my purse. Finding a single bead from a necklace that is comprised of glass beads on a string is never, never a good sign. I thought that maybe by some miracle of science it was possible that one bead had come off of the necklace with the rest of the necklace remaining in tact (impossible, I know), so I went out into my neighborhood to retrace all the possible paths I might have taken home the night previous.
On my way, I found a few beads scattered on the sidewalk and a bunch in the gutter. I started to pick them up and collect them in my pocket until I reached my friends' apartment, where I found the only other beads I could, buried in their sofa. I told myself I would restring the necklace and everything would be as it was - except most of the beads were chipped and part of the beauty of the necklace was in its intricate pattern, which I could never recreate, and I didn't have nearly enough beads anyway.
I also found four of the five pieces of one of my charm bracelets on the same trek. The missing piece, a silver ball that screwed on one end, remains hidden somewhere and will likely induce much head-scratching when it is discovered by the next, or next-next occupants of my friends' old apartment. The charm bracelet sits, useless (because without the secure ball on the end all the charms can fall off), on my desk as some sort of reminder that I should be a responsible human being. I look at it any time I want to feel guilty.
I gave up on the necklace however, realizing that two homages to guilt were a bit much and instead of making a shrine to all of the broken pieces, I crossed my fingers and went back to the shop where I bought it and bought the most similar necklace I could find, except that the colors aren't nearly as pretty (the old one was blue and green, this one is white and yellow). For some reason though, having the replacement necklace makes me feel a little better about breaking the old one, like I was able to partially replace something that was irreplaceable (or at least able to replace something that was handmade and imported).
So, I'm ridiculous.
Anyway, a few days after the commute from hell, I decided to retrace my footsteps from bus stop to front door and see if I couldn't find my missing gloves. I knew I'd opened my bag on the bus just before my stop, seen them buried among my things, closed my bag, and then exited. I figured I had a pretty good chance of finding them.
I figured out a way I could get to the bus stop and retrace my footsteps making a perfect loop through my neighborhood so I wouldn't have to make any u-turns or re-walk the same path once I reached the bus stop.
About a block from the bus stop, I saw a little black mound in the snow. Sweet nectar, my gloves migrated! As I reached the little black mound, I discovered a pair of black gloves, but they were not stretchy, they were fleece. Damn. I thought about taking them in lieu of my missing gloves but decided, ultimately, that one of the greatest small joys I experience is finding a lost item, and so to deny someone else that potential joy seemed unfair. I continued on.
A couple blocks away, retracing my footsteps, I saw another black mound sticking out of the snow. Success! I approached the second black mound only to discover that it was a pair of leather gloves this time, instead of my stretchy gloves. The only notable thing about these gloves, other than the fact that they were the second pair of black gloves on my path that weren't mine, was that one of them had been filled with snow, which then melted and later refroze so that it was filled with a block of solid ice. I tapped the ice hand on a retaining wall as I contemplated the odds of finding two pairs of black gloves that were not my mine. Since I couldn't remember a thing from stats I settled on guessing that the odds were pretty low, but higher than I would like to imagine, simply because most adults wear black gloves.
I walked home, defeated and gloveless, but content in knowing that I had at least tried.
Two days later I found my black gloves stuffed in my sock drawer, no doubt placed there by me when I was feverishly unlayering all of my many layers after the commute from hell.
Yep.
Also, if anyone knows where I can get those strings that kids wear to connect their gloves to their coat sleeves, I'd be much obliged if you'd tell me.
UPDATE:
Amazing! I just googled "don't lose your gloves" (trying to look for those little glove strings) and the first hit I got was for a CNN article about a Web site that a Carnegie Mellon student started in Pittsburgh, www.onecoldhand.com, to reunite people with lost gloves! Apparently it has branched out to other cities since it's inception so go ahead and check to see if your city has one.
You can read the article here.
I am off to see if those gloves are still where I left them, and if so, to take them to a drop box. This made my day.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Lessons Learned (Or, "When Life Proves a Point").
There's this family that rides my bus in the morning. They have been riding my bus for maybe two months now. The first time I got on the bus and they were there, I was pretty taken aback. I saw a mother and three young children scattered in three different seats. The mother was somewhat sprawled with a toddler in the handicapped section. The 3- or 4-year-old was sitting two seats behind her. And the 5- or 6-year-old was sitting maybe two seats back and across the aisle.
