News Flash: Metro Cuts Costs, Hires Child Labor

Washington, DC–In a radical move, the Washington Metro Area Transit Authority has adopted the policy of hiring children to run it’s oft criticized Metro train fleet.

Citing increasing operating costs and public outcry, Metro officials proclaimed the new policy was born under an all-night brainstorming session. “We threw our senior-level employees in a small, windowless room and told them to ‘Get creative and make it work’. We looped never-ending episodes of Project Runway, Pokemon, and The PowerPuff Girls and stocked them with a stash of leftover Easter candy, Red Bull, lace, malt liquor, Cheetos, and an assortment of buttons and loose fabric. Then we told them they couldn’t come out until they came up with a solution that makes everyone happy” reported one senior Metro official. “It worked.”

Metro is happy because children cost a lot less to employ. “Their cost of living is extremely low, so they don’t expect much plus they just take up less space, leaving more room for commuter seats.” said one Metro payroll employee. She also mentioned that in some cases children can be paid entirely in perks, letting some operate the train with a puppy on his or her lap, for example. Commuters should be happy because this program will eliminate the need for more fare hikes.

The program debuted last week and this reporter had the chance to commute in on one of the child-operated trains this morning. No noticeable driving errors were detected, although a giggle may have escaped the operator’s mouth after announcing “Next stop: Foggy Bottom.”

“Doesn’t she need to be in school?” asked one commuter.

“I can understand her better than the normal guy.” voiced another.

Who they were talking about is Kiki Williams, a 6-year old from Greenbelt, MD, and this morning’s Orange Line operator. “My mom says I don’t have to go to school ’til next year and since she don’t like my auntie Karen anymore, she won’t let me go over to her house and play when mommy’s at work, so now I come to Metro and play on this train. I have to push the buttons and eat candy and stuff and say ‘Bottom’ sometimes on this mic-o-phone. Heehee.”

As of press time, Metro confirmed that the rollout of this program will be soft; just one child operator per line until the program can be fully evaluated. In the meantime, look for Kiki on the Orange line and say “hi” for me.

Watch out for that tree!

And by “tree”, I mean bus…more specifically, Metro bus.

So this morning as I was waiting to cross the street on my way to work, a woman started out into what appeared to be an un-busy street.  She had the don’t-walk signal, but this is a narrow street and walkers frequently cross when the way is clear…even on red.  Thing is, the right-turn arrow was green. Meaning traffic was coming from behind us, rather quickly, trying to make the turn onto 20th Street before the light changed–traffic including cars, delivery vans, trucks and yes, Metro busses. 

The woman, seeing no traffic coming from up 20th Street (but not looking behind her to see what was coming from Eye), stepped into the street and was nearly halfway across when I found myself wanting to yell out “BUS! LOOK OUT!”– for coming from right behind me was a Metro bus, barreling down on her to make the turn onto 20th. Normally I don’t find the need or want to protect strangers from undo harm in my morning, uncaffeinated state. But in light of recent events (and by “events”, I mean deaths…more specifically, death by Metro bus), I was terrified.  She spotted the bus and with a scoff and a roll of her eye, she stepped back into the safety-ish area of the shoulder.  Doesn’t she read the news?  I am totally scared of Metro busses as I walk these streets and would never roll my eyes at them, especially when they have the right of way.

Like a greased pig?

I wonder if it’s just me or perhaps just every single pair of shoes I walk to and from work in, because it seems that the combination of ice, snow, dirt, salt, deicer and Metro’s not-yet-but-soon-to-be-defunct-octagonal tile floors make for one greasy surface.

Since the onset of precipitation last week, walking along the Metro platforms has been akin to walking in a Bennigan’s kitchen–slimy, with nary a foothold in sight due to the thick byproduct of fried hydrogenated oils that eventually makes its way to settle beneath one’s feet. 

I swear I am going to pull my damn calf again trying to get some traction walking along the platforms. 

