The Lull

I know it's been quiet around here this week. I'm always hopeful that commuting will provide me with observations I can share, but the couple of weeks leading into the Labor Day weekend tend to have lighter ridership on buses and subways because many people take vacation time. Fewer people means less chance of me seeing something interesting.

So the lack of material becomes the material itself, so to speak. It's easier to get a seat on a train or bus. Lines are shorter at lunchtime. Both of my coworkers have been on vacation these past two weeks, leaving me to handle incoming phone calls as best I can. The office is very quiet, and I love that.

But it won't last. After the weekend, life goes back to normal. The commute will get hectic again, and I'll arrive at work already mentally exhausted from jostling to get on and off buses and trains, and trying to make timely connections while dodging slower commuters with their heads bent, staring at their phones. I'll start to think about the merits of working from home.

And this is probably a good place for a mini-rant about commuting etiquette: seriously, what is it with you people? You cannot all board the bus at the exact same time, yet you still keep trying, and I stand there watching all of you in a combination of amusement and disgust. And then I try to move into place and wait my turn, and one of you always seems to find it necessary to force yourself between me and the bus so you can get on first. And just this morning I watched a woman try to exit a train at Wellington while another woman stood just outside the door and refused to move two inches to her left to make it easier for the first woman to get out, as though somehow relinquishing those inches would allow someone else to board the train before her—and if that did happen, so what? I've never even seen such behavior in New York, and I've concluded it's simply beyond my understanding.

Vertical Ride

I'm working on the top floor of a building with six floors. For whatever reason, there is no exit access from the stairways to any floor except the ground floor and the garage sublevel. You can enter a stairway from any floor, but you can't go between floors, nor can you walk up if you happen to work on the second floor. So the elevators get a healthy workout each day.

As a result, a lot of people have to ride up to the second and third floors, and I think some of them feel at least a little guilty that they are slowing down the rides of those who work on higher floors. People are very eager to push my floor button for me when I'm boarding an elevator, and when they get off on a lower floor, they say, "Have a good day" as they are leaving. I've never seen anything like it.

There are three elevators, and one of them is frequently in use by maintenance and HVAC people. It's draped with heavy blankets to protect the walls inside. Unfortunately, the blankets are quite smelly. I don't like riding in this elevator, which I have dubbed the Smellevator. But when I push the call button, I don't know which elevator is coming (only the lobby shows the floor locations of the elevator cars), and it seems silly to wait for a different one.

Puffs

I was downtown today, and it was a pleasure to be outside on such a perfect September day. But in the financial district the smokers were out too, clustered in some places, solitary in others. I'm glad we've had enough sense to ban smoking indoors, but that means outdoor spaces are filled with smoke-emitting obstacles that must be avoided.

If it's just one person I usually hold my breath until I'm past, but for the throngs I'm forced to clamp a bandana over my face. Is it wrong to wish that our society will end up outlawing smoking altogether within a couple of decades?

Driver's Ed

Boston drivers are notorious for their lack of patience. If someone behind us beeps when a traffic light turns green, the Mrs. typically makes a comment to herself, or me if I'm in the car.

Yesterday, though, was different. We were at a T intersection, coming up the vertical part of the T and waiting to turn left. This particular intersection is tricky, and it should probably have a traffic light, but around here things often stay uncorrected like that a long time. (How long did it take for a signal to get installed at Packard's Corner?)

Without a light, we were forced to wait until the road was clear. A car came up behind us and before long the driver beeped the horn. Then again, then again. Beep. Beep, Beep. The Mrs. leaned out her window and yelled back at the other driver, "I can't go! There are cars turning in front of me!" (Her argument was bolstered at that exact moment by a car that turned and came past both of us. She gestured at it in case the other driver somehow hadn't seen it.) "If you don't feel like waiting, feel free to go past me!"

No more beeping.

Instructions

I'm enjoying finding these random signs. I'll keep posting them as I find them. I spotted this one at Commonwealth Books downtown:

No nonsense, no apologies, to the point. But of course, in a better world such a sign would not be necessary.

Overheard: Lesson Learned Edition

At the theater last night, before the show started, three women in the row behind us were chatting and facebooking on their phones and such, then one said, "I just want to double-check that this is off. I don't want to be that person...again. Last week I was at a funeral and my phone rang."

Hi There

I spent a couple of hours today trying to coax people into having a free piece of cake, explaining why free cake was being given away, and handing them postcards they could refer to after they'd walked away and forgotten what I'd said.

I haven't dealt with the public in any meaningful capacity for almost seven years. I've never handed out flyers or anything like that. But what was very interesting about today was: I had a hell of a time just getting people to make eye contact, even as I was speaking to them.