The bus was filling, and all three kids were taking up more room than was necessary or courteous. People were standing in the aisle when there were a perfectly good seat next to stretched-out middle child and oldest child. I became ridiculously annoyed and started brooding about the hundred things I'd like to say to the mother or the bus driver or even the people around me, but I didn't say anything and continued brooding as one, then two, then all three kids started crying and/or screaming about something. When I neared my stop, I couldn't get off of that bus fast enough. Eugh.
I came home that night and complained up and down to my roommate and boyfriend about this discourteous, loud, annoying family that had ruined my once quiet (and usually peaceful) bus ride. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me. The next day the same thing happened, except the bus was even more packed. But, there were these children, sprawled across perfectly good seats, and the baby was given room to lay on the handicapped section, rather than being forced to sit in his mother's lap so someone else could sit down.
That day the bus was so full that I wasn't sure I could make it up to the front door to get out (as least without sticking people with my bag and stepping on toes), so I shouted to the bus driver to please open the back door, and of course she didn't because they almost never do, and so when no one approached the front door she quickly shut the doors and continued driving. I was unbelievably annoyed.
Then I heard a child's voice shout out "SOMEONE WANTS TO GET OFF THE BUS!" and the driver turned around, bewildered, and stopped the bus again so that I could actually disembark this time.
"So," I thought to myself "I'm obviously meant to find the good in this situation." I decided this was obviously a lesson that life was trying to teach me, so I devoted some time to looking for this lesson. Obviously, I knew, I should be thankful for the little (I say this with a hint of sarcasm) set of lungs that prevented me from missing my bus stop entirely. But, I knew there was more than that.
Each day, when I encountered the family on the bus, I searched for the good and appreciable in them. I knew this was more than just an exercise in maturity. I've worked with kids, a lot of kids, and I've learned (and continue to learn) that patience always has room to grow. But, again, it seemed like there was more to it than that.
So over the next few days, and then weeks, I observed them. I learned the kids' names (from the numerous times they are shouted on my ride). I've learned what they like to do, where the younger ones go to daycare, and the neighborhood where their mother works. One day, I even learned what kind of lunches they got as, on the rare occasion that the two older ones actually sat together, they decided to look at the contents of their lunch boxes.
The examination started simply enough with squeals and giggles, but the giggles shortly turned to shouting when the middle one smashed the oldest's sandwich, and then the oldest smashed the middle one's Little Debbie cake, which was followed by a great cry of despair and very brief, yet mournful, temper tantrum. For the first time, I actually found myself laughing at their antics instead of being annoyed. I looked over at their mother who, despite scolding them for the squished food and yelling, was laughing too.
One day, the middle one, once again in her own seat, turned around to the pair of adults in the seat behind her and stared intently. They paused to look at her curiously, but continued their conversation.
Obviously she was not content with the attention she had received so she began to lean toward them, closer and closer, until she was straining over the back of her seat. As if this weren't enough to garner the attention of the two now very confused people behind her, she smacked her bubble gum loudly and began to blow a bubble. She was so close to them that I was afraid the bubble would touch their faces (my mouth must have been agape) and then she reached out and popped the bubble leaving strings of gum hanging between her hand and mouth. The people behind her were now staring wide-eyed, as was I, and I guess this was the attention she had wanted because she turned around and sat back down in her own seat.
After I got over my sheer disbelief, and the nagging "where is your mother" finally stopped echoing in my head, I started laughing. The scenario was so ridiculous and over-the-top that I had to laugh. I decided not to even bother telling anyone about the latest escapade because I knew that if someone told me the same story, I probably wouldn't believe them. This kind of stuff only happens in movies, right?
Then one day, to my surprise, the moment of truth arrived. I walked onto my bus and found that the only available seat was next to the oldest child. Should I force her to scoot in, and appear to make a point? Should I walk past her and appear to deliberately avoid her? Either way I feared it would appear I was making some kind of point, and this wasn't my goal. What the hell. I walked up to her, peered down, and waited for her to move in. She looked at me, a bit surprised, and half-heartedly scooted toward the window.
I removed my hat, adjusted my headphones and leaned back in my seat, trying to ignore the fact that she smelled like baby wipes and telling myself that babies smell like baby wipes, and she lives with a baby, and she's a kid, and you're an adult, and stop being so damned judgemental.
Just as I had settled into breathing through my mouth a little body leaned across my lap and yelled "MOM!!!!!!"
I sat up, wide-eyed.
"MOM!!! I NEED HELP WITH MY HOMEWORK!"
"You should have done it at home."
"There's only one page and I need help!"
"You should have thought of that at home."
She opened a work packet of vocabulary words and synonyms and such, and stared intently at the instructions. The mother backed down a little and asked what the instructions told her to do. She read them aloud haltingly and with some trouble. She looked upset and said "I can't do this."
