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.
Showing posts with label Pittsburgh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pittsburgh. Show all posts
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.
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.
Friday, December 7, 2007
I'm trying to be heroic in an age of modernity*
This morning, while waiting to transfer to my second morning bus during a gusty snowfall, my friend from Elderberry Junction (the woman in my very first blog post) sidled into the bus shelter next to me. I haven't seen her in awhile, so I smiled at her and she smiled at me, and we waited for our bus in the blustery cold, occasionally glancing at one another, or at the sun that was just beginning to peak over the horizon. When the bus finally came, I dutifully ensured that she boarded just in front of me, so that I could support her if she needed a hand.
I feel a responsibility for her such that, if she knew, I know she would be offended. Despite this, when she clutched the standing bar at the front of the bus, rather than taking a very close vacant seat I said, "Don't you want to sit down?"
She hesitantly stepped forward (with me one step behind her), and before she began her second step, her feet went out from under her. It happened quickly and slowly at the same time. It was fast enough that I was startled and frightened, but slow enough that I had a chance to think and brace myself (despite the fact that I was wearing knee-high stiletto boots**) so that I could catch her without falling over myself.
The floor was so wet that even though I caught her, and stopped her from further falling, her feet kept sliding, so both of us were inching closer and closer to being parallel with the (very wet and dirty) floor. Two girls in nearby seats immediately lunged forward to help, and one of them said "you're okay" a few times in the most reassuring, yet pitiless voice I've ever heard. She had the tone so many doctors strive for, but can never deliver.
As the three of us finally righted ourselves, I felt proud of humanity at large. I see people do so many disgusting and heartless things sometimes that I've really come to appreciate it when strangers go beyond simply being civil to one another.
As the woman finished her trek to her seat she mumbled "that's why I didn't want to sit down in the first place" and I felt guilty and responsible. I felt like she was saying it to me. It's equally possible that it was just something to say after experiencing something embarassing (I think of how many times I've tripped and mumbled "stupid shoes" just in case anyone was within earshot), but it's just as possible that it really was directed to me and she was mad that I coaxed her into sitting.
Oh well. Maybe next time she won't sit, but for this time, I'm happy I caught her.
* this is a lyric from Bloc Party's song "Song for Clay: Disappear Here"
** No, I'm not a prostitute.
I feel a responsibility for her such that, if she knew, I know she would be offended. Despite this, when she clutched the standing bar at the front of the bus, rather than taking a very close vacant seat I said, "Don't you want to sit down?"
She hesitantly stepped forward (with me one step behind her), and before she began her second step, her feet went out from under her. It happened quickly and slowly at the same time. It was fast enough that I was startled and frightened, but slow enough that I had a chance to think and brace myself (despite the fact that I was wearing knee-high stiletto boots**) so that I could catch her without falling over myself.
The floor was so wet that even though I caught her, and stopped her from further falling, her feet kept sliding, so both of us were inching closer and closer to being parallel with the (very wet and dirty) floor. Two girls in nearby seats immediately lunged forward to help, and one of them said "you're okay" a few times in the most reassuring, yet pitiless voice I've ever heard. She had the tone so many doctors strive for, but can never deliver.
As the three of us finally righted ourselves, I felt proud of humanity at large. I see people do so many disgusting and heartless things sometimes that I've really come to appreciate it when strangers go beyond simply being civil to one another.
As the woman finished her trek to her seat she mumbled "that's why I didn't want to sit down in the first place" and I felt guilty and responsible. I felt like she was saying it to me. It's equally possible that it was just something to say after experiencing something embarassing (I think of how many times I've tripped and mumbled "stupid shoes" just in case anyone was within earshot), but it's just as possible that it really was directed to me and she was mad that I coaxed her into sitting.
Oh well. Maybe next time she won't sit, but for this time, I'm happy I caught her.