As people walked toward me in the mall corridor, I would say "hi there" or "hello" or something like that. Talk about a tough crowd. I'd say I had barely a 1% success rate. And I'm not talking about the people texting, talking on the phone, or otherwise manipulating a digital device. I didn't even bother with them. When people try to talk to me or hand me things on the street, I always say "no thanks" so they at least know I'm not ignoring them.

If I succeeded in making eye contact, it was a lot easier. I would then say something like, "Are you in the mood for some dessert?" That got most people's attention. But most people wouldn't even acknowledge that I was speaking to them. Look, I get it, you're on your lunch break, you only have 30 minutes and you have to get three other errands done before you have to go back. I'm not trying to poison you or sell you anything. Really. I'm just trying to get you to look me in the eye for a second, that's all. Come on, give it a try.

Her Ignorance Is Showing (and Telling)

As you know, I avoid politics in this space. It has to do with how I was brought up and my distaste of how the media already covers political issues in our country. But after I heard about this I was furious. Fortunately, John Franklin Stephens wrote a far more eloquent and dignified reply than I would have been capable of (and more than I think was deserved), so I decided to make an exception.

I am quoting this material directly from The Daily What:

After Ann Coulter referred to President Obama as a retard in a tweet during Monday night's presidential debate, Special Olympics athlete and global messenger John Franklin Stephens penned her this open letter:

Dear Ann Coulter,

Come on Ms. Coulter, you aren't dumb and you aren't shallow. So why are you continually using a word like the R-word as an insult?

I'm a 30 year old man with Down syndrome who has struggled with the public's perception that an intellectual disability means that I am dumb and shallow. I am not either of those things, but I do process information more slowly than the rest of you. In fact it has taken me all day to figure out how to respond to your use of the R-word last night.

I thought first of asking whether you meant to describe the President as someone who was bullied as a child by people like you, but rose above it to find a way to succeed in life as many of my fellow Special Olympians have.

Then I wondered if you meant to describe him as someone who has to struggle to be thoughtful about everything he says, as everyone else races from one snarkey sound bite to the next.

Finally, I wondered if you meant to degrade him as someone who is likely to receive bad health care, live in low grade housing with very little income and still manages to see life as a wonderful gift.

Because, Ms. Coulter, that is who we are — and much, much more.

After I saw your tweet, I realized you just wanted to belittle the President by linking him to people like me. You assumed that people would understand and accept that being linked to someone like me is an insult and you assumed you could get away with it and still appear on TV.

I have to wonder if you considered other hateful words but recoiled from the backlash.

Well, Ms. Coulter, you, and society, need to learn that being compared to people like me should be considered a badge of honor.

No one overcomes more than we do and still loves life so much.

Come join us someday at Special Olympics. See if you can walk away with your heart unchanged.

A friend you haven't made yet, 

John Franklin Stephens
Global Messenger
Special Olympics Virginia

Ann Coulter is a miserable, despicable excuse for a human being. Her venomous ignorance reflects poorly on all of us as humans and as Americans. I am generally disinclined to wish harm to others, but if something terrible were to happen to her I would not be the tiniest bit upset.

Trash Lesson

I'm back home from my trip, and Sunday night means I have to put out the trash. There is frequently a lot of miscellaneous trash in front of our house. I'm not exactly sure where it all comes from, but we live on a fairly busy street, and I guess that filthy, ill-mannered cretins toss things out of their cars while driving through the area, ending up in the gutter between parked cars, in the mulch beds on either side of our front steps, etc.

This evening I rolled the container out the the curb, then picked up a few items that were scattered nearby. One of them was a small plastic bottle that said "Sutter Home." I had no idea shitty wine came in nip-size.

More Bad Behavior

Yesterday I came across another smoker in a T station. I've ranted about smokers before and their willful ignorance of posted restrictions. Smoking is an inherently selfish act, just as drunk driving is—both put others at risk who have no direct involvement in the acts—and smokers are invariably the most selfish people I encounter.

This guy was on the Orange Line platform in State Street station. He was a full-on Jersey Shore caricature: tank top, synthetic basketball shorts, shoulders and one foot against the wall. As is my practice, I stopped in front of him and asked in a civilized tone of voice, "Would you put that out, please?" His response was immediate and flippant: "You wanna call a cop?"

I thought to myself, what would be the point? Yes, there is a law, and supposedly a smoker can be fined, but it's a joke. There's no enforcement of it that I am aware of. I've never seen anyone receive a summons for smoking in a T station, because the T doesn't have the resources to police the stations in that way.

