The Underground World

I have recently started taking the metro. For those who don’t know me, this is big. I am not really a metro-type of girl. I don’t have a fear of the underground or agoraphobic tendencies; I am simply a girl of private transportation. However, that being said, my circumstances these past few months have shifted. I started a new job - only two blocks from a Metro station. My apartment, I have failed to mention, is also two blocks from a Metro station. There was no debating it this time; it was stupid to do otherwise. And so I bit the bullet, and did it. I metroed. So much, in fact, that I ended up having to purchase one of those ‘frequent-flier’ metro cards, the ones that allow you to run through the turnstile about four seconds faster than fiddling with the token into the token slot. While I do appreciate such a metro pass, in my mind, I had also just pulled an “Aladdin.” In my mind, I had just become part of a whole new world; a world characterized by tacky décor, buskers and an intense gust of wind (always warm, for some reason). In such a world, and with such a pass, I had just become an individual who is a regular at transportation preference; whose very essence in getting to and from work is dictated by the metro. And for some reason, every time my pass manages to slip its way out of my pocket I feel as if I must explain to my friends how it even got there in the first place. “Oh, that”, I say, “That’s just for work.”

Walking to the metro is already, something in and of itself, an experience altogether. En route to the station, I am literally taking part in a mass exodus; this is how the Jews must have felt while leaving Egypt. The fast walkers pass by in a flash leaving the slow-pokes straggling behind. There may not be matza, but we all did leave our houses in a hurry. There may not be unleavened bread, but we are all holding some type of coffee. It is survival of the fittest in my new world of the underground.

I hurriedly walk (or scuffle) depending on the weather. I am freezing. Because even though I know I should be fully garbed in winter gear, I also know that once I enter the station it will only be a matter of time before the metro sweats take over. Anyone that takes the metro know exactly to what I am referring. It happens in any major city with an underground transportation system. It begins as soon as you come to a halt on the platform. The sweat at your hairline becomes unbearable and that scarf you’re wearing needs to come off immediately. And then there’s the back; that bead of sweat running down your spine. “If only,” I think to myself, “people knew what was going on underneath my shirt right now.” And so I opt out of layering and instead choose to freeze.

I have to say, my tipping point came about a few weeks ago when, for some reason or another, the metro would not move. I hurriedly ran into the metro, attempting to grab it before it whisked away. Standing there, sweating because of the layers, I realized we were not moving. I looked around at the people, asking others how long they had been sitting there. “Ten minutes”, this girl responded. “Ok, ten minutes,” I thought to myself, “I’m sure it won’t be much longer.” But then the lights went off. And I was out of there.

I then didn’t even know what to do. I had never been stranded before; and not certainly due to a lack in transportation. I had no idea where the other metro stops were, or even which bus routes would get me home. And so I emerged from the underground, beginning to walk the streets of downtown. Soon enough, before I knew it, I was pretty much home.

The other day while leaving work - and after another metro disaster that, this time, halted the entire city - someone called out to me reassuringly to not worry, “the metro is up and running today.” I turned around and shot him a smile, “I’m sure it is; but today I’m driving.”