* this is a lyric from Bloc Party's song "Song for Clay: Disappear Here"
** No, I'm not a prostitute.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Move Over, Venice.
This morning, while I was riding the bus across the Birmingham Bridge, I got blinded by a ray from the most beautiful, perfect, pie-in-the-sky sun. As I watched the light bounce off of the downtown skyline on my right, and the steam rise from the coal barges on my left, I was grateful to live in this city.
I know not everyone feels this way about Pittsburgh, but realize that Baltimore, or San Franciso, or Seattle may be to you what Pittsburgh is to me- and it's the moments like this that remind me why I love Pittsburgh the way I do.
I know not everyone feels this way about Pittsburgh, but realize that Baltimore, or San Franciso, or Seattle may be to you what Pittsburgh is to me- and it's the moments like this that remind me why I love Pittsburgh the way I do.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Pretty Houses
As I was walking my dog on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I noticed something that I have long suspected, but have never been able to confirm.
I live in one of prettiest neighborhoods in the city of Pittsburgh (some would argue the prettiest, but I would disagree). The houses are generally old, and impeccably well maintained. Actually, "maintained" is the wrong word. "Primped" is closer to the word I am looking for, but still not right. Anyway, the houses are not just maintained, they are a step above maintenance. To me, maintenance implies fixing things when they break, mowing your lawn, keeping the trim painted, taking out your garbage - things of that nature.
The owners of these houses go beyond maintenance, though. They hire landscapers, many hire landscape architects (and anyone who knows anything about landscaping doesn't need to see a truck outside of a house to see the difference between amateur and professional yard design*), owners are constantly renovating or remodeling, porch furniture is always being added or removed, holiday decorations are perfect (*cough* almost as if a professional selected them), and people are rarely enjoying the fine house on which they spend so much money and time.
It's expensive to live here. People say they want to live here. But after all is said and done, I'm not sure very many people actually enjoy living here.
There isn't much of a neighborhood feel in this neighborhood of mine. There are plenty of people in the streets, but none of them are particularly friendly. It's difficult to strike up a conversation with your neighbors (I've encountered one exception, a family of transplants, who, after living here for a few years, have decided to transplant themselves right into another neighborhood in the city).
One time, while I was walking home from a run in the evening, I apparently frightened a woman walking her dog so much so that she felt it was necessary to cross to the other side of the street while I passed (and crossed back over after I was gone)**.
This is a far cry from my old neighborhood. My old neighborhood was ugly to all except two kinds of people: the immigrants who'd built it (and were really still imagining it in its glory days), and people like me who, hokey as it sounds/is, can find beauty anywhere. The houses were mostly run-down and ugly. Slum lords did the bare minimum only to ensure that they would pass inspections. Almost all of the rental properties were disgusting and soggy and cracked. It was cheap to live there, and that fact was written out in the peeling paint and sagging gutters of the houses.
But I had friends in my old neighborhood. I knew my neighbors' names, and some of their stories. I talked with Jimmy about his old Irish Setter, Lady, and the Pirates' teen-aged losing record; I talked with Chester and Angela about gardening, and brought them their newspapers when their legs started to fail them; I shared cake and tea with Rose - I talked with her, I planted her tomatoes in the summer, I knew her children's names and faces, I met her grandchildren when they visited, I checked on her when the power went out, and I knew how and when her husband died. I shoveled all of their sidewalks when snow fell. I didn't see any of this as a matter of a pride. I saw it as my way of expressing my thanks for living around people who cared about me, and would take the time to talk to me.
I think I also saw it as showing respect for people who would not abandon their home, despite the broken glass, and scattered garbage, and occasional gunfire. Maybe I even saw my actions as a way of telling them that there was still something there worth holding on to.
Returning to last Wednesday: As I rounded the bend to my block, I was struck by its emptiness. My usually filled street was almost devoid of parked cars. I had nearly asked myself where everyone had gone when I realized that everyone had gone home for the holidays. I stopped shortly after I reached this obvious conclusion. If everyone (including me) goes home for the holidays, then what do the people who live here call this place? I don't know, but the obvious answer is, not home.
