Strap-hanging On For Dear Life

First, this piece is not reporting as much about SEPTA as it is about some of its passengers or their mentality and a typical travel day without involving my car. Every morning I take the 66 bus to Frankford Transportation Center (FTC). I usually try to catch the Express. It saves me about five minutes travel time. Most of the time it’s standing room only. Everyone packed in like sardines. When I don’t crave that closeness with my fellow Philadelphians, I take either an earlier bus or the one just after the Express. One morning, I chose the earlier. 

Now. There are a fair amount of seats. On off-peak (non-rush hour) travel, there are plenty of seats. In the morning or afternoon/evening, not so much. However, this particular morning there were five seats in the back of the bus which I wormed my way through the dozen of standing strap-hangers to reach those empty seats. I don’t know if people are skitchy about sitting next to strangers or they just like to stand. All I know is the aisle was crammed with riders from the back door to the front door beyond the yellow line painted on the floor where you are not supposed to cross while the bus moves. But when in Rome, er, Philadelphia, these things are ignored. I don’t get people. The ride is only ten to fifteen minutes or so from my stop to the FTC, but if you can sit for that time instead of clogging up the aisle and front door jeopardizing the safety of your fellow passengers and the bus driver’s career, shouldn’t you take the opportunity to do so?

On the day of the tragic Hoboken train accident, it was a “Red Letter” day for public transportation in general. My day. I lay some of this on me, but most of it on the weather and the powers that be, if one or more exist. I left my house the usual time. With the rain I decided to forgo the walk to my stop. Instead, I intended to catch the 70 bus (a short two blocks from my house) to the corner where I pick up the 66 (five blocks away). Well, as better plans laid out are doomed to fail, mine did. I missed the 70 by thirty seconds. No lie. If the light had changed to red, I would have made it, but it was already red and you can guess the rest. The 70 was gone. What could I have done differently this morning? One minute was all I needed. Not clean the cat box? He wouldn't have liked that. Skip that last minute morning urination. No, no one on public transportation wants to see a middle-aged white guy do the pee-pee dance. Getting out of bed one minute earlier might have done it.

The next 70 wasn’t due for ten minutes. I was not waiting. I walked the remaining five blocks in the spitting rain. As I approached the intersection, not one but two 66s cruised by the intersection. Damn. Again, I was merely thirty seconds shy in making one of those buses. That thirty seconds is mounting up. Well, not an issue. The next one should be along in four minutes.

I managed to get across the street, a feat equivalent to tightrope walking across the Grand Canyon this morning. Why? No traffic lights. The challenge was caused by an overnight storm that took out the lights in that intersection and part of the neighborhood. Thankfully, not my neighborhood. The traffic lights being out at the intersection of Cottmann and Frankford borders on apocalyptic. For those of you who don’t frequent the northeastern neighborhoods of Philadelphia, more exactly, Mayfair, this is an extremely busy intersection. Both roads are major arteries in the Northeast. Picture this: Rush hour with an average of ten or more vehicles a minute trying to transverse,crisscross or turn at this intersection, it was a small miracle there wasn't a series of collisions. 

Being a model citizen, I phoned 911. I informed them that I was not only waiting for the bus but a massive collision as the traffic lights were out. Apparently, no one else had thought to alert the authorities because the operator was unaware of the situation. Usually, they'll let you know if someone had already reported it. I guess 911 operators want people to know that they can get things right once in a while. An officer arrived about five minutes later. However, my bus did not.

Fifteen minutes expired since I spotted the last bus before the next two buses pulled up playing follow the leader. The front one was the Express (my usual bus) which was packed to the gills. The other was almost empty. I boarded the second bus. As that one was a local, we were left in the Express' wake. Traffic was snarled. I got to the station probably ten minutes later than the Express did, but I had a seat and there were empty seats around me and still a handful of strap-hangers. Go figure. I scooted up the stairs to the platform and jumped onto an A train. Good fortune was finally smiling on me. I found a comfy seat in the last car. I was ready. I didn’t miss this connection by thirty seconds like the others. A lie. You’ll see.

The Market Frankford line runs three types of trains during the rush two-hours in the morning and afternoon. The A. The B. And the All Stops. The A and B trains make most of the same stops except that the A skips four stops and the B picks up those stops and skips four stops that the A makes. It's supposed to save time and speed riders to Center City and beyond. I'm not so sure it works. Most of the times they run consistently as scheduled. Sometimes part way through the route the A or B will become an All Stops. The sneaky little bastards. 

As I stated I was settled in for the ride. On rainy days, I ride the last car because it leaves me closest to the exit to the Green line (trolleys). On nice days, I’ll dash to the front car, because it lets me out closest to the stairs that come up onto Market at Fifteenth Street. I usually walk the five blocks to work. It's the only exercise I get and am willing to do these days. I'm no Gym Rat. On crappy weather days, I’ll jump on one of the underground trolleys that stop at Nineteenth Street, where I only have to brave a one block walk in the harsh, foul elements.

On this day, none of my or anyone else’s stars were in alignment. A voice comes over the A train’s speakers announcing that this train was out of service that we would all have to move across the platform onto the B train that just arrived. Of course, bodies had already started to fill up that train. I got across in time to snag a standing position in the last car in the aisle next to the door that if it were unlocked we could all take turns jumping to our deaths. Shortly before closing the doors, the voice announced that this B train was now an A train. Well, I'm sure that totally furked-up someone's morning. They would have to ride the wrong train to a stop before so they can then catch the next (right) train to their B stop or quickly dash out of this train and wait for the next B train. Ah, yes. Life is good. As this change had no effect on me because all trains stop at the Center City stations, I remained standing.

I rode the twenty five minutes standing until I got to my stop. After disengaging myself from that train, I dashed to the trolley. Yep, as you guessed it. I missed it by about thirty seconds. The nice thing is the trolleys run about every minute or two during rush hour. I caught the next one a minute later. I was dropped off at Nineteenth. Of course, things still were not going my way. A behemoth of a slow poke woman was lumbering up the stairs. Unfortunately, I couldn't get around her because there was opposing traffic coming down the stairs. Dammit all. After there was a slight break, I did my best OJ Simpson impression (not the killing my ex-wife OJ, but the spinning, fast moves running back hurdling luggage in the airport OJ) and spun past her and up the stairs to fresh, damp Center City air. 

Still not work bound. I had to wait for the construction crew working on the Independence Blue Cross building next to my building to let pedestrians cross the street. They were trying to back in a truck into their work space. I wish they'd hurry the hell up and finish that project. I think they've been working on that building since last year. A few minutes later, I was at my desk with seconds to spare. I was a little winded, a little damp, but in one piece and good for the next eight and half hours.

Total travel time that day was one hour and thirty minutes, door to door. My usual travel time is an hour to an hour and ten minutes. Overall, not a bad travel day considering the poor souls that traveled this day on that Hoboken line. Whether you are on a bus, plane, train or automobile (Uber), stay safe. TTFN until next time.