A little humor goes a long way

For this morning’s Orange Line Metro operator -

Thank you for your humor and wit during this morning’s commute. I, along with most riding in my car, found it most refreshing. Your light-hearted instructional seminar on How to Best Board and Alight During the Morning Commute was quite helpful – even if these things seem obvious, common sense is often lost on the D.C.-area morning commuters. Your repeated instructions and praise after each stop help to cut through the morning fog and really get to the heart of things – the faster everyone gets out of the way, the faster people can alight and the faster we can move on to the next station. Of course, you said it better than I. The highlight of the trip came as we were pulling into Farragut West and you announced “The time now is 8:58 a.m.” and then in a whisper “that means you still have time to grab a coffee. Enjoy your morning.”

Enjoy it, I did.

Dear stupid woman,

If you are going to be afraid of the mysterious moving staircase, do not ride Metrorail duing rush hour. Your apprehension of getting on the fantastic, new-fangled machine could cause me and countless other commuters to break neck and limbs in attempts to come screeching to a halt because you can’t figure out how to mount the damn thing. This is not double-dutch. You do not have to time your entry…just step on the moving staircase. I mean toddlers can do it for crissakes. Same goes for when you get to the top. No timing required. Just.step.off.the.stair. Confusion (especially stupid confusion) holds no place in rush hour commuting.

Love and regards,
The almost smushed Baby Banana

Lemon yellow sun, arms stretched in a V

I spoke on the Metro today.

It’s true.

I spoke to a stranger during my morning commute. Do not be alarmed! The metro train did not explode, nor did our commute suddenly come to a screeching halt (well, no more than usual anyway). It turns out that nothing really extraordinary happens if you speak on the Metro trains, other than garnering wishes for a good morning, perhaps even being alerted to an interesting newspaper article you might have otherwise missed. Really. I am not lying.

It all started when I boarded as I normally do, that is bag flapping, WaPo Express flying while running toward the closing doors. As I collected myself and moved toward the center of the car, like the good girl I am, an olderish gentleman offered me the seat next to him. Usually I decline such offers, being able-bodied and with only a handful of stops before my exit, but I was hot from the walk to the station and a seat actually sounded wonderful. So after a second’s hesitation, I took him up on his offer.

Eyeing my Express, he says “I read better sitting down anyway”.

At first I did not know what to do. I imagined what other commuters would do in this situation. Do I stare at him blankly? Pretend I don’t hear? Scoff at him quietly and pull out my iPod? Instead I answered, “Actually, I can’t read sitting down, I get car sick”.

[Moving to the side] “Well, you better get up then!”

A joke? Or is he serious? Being new to this sort of situation I am unsure. I decide to stay put and offer up a quiet giggle. He grins. I guess I picked the right response.

He returns to his (full-size, 35¢) paper and flips the page. After a few moments he laughs. He looks to me and even though I am digging through my bag for my lip gloss, I see him out of the corner of my eye. He wants to share. He laughs again and this time I look up. The stranger gestures toward a headline in the paper, mumbles something about the topic and says “It’s this paragraph here that’s really funny.” And then he began to read. To me. An excerpt of an interesting article. On the Metro. Before 9am. I am totally serious.

The paragraph was in fact funny, and I responded as such. We spoke a bit about the subject of the article and went back to our silent interests. But the barrier had been broken. As the train lurched along the tracks, more conversation and pleasantries were exchanged. It wasn’t forced or obligatory, but if a sight or a commonality struck either of us as interesting, the thought was shared.

As I gathered my things and performed the I’m-Getting-Off-At-This-Stop Dance, the stranger rose from his seat to allow my exit and wished me a good day. I did the same—and I am alive to tell the tale.

Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids

and Metro is for suckers

Silly me for believing 24 hours would be enough time for Metro to resolve any residual issues from yesterday.

Silly me for leaving for work this morning 10 minutes early, just in case things were a little slow on Metro.

Silly me for listening for station alerts and upon hearing none, assuming it meant there were no delays.

Silly me for thinking that first “hold” at Courthouse would be the last one of the commute.

Silly me for arriving at work nearly an hour late even with my ten-minute cushion.