I have this theory that too much "pretty" in a house, or a neighborhood, or a city, is indicative of a certain kind of artificiality. To give you an example, I often say that NoVa has no soul***. The roots are shallow there, if present at all. I walk through my neighborhood now and I don't see roots. All of the histories and stories have been stripped and sanded out of these houses, and the people who live here haven't lived here long enough to create their own stories (and probably won't, either).
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the human soul isn't always a pretty thing. There is a lot of ugliness inherent in humanity - and if not ugliness, then certainly turmoil and pain. And I think this is evident, like it or not, in any real home. A complicated soul, like a complicated home or neighborhood, gets bogged down with a little garbage every once in awhile.
I'm not saying that a true home has to be ugly; I'm saying that a true home isn't pretty all the time. And maybe people can't really make their own home until they accept, and even embrace, this idea.
* The owners of a specific house in my neighborhood purchased the empty lot behind their house, tore it to shreds, and commissioned a giant cascading stone staircase that descends from their house to the street behind them (the likes of which I have only encountered at large hotels).
** It's true that I don't wear matching tiny shorts and tops, the way most female runners in my neighborhood do. However, I don't think that my t-shirts, running shorts, and bandanna are all that intimidating. When this happened, I laughed at first. Then I was angry and hurt. Now I'm reassessing the way I feel others perceive me - I guess what they say is true: you can't be too careful. For all I know, one of her loved ones was maimed by a 20-something, mediocre female jogger.
*** As with everything, there are exceptions to this.
I live in one of prettiest neighborhoods in the city of Pittsburgh (some would argue the prettiest, but I would disagree). The houses are generally old, and impeccably well maintained. Actually, "maintained" is the wrong word. "Primped" is closer to the word I am looking for, but still not right. Anyway, the houses are not just maintained, they are a step above maintenance. To me, maintenance implies fixing things when they break, mowing your lawn, keeping the trim painted, taking out your garbage - things of that nature.
The owners of these houses go beyond maintenance, though. They hire landscapers, many hire landscape architects (and anyone who knows anything about landscaping doesn't need to see a truck outside of a house to see the difference between amateur and professional yard design*), owners are constantly renovating or remodeling, porch furniture is always being added or removed, holiday decorations are perfect (*cough* almost as if a professional selected them), and people are rarely enjoying the fine house on which they spend so much money and time.
It's expensive to live here. People say they want to live here. But after all is said and done, I'm not sure very many people actually enjoy living here.
There isn't much of a neighborhood feel in this neighborhood of mine. There are plenty of people in the streets, but none of them are particularly friendly. It's difficult to strike up a conversation with your neighbors (I've encountered one exception, a family of transplants, who, after living here for a few years, have decided to transplant themselves right into another neighborhood in the city).
One time, while I was walking home from a run in the evening, I apparently frightened a woman walking her dog so much so that she felt it was necessary to cross to the other side of the street while I passed (and crossed back over after I was gone)**.
This is a far cry from my old neighborhood. My old neighborhood was ugly to all except two kinds of people: the immigrants who'd built it (and were really still imagining it in its glory days), and people like me who, hokey as it sounds/is, can find beauty anywhere. The houses were mostly run-down and ugly. Slum lords did the bare minimum only to ensure that they would pass inspections. Almost all of the rental properties were disgusting and soggy and cracked. It was cheap to live there, and that fact was written out in the peeling paint and sagging gutters of the houses.
But I had friends in my old neighborhood. I knew my neighbors' names, and some of their stories. I talked with Jimmy about his old Irish Setter, Lady, and the Pirates' teen-aged losing record; I talked with Chester and Angela about gardening, and brought them their newspapers when their legs started to fail them; I shared cake and tea with Rose - I talked with her, I planted her tomatoes in the summer, I knew her children's names and faces, I met her grandchildren when they visited, I checked on her when the power went out, and I knew how and when her husband died. I shoveled all of their sidewalks when snow fell. I didn't see any of this as a matter of a pride. I saw it as my way of expressing my thanks for living around people who cared about me, and would take the time to talk to me.
