By Michelle R. Harris
20 February, 1967: The Washington Metro Area Transit Authority is officially born.
22 June, 1988: Metrobus carries its two-billionth passenger.
1 February, 1994: The commute begins.
Everywhere I turn in Washington, DC, I find the commute. Discussions, complaints and visions mix in every conversation. I traded a 10 minute walk to work in Richmond for a 75 minute commute in DC. My commute is different, because it embraces mass transit. The city is trying desperately to force people onto the High Occupancy Vehicle lanes, but no complaint from me. I sit securely on the sofa watching the morning news. Nothing slows the Metro.
Dogs and Trains
Besides dogs. My first week on the system, and I read about a lost dog who wandered onto the track. It seems the pooch escaped while waiting to see his veterinarian, and found his way into a subterranean metro station. His speed and agility kept rush-hour trains tied up for hours. They avoided the dog by traveling slowly. The dog, in turn, avoided the dangerous third rail. Passengers and train operators alike offered to adopt the dog, who in the end was returned to his ecstatic owner.
The Third Rail
The third rail. “What is the third rail?” I wondered that first week. I was so naive then. The third rail is electrified and can kill dogs and humans alike. The significance of the third rail is that it gave me much to dwell on during those first, formative commutes. I wondered how to avoid it in case of an accident. Luckily, my mind has wandered from the third rail to the larger problems of job performance, crime and wasted youth.
Metro Solicitors
I was initially amazed at how clean and tame the Metro is. In Richmond, I would be asked for money at least once a week on that short walk to work. Not on the Metro. No one smiles on the Metro and no one runs up and asks you for change. Of course, such incidents may occasionally happen, but I may have stumbled onto one of the trade-offs in moving here. It is hard to say which is preferable—no smiles or no solicitations for change.
The Clapper
Metro etiquette is easily acquired. All the Metro demands is that you read quietly and do not smile. All that was broken on my train ride with the Clapper. He was sitting with a group of friends and engaged in lively conversation. Whenever he was particularly moved, he would clap. All I could wonder was, “Is he trying to dim the lights on the Metro?”
The Metaphysics of Traveling
Riding every day the same route, I have become aware of my train’s temperament. I know when we are under the Potomac. I feel the slight increases and decreases in elevation. I peer into adjoining tunnels and try to map a mental topography of the Metro system. These changes are natural enough. I just hope that someone doesn’t decide to write “The Secret World of the Metro.”
The Staring Game
The Metro, I believe, being somewhere between full-fledged anonymous travel and being with your family, offers endless possibilities for people who stare. This can be a dangerous game, however, if the person happens to be getting off at your stop. I advise caution.
Socks
Finally, I have made the transition. I am in the big city, and I can wear white socks with my black hose. I offer no excuses.