Silly me for not knowing a twelve-minute train ride would take nearly an hour.

Silly, silly me.

Funny because it’s NOT true?

In looking on Google maps to double check that I actually know how to drive to Lauriol Plaza (or give directions to someone else who is actually doing the driving), I find a humorous statement. It very clearly states that it will take me approximately 3 minutes to go the 1.5 miles from my office to the restaurant. HA! That is sooo funny. Totally hysterical those mappers. I mean, can anyone get anywhere in DC in 3 minutes? Because I really (I mean really) don’t think so.

33 minutes from bed to work

Yeah, I woke up a little late this morning. I am SURE it had nothing to do with the one glass of pinot noir I imbibed last night. The one glass that was never empty. You know the one. The kind of glass where it’s impossible to tell how much wine you actually drank because you never seemed to get to the end of it, nor did you ever ask for a refill. Anyway, back to bed…so as I woke from my slumber I did so in that I’m-not-opening-my eyes-because-it’s-just-so-glorious-lying-here-in-the-warm-bed fashion. Which is not how I usually wake on workdays. Usually there is an alarm and snoozing involved. This is when calendar starts in my head. Is it the weekend? What day is it? (important to note that my eyes are still closed at this point) I don’t know. Ok what did I do last night? Bug. She dropped me off. Wine. Weekday wine. Shit. It’s Thursday. My eyes open and dart to the clock. Double shit. It’s 8:28 am. Shit again because now I have to do math to try and figure out how much time I have. Shit gets upgraded to fuck. I don’t have ANY time at all, I was supposed to leave my house 15 minutes ago. Fuckitty fuckfuck. Now the adrenaline rush comes, which makes me feel sick and shaky. But, it is semi-quelled by the realization that the only person who cares if I am on time, my boss, is out of town. So I relax a bit knowing I can call on my way to just say that I am running late. I wash up, dress and throw a can of tuna, a v8 and some cottage cheese in my bag with some running clothes. I go for my cell phone to call work and then realize that I couldn’t find it last night when I got in. Thinking maybe I was too stupid too drunk to find it last night, I search again. Nope. No cell phone. Augh. And this girl doesn’t have a landline. So now the adrenaline icky feeling comes back and I grab my coat and run out the door. I am contemplating the time in my head, a 15 minute walk to the Metro and then a 15 minute ride if I’m lucky and there are no delays will put me in the office well after 9. With no phone call. I hate being late to work. The sick feeling comes back. I cross the street and see a bus waiting at the light. Hope. Oh it’s going to Rosslyn station. Woo! I am saved. Stroll into work at 9:01. Maybe looking a little like death on a triscuit thank god for blush and lipgloss and feeling like I got run over by a bus instead of just taking one (I think coming off the adrenaline rush is worse than the actual rush itself), but here on time! nonetheless.

Metro opens doors and…er…other things

Has anyone else been on the Orange line and had the pleasure of being Metroed around by the woman with the awesome phone-sex operator voice (perhaps she operates other lines, but I only have familiarity with Orange)? Seriously her voice is like butter. Warm, melted butter. It’s just the right amount of breathiness, not trashy but sweet and sexy as hell. I used to hear her in the evenings — later, maybe around 8pm, but I have not heard her for quite some time. Well this morning D-Mac comes strolling into the office, with what I thought was a sleepy smile, and happily proclaims that the heavenly-voiced one was his Metro operator on the way in today. WHAT? She’s on a morning route now? Seriously I need to pin down her schedule, because a good Metro operator can make or break your morning commute. Hell, it can make or break your entire morning, and she is definitely one to *make* it.

I love you sex-voiced Metro Operator! Now where can I find a schedule of the Metro drivers? Specifically the Orange line. Although maybe this would be a bad thing, I would suddenly develop an addiction to Metro riding. I’d get on with the intent of heading to work, and I’d end up in New Carrollton. I don’t even know where New Carrollton is. Not that I’d care much if she was ticking off the stops to me every three minutes or so. Oh how I’d love to hear her spout off the Metro Safety Tips….ahhhhhh.