I think I also saw it as showing respect for people who would not abandon their home, despite the broken glass, and scattered garbage, and occasional gunfire. Maybe I even saw my actions as a way of telling them that there was still something there worth holding on to.
Returning to last Wednesday: As I rounded the bend to my block, I was struck by its emptiness. My usually filled street was almost devoid of parked cars. I had nearly asked myself where everyone had gone when I realized that everyone had gone home for the holidays. I stopped shortly after I reached this obvious conclusion. If everyone (including me) goes home for the holidays, then what do the people who live here call this place? I don't know, but the obvious answer is, not home.
I have this theory that too much "pretty" in a house, or a neighborhood, or a city, is indicative of a certain kind of artificiality. To give you an example, I often say that NoVa has no soul***. The roots are shallow there, if present at all. I walk through my neighborhood now and I don't see roots. All of the histories and stories have been stripped and sanded out of these houses, and the people who live here haven't lived here long enough to create their own stories (and probably won't, either).
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the human soul isn't always a pretty thing. There is a lot of ugliness inherent in humanity - and if not ugliness, then certainly turmoil and pain. And I think this is evident, like it or not, in any real home. A complicated soul, like a complicated home or neighborhood, gets bogged down with a little garbage every once in awhile.
I'm not saying that a true home has to be ugly; I'm saying that a true home isn't pretty all the time. And maybe people can't really make their own home until they accept, and even embrace, this idea.
* The owners of a specific house in my neighborhood purchased the empty lot behind their house, tore it to shreds, and commissioned a giant cascading stone staircase that descends from their house to the street behind them (the likes of which I have only encountered at large hotels).
** It's true that I don't wear matching tiny shorts and tops, the way most female runners in my neighborhood do. However, I don't think that my t-shirts, running shorts, and bandanna are all that intimidating. When this happened, I laughed at first. Then I was angry and hurt. Now I'm reassessing the way I feel others perceive me - I guess what they say is true: you can't be too careful. For all I know, one of her loved ones was maimed by a 20-something, mediocre female jogger.
*** As with everything, there are exceptions to this.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Mr. Big Stuff
I've seen a bothersome man on the bus for the past few days in a row.
I couldn't decide what bothered me about him, until I realized that every time I see him I ask myself, "Who do you think you are?" and then mentally scoff. This led to me calling him "Mr. Big Stuff," when referring to him in my mind. After giving him a smarmy nickname (and patting myself on the back for giving him said smarmy nickname), I started putting the name with the melody, so now everytime I think of Mr. Big Stuff, I hear the chorus to the song in my head (which, as it turns out, is simultaneously entertaining and annoying).
Mr. Big Stuff is obviously riding the bus to get to work (there's no crying in baseball, and there are no colleges in the South Side). Despite this, he carries a Marc Jacobs bag, and is usually adorned in a puffy vest, J. Crew jeans, and a self-righteous smirk. He chews his gum with dramatic satisfaction, and every day he exits the bus after me, but somehow speed walks past me, a block or two after the bus stop.
This is infuriating.
I speed walk after him when this happens, but he has the distinct advantage of not wearing heels.
This morning, when he walked past the available seat next to me, only to sit with another stranger in the back of the bus, I imagined how his gum would go flying down the bus aisle if I stuck my foot out at just the right moment.
My boyfriend says I'm ridiculous and that it's is all in my head*. I hope he's wrong.
Who do you think you are, Mr. Big Stuff?
PS: I imagine I will eventually befriend this poor young man and delete this blog, full of guilt and embrassment.
*My father, as it turns out, is in complete agreeance with the boyfriend. Is anyone on my side?