The mother responded "Yes, you can."
She looked down at the sheet and began sounding out the instructions again. She glanced between her mom and the worksheet a few times and then hunched down. I paused for a minute thinking of all the kids I have taught and helped and said "You can do this."
She looked at me with a good deal of surprise as I told her to match the words in the first column with the words in the second column that meant the same thing. I helped her sound them out and then talked through the possible answers with her. She came to one that baffled her and I said "Want to know a trick? If there's one you don't know, do all of the other ones first and the leftover answer is the answer to the one you don't know." She smiled happily and drew the line to the confusing word with pride when all the rest were done.
She looked at the next section of the work sheet and then looked at me. I told her to read the instructions, several times asking her what sounds certain letters made when she got stuck on longer words. It occurred to me that she was enjoying my attention when she had trouble sounding out words that, in previous sentences, she was able to zip through - but I didn't point this out and diligently reminded her to break long words into smaller pieces. We finished the last problem on her work sheet just as the bus reached my stop. She smiled happily at me and I smiled happily at her and told her "good job" and started to get off the bus. As I walked past the mother, who was holding the wiggling baby, she shouted back to her daughter "Did you say 'Thank You'?" The little girl, lost in thought, did not appear to hear her. The mother turned to me and mouthed "thank you" and I saw genuine gratitude in her eyes.
When I got off the bus I hadn't had the grand epiphany I thought I would when this situation came to a head. As I sat waiting for my next bus, I thought about how it was really nice to see a family, even a loud one, spending some time together in this hectic world. I thought about how nice it was just to see a happy family together.
The lesson I learned, and continue to learn, is this: Patience and kindness in all things.
The next time a situation like this presents itself in my life, I'll try not to be so quick with annoyance, and I'll try to be more understanding without taking weeks of introspection.
When they first popped onto my bus, I kept hoping and hoping that they'd switch to an earlier or later bus and I'd get my quiet bus ride back. Then one day, they weren't on the bus and things seemed too quiet. I found myself hoping that someone wasn't sick, or that they hadn't missed their bus. I breathed a sigh of relief when they were back on the bus the next day.
Patience and kindness in all things; even the things that bother us have the potential to bring us joy if we are open to receiving it.
The bus was filling, and all three kids were taking up more room than was necessary or courteous. People were standing in the aisle when there were a perfectly good seat next to stretched-out middle child and oldest child. I became ridiculously annoyed and started brooding about the hundred things I'd like to say to the mother or the bus driver or even the people around me, but I didn't say anything and continued brooding as one, then two, then all three kids started crying and/or screaming about something. When I neared my stop, I couldn't get off of that bus fast enough. Eugh.
I came home that night and complained up and down to my roommate and boyfriend about this discourteous, loud, annoying family that had ruined my once quiet (and usually peaceful) bus ride. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me. The next day the same thing happened, except the bus was even more packed. But, there were these children, sprawled across perfectly good seats, and the baby was given room to lay on the handicapped section, rather than being forced to sit in his mother's lap so someone else could sit down.
That day the bus was so full that I wasn't sure I could make it up to the front door to get out (as least without sticking people with my bag and stepping on toes), so I shouted to the bus driver to please open the back door, and of course she didn't because they almost never do, and so when no one approached the front door she quickly shut the doors and continued driving. I was unbelievably annoyed.
Then I heard a child's voice shout out "SOMEONE WANTS TO GET OFF THE BUS!" and the driver turned around, bewildered, and stopped the bus again so that I could actually disembark this time.
"So," I thought to myself "I'm obviously meant to find the good in this situation." I decided this was obviously a lesson that life was trying to teach me, so I devoted some time to looking for this lesson. Obviously, I knew, I should be thankful for the little (I say this with a hint of sarcasm) set of lungs that prevented me from missing my bus stop entirely. But, I knew there was more than that.
Each day, when I encountered the family on the bus, I searched for the good and appreciable in them. I knew this was more than just an exercise in maturity. I've worked with kids, a lot of kids, and I've learned (and continue to learn) that patience always has room to grow. But, again, it seemed like there was more to it than that.
So over the next few days, and then weeks, I observed them. I learned the kids' names (from the numerous times they are shouted on my ride). I've learned what they like to do, where the younger ones go to daycare, and the neighborhood where their mother works. One day, I even learned what kind of lunches they got as, on the rare occasion that the two older ones actually sat together, they decided to look at the contents of their lunch boxes.
