New modes of transit

It's now November, and I have spent three months living in West Philadelphia (everyone break into a chorus of the "Fresh Prince" theme song). Now that I am no longer living in the relative haven of suburbia, I must subject myself to the worst depths of Philadelphia public transit -- THE SUBWAY. Any comforts that existed on the regional rail no longer exist on the subway. If the smell of vomit and/or urine does not exist, it's not a good day on the subway. Similar to my earlier Rules of Public Transit, I have created some thoughts on life on the underground transit system in Philly, for the wary traveller who wants to be prepared before stepping below (or above) ground.

The El -- The Market-Frankford is known as the El. Being exposed to the D.C. system, I constantly refer to this as the blue line (because the line is blue on the map), and am looked at like I have sprouted another head. To further complicate matters, the El is not actually EL-evated. Well, it is, but not in a place where anyone wants to go. So every time I'm riding the El, I'm below ground. Fun.

The Trolleys -- This is what I envision as a post-apocolyptic form of transit. They are small buses, but they run on trolley wires, but, like the El, run below ground for the good parts of the trip. The best part about the trolleys is the general operation. The drivers have no steering wheels, just pedals. They take full advantage of this, accelarating and breaking frenetically in an attempt to send every standing passenger careening to the floor. They also make a horrid shrieking noise when going around corners that, if you have a hangover, makes you want to scream and throw yourself in front of said trolley.

SEPTA Guide Rule #184

After another day enjoying public transit, I have yet another rule to add to the Guide (I use the capital "G" to give it more legitimacy to myself. Bear with me).

RULE #184: Not All Train Passengers Are Created Equal
I do not mean to speak disparagingly of my fellow Regional Rail Riders. But frankly, some folks are weird. You must keep an eye out for the particular characters.

The Chatty Folk: I'm not sure where they go when they get off the train, but it can't be anywhere where they receive adequate human contact. They will tell you their life story in agonizing detail. Be prepared to get off a stop early. It may be well worth it.

"Music Is My Life" People: These kind souls have decided that it is their duty to share their musical preferences (and their iTunes purchases) with you. A personal music device is simply too elitist --- music must be played at a volume such that it can be shared with the community at large, namely those people who are trying to quietly read. You will spend at least 20 minutes trying to identify the thumping beat that you vaguely recognize from the radio (Pussycat Dolls? Bon Jovi? Prince? Is Prince still alive??) Consider yourself lucky if you aren't in the same train as the 80's guy.

Anxious Riders: Xanax does a body good. These folks are so anxious about the ride to their final destination that they are constantly bouncing between seats, checking with the train staff, and looking anxiously out the window to make sure the announcers weren't playing a nasty trick when saying what stop we were heading to ("Muahaha, I told you we were at Wynmoor, but we're really at Mt. Airy! Muahahahaha!").

"Can You Hear Me Now?": Something as minor as a train ride will not separate them from their cellular conversations. Unlike the rest of us who hiss in humiliation after our "Lone Ranger Theme" cell ring disturbs the entire train, "I'll call you back! I'm on the train!",these people insist on having a full-fledged conversation. And just in case coverage isn't that great, the make sure that they talk loudly enough that in case the person on the other end of the line is in, say, Jersey, they will still be able to hear perfectly well.

Non-People People: Clearly didn't excel in the "Plays well with others" category of elementary school. Their bags are sprawled across the three person seats, and the stare down any newcomers to the train. The implicit message -- "This is my seat. I may look like a balding 50-something-year-old man who really enjoys reruns of Get Smart, but if you sit with me, I will fuck your shit up."

And then there's the rest of us. Happy riding, everyone! :-)

A Newcomer's Guide to SEPTA

A major problem in any urban area is going to be traffic congestion. After living in Baltimore for three years, I have learned to anticipate and, at times, almost appreciate the whims of the beltway and JFX traffic. But moving to a new metropolitan area, getting around was giving me (almost) as much angst as the lovely souls over at the Penn Student Financial Services office (*incomprehensible mutterings*).

Then, a breath of fresh air -- SEPTA! Yes, the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority to the rescue. And, unlike the Baltimore public transit system, SEPTA seems to: 1) be efficient, 2) be safe, and 3) actually go places that you'd want to be. Novel concept!

What I hope to do is create a type of guide (in the loosest sense of the term) to using SEPTA for those who, like me, are relatively new to the whole public transit system. The rules are numbered, but, because I am writing them as I come up with them, are therefore in no particular order. Because numbering sequentially implies some sort of ranking of importance, I am going to refrain from that practice and simply make numbers up as I go along. Can you tell that I'm going to be a teacher?

Rule #47: Learn to Forget Geographic Directions
I'm amazed anyone in Philadelphia knows North-South-East-West. You will rarely get on a train, subway, or bus and find that it is simply going east, north, or even southeast. It's going to some obscure (at least to me) destination that no one really ever wants to go to anyway. So I have to spend a good 10 minutes staring at a map (hello, not from here!) trying to first figure out where the hell I am and then where the hell I'm going. Once that is figured out, getting on the proper transportation mode is often a matter of luck. Thank god for my transpass, where I can get on and off the bus as much as necessary while I figure out what the hell I'm doing.

Rule #84: Station Names Have Little to Do With Their Location

Example: Suburban Station. Name connotes location with grass, trees, etc. Real location? Middle of the freakin' city.

Example: Market East - Gallery. Actually a transfer point for other transit lines. But the other lines don't call it that, they call it 15th Street. So I miss it every time. Bastards.

Give me landmarks, intersections, something! My brain already hurts with this....

More to come later!