I couldn't decide what bothered me about him, until I realized that every time I see him I ask myself, "Who do you think you are?" and then mentally scoff. This led to me calling him "Mr. Big Stuff," when referring to him in my mind. After giving him a smarmy nickname (and patting myself on the back for giving him said smarmy nickname), I started putting the name with the melody, so now everytime I think of Mr. Big Stuff, I hear the chorus to the song in my head (which, as it turns out, is simultaneously entertaining and annoying).
Mr. Big Stuff is obviously riding the bus to get to work (there's no crying in baseball, and there are no colleges in the South Side). Despite this, he carries a Marc Jacobs bag, and is usually adorned in a puffy vest, J. Crew jeans, and a self-righteous smirk. He chews his gum with dramatic satisfaction, and every day he exits the bus after me, but somehow speed walks past me, a block or two after the bus stop.
This is infuriating.
I speed walk after him when this happens, but he has the distinct advantage of not wearing heels.
This morning, when he walked past the available seat next to me, only to sit with another stranger in the back of the bus, I imagined how his gum would go flying down the bus aisle if I stuck my foot out at just the right moment.
My boyfriend says I'm ridiculous and that it's is all in my head*. I hope he's wrong.
Who do you think you are, Mr. Big Stuff?
PS: I imagine I will eventually befriend this poor young man and delete this blog, full of guilt and embrassment.
*My father, as it turns out, is in complete agreeance with the boyfriend. Is anyone on my side?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Dear PAT,
(Dear PAT,)
PAT (Pittsburgh Port Authority Transit) has officially announced that they are raising their fares. Zone 1 fares are going to be raised from $1.75 to either $2 or $2.25. This means that fare hikes for Zone 2 and Zone 3 are going to be ridiculous - but I'll leave that be since it doesn't immediately concern me.
Currently, I ride two buses to work each day (and the same two buses back). Fortunately, I am in Zone 1 for both of my rides, but because PAT's bus routes are inefficient, I have to transfer which means that on top of my $1.75 bus fare each way, I have to pay an additional 50 cents. This means that I am spending $4.5o on inefficient public transportation each day.
I just used gmap pedometer to figure out the exact distance I ride the bus: 3.7 miles. The argument for public transportation (economically) is that it saves you money for gas and for parking. Even the least fuel-efficient cars in the world get better than 4 miles to the gallon, hell they get better than 8 miles to the gallon (to be honest the least fuel-efficient car I have ever encountered is a 10-year-old Lincoln Navigator that got a whopping 10 miles to the gallon).
This means that, were I driving 8 miles a day, my travel costs would be less than the cost of one gallon of gasoline right now (which, we'll just say is $3.50/gallon). Parking is free in my building, so as-is, it would make more sense for me to drive to work. In addition, my little, not-even-4-mile, trek takes me, on average, 45 minutes (one way). I could cut that in half driving.
Best case scenario, with the new hikes: my daily costs will be $5 a day (assuming PAT leaves transfers at 50 cents, which they say they will, but I'm skeptical).
[Something else to keep in mind, is that a monthly (and especially yearly) bus pas is not economically feasible for me at this time, especially when the monthly passes are supposed to go up to $75 a month with the fare hikes. What is in my price-range is what PAT calls a "10-trip ticket." However, despite the fact that one is essentially purchasing tickets in bulk, PAT offers no bulk discount (one 10-trip ticket currently costs $17.50 and will increase in cost accordingly along with the fare hikes)] .
What's sad is, I believe in public transportation. I believe that it's an important part of, and necessity in, cities. I like the sense of community it builds, and the notion that by riding the bus (or metro or subway or T or ferry), you're not only not contributing to overall shitty metropolitan air qualities, you're helping to eliminate city congestion, as well as bringing the costs of travel down (the more people who use the bus, the less it should cost, ideally). I actually feel like I'm helping the city when I'm riding the bus (and I think that's the point: the idea that you're helping things - or at least engaging in the lesser of two evils- is supposed to outweigh all of the obvious negative parts of using mass transit).