The examination started simply enough with squeals and giggles, but the giggles shortly turned to shouting when the middle one smashed the oldest's sandwich, and then the oldest smashed the middle one's Little Debbie cake, which was followed by a great cry of despair and very brief, yet mournful, temper tantrum. For the first time, I actually found myself laughing at their antics instead of being annoyed. I looked over at their mother who, despite scolding them for the squished food and yelling, was laughing too.
One day, the middle one, once again in her own seat, turned around to the pair of adults in the seat behind her and stared intently. They paused to look at her curiously, but continued their conversation.
Obviously she was not content with the attention she had received so she began to lean toward them, closer and closer, until she was straining over the back of her seat. As if this weren't enough to garner the attention of the two now very confused people behind her, she smacked her bubble gum loudly and began to blow a bubble. She was so close to them that I was afraid the bubble would touch their faces (my mouth must have been agape) and then she reached out and popped the bubble leaving strings of gum hanging between her hand and mouth. The people behind her were now staring wide-eyed, as was I, and I guess this was the attention she had wanted because she turned around and sat back down in her own seat.
After I got over my sheer disbelief, and the nagging "where is your mother" finally stopped echoing in my head, I started laughing. The scenario was so ridiculous and over-the-top that I had to laugh. I decided not to even bother telling anyone about the latest escapade because I knew that if someone told me the same story, I probably wouldn't believe them. This kind of stuff only happens in movies, right?
Then one day, to my surprise, the moment of truth arrived. I walked onto my bus and found that the only available seat was next to the oldest child. Should I force her to scoot in, and appear to make a point? Should I walk past her and appear to deliberately avoid her? Either way I feared it would appear I was making some kind of point, and this wasn't my goal. What the hell. I walked up to her, peered down, and waited for her to move in. She looked at me, a bit surprised, and half-heartedly scooted toward the window.
I removed my hat, adjusted my headphones and leaned back in my seat, trying to ignore the fact that she smelled like baby wipes and telling myself that babies smell like baby wipes, and she lives with a baby, and she's a kid, and you're an adult, and stop being so damned judgemental.
Just as I had settled into breathing through my mouth a little body leaned across my lap and yelled "MOM!!!!!!"
I sat up, wide-eyed.
"MOM!!! I NEED HELP WITH MY HOMEWORK!"
"You should have done it at home."
"There's only one page and I need help!"
"You should have thought of that at home."
She opened a work packet of vocabulary words and synonyms and such, and stared intently at the instructions. The mother backed down a little and asked what the instructions told her to do. She read them aloud haltingly and with some trouble. She looked upset and said "I can't do this."
The mother responded "Yes, you can."
She looked down at the sheet and began sounding out the instructions again. She glanced between her mom and the worksheet a few times and then hunched down. I paused for a minute thinking of all the kids I have taught and helped and said "You can do this."
She looked at me with a good deal of surprise as I told her to match the words in the first column with the words in the second column that meant the same thing. I helped her sound them out and then talked through the possible answers with her. She came to one that baffled her and I said "Want to know a trick? If there's one you don't know, do all of the other ones first and the leftover answer is the answer to the one you don't know." She smiled happily and drew the line to the confusing word with pride when all the rest were done.
She looked at the next section of the work sheet and then looked at me. I told her to read the instructions, several times asking her what sounds certain letters made when she got stuck on longer words. It occurred to me that she was enjoying my attention when she had trouble sounding out words that, in previous sentences, she was able to zip through - but I didn't point this out and diligently reminded her to break long words into smaller pieces. We finished the last problem on her work sheet just as the bus reached my stop. She smiled happily at me and I smiled happily at her and told her "good job" and started to get off the bus. As I walked past the mother, who was holding the wiggling baby, she shouted back to her daughter "Did you say 'Thank You'?" The little girl, lost in thought, did not appear to hear her. The mother turned to me and mouthed "thank you" and I saw genuine gratitude in her eyes.
When I got off the bus I hadn't had the grand epiphany I thought I would when this situation came to a head. As I sat waiting for my next bus, I thought about how it was really nice to see a family, even a loud one, spending some time together in this hectic world. I thought about how nice it was just to see a happy family together.
The lesson I learned, and continue to learn, is this: Patience and kindness in all things.
The next time a situation like this presents itself in my life, I'll try not to be so quick with annoyance, and I'll try to be more understanding without taking weeks of introspection.
When they first popped onto my bus, I kept hoping and hoping that they'd switch to an earlier or later bus and I'd get my quiet bus ride back. Then one day, they weren't on the bus and things seemed too quiet. I found myself hoping that someone wasn't sick, or that they hadn't missed their bus. I breathed a sigh of relief when they were back on the bus the next day.