With all that being said:
Dear PAT,
you make me want to buy a car. At least a car will be mine, and will run on time, and won't be rude to me when I ask questions, or slam the door in my face, or smell like urine, or stink of exhaust, or make me hold my purse tighter, or cost me more than it's worth.
PAT (Pittsburgh Port Authority Transit) has officially announced that they are raising their fares. Zone 1 fares are going to be raised from $1.75 to either $2 or $2.25. This means that fare hikes for Zone 2 and Zone 3 are going to be ridiculous - but I'll leave that be since it doesn't immediately concern me.
Currently, I ride two buses to work each day (and the same two buses back). Fortunately, I am in Zone 1 for both of my rides, but because PAT's bus routes are inefficient, I have to transfer which means that on top of my $1.75 bus fare each way, I have to pay an additional 50 cents. This means that I am spending $4.5o on inefficient public transportation each day.
I just used gmap pedometer to figure out the exact distance I ride the bus: 3.7 miles. The argument for public transportation (economically) is that it saves you money for gas and for parking. Even the least fuel-efficient cars in the world get better than 4 miles to the gallon, hell they get better than 8 miles to the gallon (to be honest the least fuel-efficient car I have ever encountered is a 10-year-old Lincoln Navigator that got a whopping 10 miles to the gallon).
This means that, were I driving 8 miles a day, my travel costs would be less than the cost of one gallon of gasoline right now (which, we'll just say is $3.50/gallon). Parking is free in my building, so as-is, it would make more sense for me to drive to work. In addition, my little, not-even-4-mile, trek takes me, on average, 45 minutes (one way). I could cut that in half driving.
Best case scenario, with the new hikes: my daily costs will be $5 a day (assuming PAT leaves transfers at 50 cents, which they say they will, but I'm skeptical).
[Something else to keep in mind, is that a monthly (and especially yearly) bus pas is not economically feasible for me at this time, especially when the monthly passes are supposed to go up to $75 a month with the fare hikes. What is in my price-range is what PAT calls a "10-trip ticket." However, despite the fact that one is essentially purchasing tickets in bulk, PAT offers no bulk discount (one 10-trip ticket currently costs $17.50 and will increase in cost accordingly along with the fare hikes)] .
What's sad is, I believe in public transportation. I believe that it's an important part of, and necessity in, cities. I like the sense of community it builds, and the notion that by riding the bus (or metro or subway or T or ferry), you're not only not contributing to overall shitty metropolitan air qualities, you're helping to eliminate city congestion, as well as bringing the costs of travel down (the more people who use the bus, the less it should cost, ideally). I actually feel like I'm helping the city when I'm riding the bus (and I think that's the point: the idea that you're helping things - or at least engaging in the lesser of two evils- is supposed to outweigh all of the obvious negative parts of using mass transit).
With all that being said:
Dear PAT,
you make me want to buy a car. At least a car will be mine, and will run on time, and won't be rude to me when I ask questions, or slam the door in my face, or smell like urine, or stink of exhaust, or make me hold my purse tighter, or cost me more than it's worth.
Windy City
Yesterday, while waiting to transfer buses on my way to work (in the midst of the first good Pittsburgh snow), I encountered a little old lady who was waiting for the same bus as I was. The bus we wanted sat a block away from us, apparently broken down. I struck up a conversation with her - or rather, she with me - after asking her if she knew anything about the state of the bus. The only thing she knew, she said, was that she'd been waiting for another 54C for nearly 30 minutes. After repeatedly placing my headphones in my ears, and then removing them after long pauses in our conversation (each pause causing me to assume she was done talking), she said "I wouldn't want to walk across the bridge on a day like today. No sir, not in this wind." Wide-eyed, I replied "I wouldn't want to walk across the bridge ever." *long pause*
"You know I walked across the bridge once."
"Really?"
"The day of the mayor's funeral, though I didn't know that at the time."
"I remember that day."
"I stood here wondering why the buses wouldn't come, and I had to get to work, so I walked."
She asked me where I worked, and guiltily but guardedly, I only revealed the name of the complex in which my office is located. She told me the address and name of her employer: "Elderberry Junction", better known as the Goodwill Senior Center. She spoke of Elderberry Junction with such pride that I congratulated her, with genuine happiness, for having a job that sounded so wonderful.
A few minutes later the bus came, and when the door opened she eagerly shuffled toward the bus and then stopped unexpectedly. The bus driver seemed perplexed at first, and then knowingly lowered the bus (it is what they call a "kneeling bus") and she barely made it up onto the first step. I actually had my arms out behind her because I thought she was going to fall. A young man sitting in what I like to call the "a little farther back" section (also known as the front) immediately vacated his seat for her.
15 minutes later, we exited the bus at the same stop. I began walking toward my destination, and she hurried off in the opposite direction, perhaps to get a cup of coffee before heading to Elderberry Junction.
All day long, I thought about this woman, and I'm not sure why. I can think of a few reasons, but none of them seem to fit. It's not necessarily the image of this hobbling woman walking across a long and dangerous bridge, though that's part of it. It's not the idea that a spirited older woman has more tenacity than I do, though that's certainly part of it. I'm not even sure it's her passion and her pride in her job, though that is something so beautiful and rare that I hope to never forget it. I am really not sure what it is.
Maybe it's her will. Maybe it's her will in all of these things combined. Her will to wait in the snow; her will to get onto the bus; her will to walk to work; her will to be a good employee; her will to be kind to, and connect with strangers. It's so rare to see an unblemished (I guess "barely blemished" is fairer, as I don't know her story) will in a person anymore - most people my age are so downtrodden and dejected, and self-pitying (not through-and-through, but every young person I know pities him or herself in at least one way). She had no self-pity, only drive. And --I was going to say in spite of, but I think "because of" is more apt -- maybe because of this, she is happy.
"You know I walked across the bridge once."
"Really?"
"The day of the mayor's funeral, though I didn't know that at the time."
"I remember that day."
"I stood here wondering why the buses wouldn't come, and I had to get to work, so I walked."
She asked me where I worked, and guiltily but guardedly, I only revealed the name of the complex in which my office is located. She told me the address and name of her employer: "Elderberry Junction", better known as the Goodwill Senior Center. She spoke of Elderberry Junction with such pride that I congratulated her, with genuine happiness, for having a job that sounded so wonderful.
A few minutes later the bus came, and when the door opened she eagerly shuffled toward the bus and then stopped unexpectedly. The bus driver seemed perplexed at first, and then knowingly lowered the bus (it is what they call a "kneeling bus") and she barely made it up onto the first step. I actually had my arms out behind her because I thought she was going to fall. A young man sitting in what I like to call the "a little farther back" section (also known as the front) immediately vacated his seat for her.
15 minutes later, we exited the bus at the same stop. I began walking toward my destination, and she hurried off in the opposite direction, perhaps to get a cup of coffee before heading to Elderberry Junction.
All day long, I thought about this woman, and I'm not sure why. I can think of a few reasons, but none of them seem to fit. It's not necessarily the image of this hobbling woman walking across a long and dangerous bridge, though that's part of it. It's not the idea that a spirited older woman has more tenacity than I do, though that's certainly part of it. I'm not even sure it's her passion and her pride in her job, though that is something so beautiful and rare that I hope to never forget it. I am really not sure what it is.
Maybe it's her will. Maybe it's her will in all of these things combined. Her will to wait in the snow; her will to get onto the bus; her will to walk to work; her will to be a good employee; her will to be kind to, and connect with strangers. It's so rare to see an unblemished (I guess "barely blemished" is fairer, as I don't know her story) will in a person anymore - most people my age are so downtrodden and dejected, and self-pitying (not through-and-through, but every young person I know pities him or herself in at least one way). She had no self-pity, only drive. And --I was going to say in spite of, but I think "because of" is more apt -- maybe because of this, she is happy.
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