Patience and kindness in all things; even the things that bother us have the potential to bring us joy if we are open to receiving it.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Illinois
Stay on the road.
Night has fallen for you.
Perhaps at dawn
we shall see each other again.
-P.N.
Greetings from -
Listening to "Michigan" (or "Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lakes State") I can hear that Sufjan Stevens still had some "Enjoy your Rabbit" to get out of his system. What's more, I can hear snow in this album. I walked outside with my headphones in and I just happened to be listening to one of the many songs with a section devoted to chimes, and as I saw the snow falling past the street light I felt like I was watching and listening to the same thing.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Dear PAT, I Hate You.
Today it took me 2 1/2 hours to get home from work. I fell. I missed several buses. I wasn't let onto a bus I was running for and got the driver-favorite shrug that says "what can I do?" and "screw you" at the same time. A driver wouldn't let me off of a bus. And, the PAT customer service line had a busy signal for a straight hour. I'd go into details but then I'd get all riled up and no one really cares because this has happened to everyone in one fashion or another... except that I think my coat is ruined, I definitely sprained my foot (minor), and I rediscovered (IN FULL FORCE) my hatred of the Port Authority. The icing on the cake was being sprayed with coffee-colored sludge by the 30 million buses that zoomed past me that weren't the buses I was waiting for. And I lost my gloves somewhere. And oh yeah, it took me 2 1/2 freakin hours to get home today.
The only bright spot in this whole day was helping an older woman cross the street.
When I reached for her hand, she took mine and confided that she "should have kept [her] ass home today, but Bobby needs his prescription."
Oh Pittsburgh, you push me away and push me away, but your unparalleled charms will always pull me right back into your big stinky embrace.
The only bright spot in this whole day was helping an older woman cross the street.
When I reached for her hand, she took mine and confided that she "should have kept [her] ass home today, but Bobby needs his prescription."
Oh Pittsburgh, you push me away and push me away, but your unparalleled charms will always pull me right back into your big stinky embrace.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Birmingham Bridge is Sinking
Friday morning I woke up at the usual un-Godly hour of 5:45am and flipped my radio dial from the most obnoxious station in Pittsburgh to the ever-pleasant NPR.
I find that waking up to absolutely mind-numbingly stupid DJs (who, like most dull and obnoxious DJs, fancy themselves more clever than they are - far more clever in this case), and plastic over-produced pop trash, provides pretty good motivation to actually get out of my bed so that I can change the station.
This system has worked to my advantage for years, with only slight modifications. (When I was in high school I had a complex alarm on my stereo that would, upon engaging, gradually climb to the volume it had been set to. At the time I had it set to -20 (negative 20) decibels and my motivation to get out of bed was to turn it off before it reached full volume so that my parents and neighbors would not want to kill me. What can I say? I know what I need get up in the morning.) Anyway, the point of this is that I was tired and glad to be listening to the ever-soothing NPR DJs describe the latest in both culture and global atrocities.
At about 5:50am, while I was still in a good bit of a daze, I heard the DJ state that the Birmingham Bridge was closed. "Impossible" I thought to myself and went into the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle. I sauntered back into my bedroom to start dressing myself for the dog's morning walk when I heard it again (something to the effect of): "The outbound lanes of the Birmingham Bridge are completely closed down as engineers assess a structural concern that was discovered early this morning."
Whaaaaaaat?
Impossible.
As a resident of this city, I absolutely despise when people refer to major roadways through "inbound" and "outbound" designations because, much like the system of when to pay your bus fare (sometimes it's entering the bus, other times it's exiting the bus -- and yes, yes, I know when to do what now), it makes no sense. Finally another DJ explained it in a way that made me realize I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get to work.
I called PAT customer service and the conversation went as follows:
Customer Service: Hello, Port Authority customer service.
Me (cheerily): Hi, I heard the Birmingham Bridge is closed...
CS: We don't know anything until we have the foreman report!
Me: Huh? Well...Okay, if I were to get onto the 54c right now, where would it take me?
CS: I don't know.
Me: Is the 54c running?
CS: Well, yeah.
Dear PAT, you have once again been the absolute epitome of help. I can only equate this to the time I took the bus to a 5K, and, because of the 5K the bus was taking a detour, when I tried to ask the driver what kind of detour we were taking she repeatedly told me "I'll tell you when to get off," and because I knew that I wanted to warm-up before the race, this was absolutely useless and quite frustrating.
So I weighed my options and decided that it was better to get onto a bus not knowing where it was going* (with a seemingly small chance of making it to work on time) than it was to wait for the fella to take me to work (with a 100% chance of not getting into work when I wanted to).
The buses were, not surprisingly, pretty devoid of passengers as most were either delayed by the snow (oh yeah, it had snowed the night before), or had decided to find alternate transportation in order to avoid the SINKING BRIDGE (I'll get to this later).
When I boarded the 54c one of my favorite drivers was driving and when I asked him what detour we were taking he didn't really know but he said "You get off at ----, right? I'll make sure I get you there." And I laughed and thanked him and told him I'd called customer service and he excitedly (and not joking) asked me if they had told me what he was supposed to do, and when I said no he looked a bit disappointed but smiled and reminded me that I would get to work.
The majority of the people on the bus had absolutely no idea that the bridge was closed and were startled when the driver whipped past it and headed downtown (taking us on a crazzzzzy detour). After finally getting us across the river, the driver decided the best thing would be for him to drop us 4 blocks from the normal stop and have us walk the rest of the way so that he could keep his route as close to normal as possible, and while this was absolutely fine for me, it was definitely harder for some of the older folks and one, in particular, who had a cane (and I don't blame the driver, I blame PAT for not having an established/ better detour system in place).
So, ironically, because so few people were on the bus, and because I was able to catch an earlier transfer (partly because of the lack of people and partly because the bus before the one I usually catch was running a bit late), I got to work right on time (the world is a funny, funny place sometimes).
My coworkers, however, were not so lucky. I was only the second person into my office and I am usually the 5th or 6th (and those who arrive before me are usually on their second cup of coffee by the time I get there).
I talked, at length, with my (only other present) coworker about the bridge (I realize this may sound minor but when there is some sort of mysterious damage done to one of your city's major-thoroughfares - one you use daily, no less, well it's a pretty bid deal) and we both realized we knew almost nothing.
As it turns out (after many, many vague and ambiguous statements by many, many PR reps) a portion of the bridge had suddenly fallen almost 8 full inches, and this was noticed and reported by a civilian who called 911! Holy crap, did the bridge drop while he was driving/walking on it!? Did he just happen to look up and see the Birmingham Bridge sink into the Mon?!
"They" think it's because of our wacky weather ups and downs (that sounds like something a local meteorologist would say) and the frequent sudden expansions and contractions of the rocker beams. (I have no idea what a rocker beam is, but I saw it written in the paper repeatedly).
So what in the world does this all mean? I really have no idea. The only conclusion I can come to is that had this person not noticed this drop by sheer luck or coincidence, we could have had another Minnesota bridge tragedy. I guess it's just really bothersome that the only reason anyone knew about this was by luck. I'm not one of those people who believes that things work themselves out for the betterment of all (things work themselves out in certain ways, but if history has taught us anything it's that public safety is a pretty haphazard beast). I'm upset that Penndot and the Department of Public Works (or whoever is responsible for helping Penndot keep an eye on this stuff) didn't even know this was a possibility!
Actually, I take that back. How could they not? After Minnesota, some organization somewhere (I don't remember who or where) mandated that all of the safety assessments of bridges be released to the public. So, here we are knowing we, Pennsylvanians, travel on more than 6,000 structurally deficient bridges (the highest number in the country) each day, but what choice do we have? For people like me who ride the bus (and can't choose buses that take different routes) the answer, I guess, is that we have no choice except to cross our fingers and hope that good samaritans continue to call 911 when they see that one of our bridges is sinking.
Another thing that bothers me is how this person noticed the problem with the bridge. Did they actually see a break in the construction of the bridge, or did they notice part of the roadway sink, or one of the supports sink? The only situation in which I can plausibly imagine myself calling 911 over the fact that a bridge might be breaking is if I were driving on it and the road sank underneath me. If I were just looking at the road, and thought I saw it shift or sink, especially in the early, early morning (meaning at least an our or two before I was awake), I'd definitely blame it on my imagination and not call the police. I bet a lot of people feel the same way, and that is also bothersome because it makes the luck of the near-miss even greater.
Anyway, the bottom line is that the Birmingham Bridge is sinking, and to whoever it was that took it upon themselves to call 911, I'd like to say "thanks."
This is a link to Penn Dot's info on PA bridge assessment:
http://www.dot.state.pa.us/Internet/web.nsf/Secondary?OpenFrameset&Frame=main&src=InfoBridge?openform
Sample news report on Friday**:
PITTSBURGH -- Early Friday morning, Pennsylvania Department of Transportation officials closed the outbound (southbound) lanes of the Birmingham Bridge for an emergency bridge inspection.Around 10:30 a.m., all lanes of the bridge were forced to shut down after a possible structural concern was identified. The on-ramps from Fifth Avenue and Forbes Avenue are also closed.PennDOT spokesman Jim Struzzi told Channel 11 they received a call overnight from a maintenance worker who noticed a drop in one of the bridge spans. Struzzi said at first it appeared that one of the rocker bearings that supports the beam and deck of the bridge slipped, causing the road to drop seven inches where the outbound ramp leads to the bridge. But further inspection showed that the beam which holds the pad and rocker has fallen onto the bridge pier.Bridge engineers and PennDOT officials are working to figure out if the pier moved and caused the damage, or if it was a beam failure.The bridge will be closed until further notice.
* - I'll be the first to admit I was also quite curious and just the slightest bit adventure-hungry.
** - As is clear from this WPXI news brief, some news sources reported that it was only 7 inches and that it was a maintenance worker who discovered the drop. Most reports I heard said something like 7 3/4 inches (which I rounded to 8) and that it was a passerby who called 911.
I find that waking up to absolutely mind-numbingly stupid DJs (who, like most dull and obnoxious DJs, fancy themselves more clever than they are - far more clever in this case), and plastic over-produced pop trash, provides pretty good motivation to actually get out of my bed so that I can change the station.
This system has worked to my advantage for years, with only slight modifications. (When I was in high school I had a complex alarm on my stereo that would, upon engaging, gradually climb to the volume it had been set to. At the time I had it set to -20 (negative 20) decibels and my motivation to get out of bed was to turn it off before it reached full volume so that my parents and neighbors would not want to kill me. What can I say? I know what I need get up in the morning.) Anyway, the point of this is that I was tired and glad to be listening to the ever-soothing NPR DJs describe the latest in both culture and global atrocities.
At about 5:50am, while I was still in a good bit of a daze, I heard the DJ state that the Birmingham Bridge was closed. "Impossible" I thought to myself and went into the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle. I sauntered back into my bedroom to start dressing myself for the dog's morning walk when I heard it again (something to the effect of): "The outbound lanes of the Birmingham Bridge are completely closed down as engineers assess a structural concern that was discovered early this morning."
Whaaaaaaat?
Impossible.
As a resident of this city, I absolutely despise when people refer to major roadways through "inbound" and "outbound" designations because, much like the system of when to pay your bus fare (sometimes it's entering the bus, other times it's exiting the bus -- and yes, yes, I know when to do what now), it makes no sense. Finally another DJ explained it in a way that made me realize I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get to work.
I called PAT customer service and the conversation went as follows:
Customer Service: Hello, Port Authority customer service.
Me (cheerily): Hi, I heard the Birmingham Bridge is closed...
CS: We don't know anything until we have the foreman report!
Me: Huh? Well...Okay, if I were to get onto the 54c right now, where would it take me?
CS: I don't know.
Me: Is the 54c running?
CS: Well, yeah.
Dear PAT, you have once again been the absolute epitome of help. I can only equate this to the time I took the bus to a 5K, and, because of the 5K the bus was taking a detour, when I tried to ask the driver what kind of detour we were taking she repeatedly told me "I'll tell you when to get off," and because I knew that I wanted to warm-up before the race, this was absolutely useless and quite frustrating.
So I weighed my options and decided that it was better to get onto a bus not knowing where it was going* (with a seemingly small chance of making it to work on time) than it was to wait for the fella to take me to work (with a 100% chance of not getting into work when I wanted to).
The buses were, not surprisingly, pretty devoid of passengers as most were either delayed by the snow (oh yeah, it had snowed the night before), or had decided to find alternate transportation in order to avoid the SINKING BRIDGE (I'll get to this later).
When I boarded the 54c one of my favorite drivers was driving and when I asked him what detour we were taking he didn't really know but he said "You get off at ----, right? I'll make sure I get you there." And I laughed and thanked him and told him I'd called customer service and he excitedly (and not joking) asked me if they had told me what he was supposed to do, and when I said no he looked a bit disappointed but smiled and reminded me that I would get to work.
The majority of the people on the bus had absolutely no idea that the bridge was closed and were startled when the driver whipped past it and headed downtown (taking us on a crazzzzzy detour). After finally getting us across the river, the driver decided the best thing would be for him to drop us 4 blocks from the normal stop and have us walk the rest of the way so that he could keep his route as close to normal as possible, and while this was absolutely fine for me, it was definitely harder for some of the older folks and one, in particular, who had a cane (and I don't blame the driver, I blame PAT for not having an established/ better detour system in place).
So, ironically, because so few people were on the bus, and because I was able to catch an earlier transfer (partly because of the lack of people and partly because the bus before the one I usually catch was running a bit late), I got to work right on time (the world is a funny, funny place sometimes).
My coworkers, however, were not so lucky. I was only the second person into my office and I am usually the 5th or 6th (and those who arrive before me are usually on their second cup of coffee by the time I get there).
I talked, at length, with my (only other present) coworker about the bridge (I realize this may sound minor but when there is some sort of mysterious damage done to one of your city's major-thoroughfares - one you use daily, no less, well it's a pretty bid deal) and we both realized we knew almost nothing.
As it turns out (after many, many vague and ambiguous statements by many, many PR reps) a portion of the bridge had suddenly fallen almost 8 full inches, and this was noticed and reported by a civilian who called 911! Holy crap, did the bridge drop while he was driving/walking on it!? Did he just happen to look up and see the Birmingham Bridge sink into the Mon?!
"They" think it's because of our wacky weather ups and downs (that sounds like something a local meteorologist would say) and the frequent sudden expansions and contractions of the rocker beams. (I have no idea what a rocker beam is, but I saw it written in the paper repeatedly).
So what in the world does this all mean? I really have no idea. The only conclusion I can come to is that had this person not noticed this drop by sheer luck or coincidence, we could have had another Minnesota bridge tragedy. I guess it's just really bothersome that the only reason anyone knew about this was by luck. I'm not one of those people who believes that things work themselves out for the betterment of all (things work themselves out in certain ways, but if history has taught us anything it's that public safety is a pretty haphazard beast). I'm upset that Penndot and the Department of Public Works (or whoever is responsible for helping Penndot keep an eye on this stuff) didn't even know this was a possibility!
Actually, I take that back. How could they not? After Minnesota, some organization somewhere (I don't remember who or where) mandated that all of the safety assessments of bridges be released to the public. So, here we are knowing we, Pennsylvanians, travel on more than 6,000 structurally deficient bridges (the highest number in the country) each day, but what choice do we have? For people like me who ride the bus (and can't choose buses that take different routes) the answer, I guess, is that we have no choice except to cross our fingers and hope that good samaritans continue to call 911 when they see that one of our bridges is sinking.
Another thing that bothers me is how this person noticed the problem with the bridge. Did they actually see a break in the construction of the bridge, or did they notice part of the roadway sink, or one of the supports sink? The only situation in which I can plausibly imagine myself calling 911 over the fact that a bridge might be breaking is if I were driving on it and the road sank underneath me. If I were just looking at the road, and thought I saw it shift or sink, especially in the early, early morning (meaning at least an our or two before I was awake), I'd definitely blame it on my imagination and not call the police. I bet a lot of people feel the same way, and that is also bothersome because it makes the luck of the near-miss even greater.
Anyway, the bottom line is that the Birmingham Bridge is sinking, and to whoever it was that took it upon themselves to call 911, I'd like to say "thanks."
This is a link to Penn Dot's info on PA bridge assessment:
http://www.dot.state.pa.us/Internet/web.nsf/Secondary?OpenFrameset&Frame=main&src=InfoBridge?openform
Sample news report on Friday**:
PITTSBURGH -- Early Friday morning, Pennsylvania Department of Transportation officials closed the outbound (southbound) lanes of the Birmingham Bridge for an emergency bridge inspection.Around 10:30 a.m., all lanes of the bridge were forced to shut down after a possible structural concern was identified. The on-ramps from Fifth Avenue and Forbes Avenue are also closed.PennDOT spokesman Jim Struzzi told Channel 11 they received a call overnight from a maintenance worker who noticed a drop in one of the bridge spans. Struzzi said at first it appeared that one of the rocker bearings that supports the beam and deck of the bridge slipped, causing the road to drop seven inches where the outbound ramp leads to the bridge. But further inspection showed that the beam which holds the pad and rocker has fallen onto the bridge pier.Bridge engineers and PennDOT officials are working to figure out if the pier moved and caused the damage, or if it was a beam failure.The bridge will be closed until further notice.
* - I'll be the first to admit I was also quite curious and just the slightest bit adventure-hungry.
** - As is clear from this WPXI news brief, some news sources reported that it was only 7 inches and that it was a maintenance worker who discovered the drop. Most reports I heard said something like 7 3/4 inches (which I rounded to 8) and that it was a passerby who called 911.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Fragile Things
"There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts...As I write this now, it occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are. There were tricks we did with eggs, as children, to show how they were, in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls; while the beat of the wings of a butterfly in the right place, we are told, can create a hurricane across an ocean. Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill." -Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