There was a young woman standing next to him; I hadn't realized they were together, but she also chimed in: "Whyn't you move? Go stand somewhere else."

So there wasn't going to be any reasoning with these two. I could only respond, "It doesn't matter where I stand, I'm still going to have to smell it" and then continued down the platform. There was some residual mouthiness from them, but I'd moved away quickly enough that I couldn't make it out clearly.

Smoking inside a subway station is one of the rudest, most insensitive things a person can do. But the other factor at work is the behavior of the other people waiting. All the other people standing there are victims of one asshole's bad behavior, but no one does anything about it. Shame and peer pressure should matter more than a theoretical, unenforceable fine.

What are the chances of getting a law passed that allows behavior like this to be answered with a punch to the face?

Wait Your Turn

Oh, mankind, will you ever cease to surprise me with your behavior? Probably not...

This morning I was in the cafeteria getting coffee. You fill your cup, pay at a register, then go over to a sort of circular island where the cream and sugar live. It has a two-tier surface, with the aluminum containers of milk and cream on top, and a lower level where you can place your cup while you add your preferred fixings to your coffee.

Like most people, I add some cream to the coffee and then taste it to see how close I've gotten to getting it right, and then I usually have to add a little more, because adding too much milk or cream ruins it. (I have done this once or twice, and have had to go back into the serving area to add more coffee to my cup; the staff don't seem to mind, but it's a pain.) There's a period of a few seconds where I'm tasting the coffee, and I put the cream container next to me on the lower shelf of the island. After I'm done, I put it back on the upper shelf where others can reach it more easily.

So this morning as I'm doing this, an arm reaches across all the way from the opposite side of the island for the cream. The Unspoken But Agreed-Upon Etiquette of Self-Serve Coffee is that you wait for a person to be finished with whatever they are using before taking it to use it yourself (or, you know, ask if the other person is finished), but apparently this person was visiting from another planet where such behavior is not the case. I put my hand on the container and looked up at the guy and said, "I'm not finished with this yet."

When I was finished, I made a point of putting it back in the middle of the upper shelf instead of handing it to him, so he could understand how things are done in places where people have learned how to be patient and wait their turn.

Waiting

Well, it's been quite some time since I experienced a good old MBTA clusterfuck, so I suppose I was due. Today we were having a monthly staff meeting at work, so I wanted to make an effort to be on time. The bus was more or less on time, and I got to Wellington just before 8:20, only to find a full inbound platform and announcements that a "power problem" had knocked out service on the southern part of the Orange Line, but trains were still running.

Each time an inbound train rolled into the station, only a few people were able to squeeze on. Having had more than a lifetime's share of sardine-packed T rides, in such situations I tend to step back and let others subject themselves to squishing. But because part of the line had been cut off, there were fewer trains available than during a typical morning rush hour.

There was a lot of grumbling and eye rolling. I looked at my watch and saw that nearly 30 minutes had passed since I'd arrived. I was also getting cold, but not terribly so. Since we've been having this in-between weather for a while, I've been opting not to layer up because it's too easy to become overheated. Instead I've been wearing my usual layers of shirt and undershirt, and adding a scarf and a medium-weight coat.

Eventually the trains grew less crowded, but by the time I was able to board I'd been waiting on the platform for almost an hour, and the train was still pretty full. Then we rolled into Sullivan. I'd completely forgotten that things would be worse down the line. I sympathize with folks who have to board the Orange Line at Sullivan every day, because the trains are almost always packed after picking up passengers at Wellington, but people were just forcing themselves into the car.

I know I shouldn't really have been surprised at this, but I still was. I know, you need to get to work; everyone on that train has somewhere they need to be, and nobody likes to wait, and nobody likes to be stuck outside when it's cold. But I'm still taken aback at times by the overwhelming selfishness that has become the norm these days. I only needed to go three stops so I could switch to the Green Line, but I waited because I figured there were people who needed to get where they were going more urgently than I did.

I ended up missing about 90% of the meeting. Oh, well; stuff happens.

Addendum: Looking at the comments about this morning's incident on Universal Hub, I now realize that I should have taken an outbound train one stop to Malden, where I could have gotten on an inbound commuter rail train. But as the commenter points out, none of the PA announcements mentioned this option.

Universal Language (of Annoyance)

I guess the 21st-century equivalent of annoying those around you by blasting your music out of a boombox is annoying those around you by playing your music through the tiny, worthless speakers built into your cell phone.

I believe this started with people choosing not to answer their phones when someone called, so they could listen to whatever song they had chosen for a ringtone, but it's gone beyond that now. Do you really think your music sounds better coming out of those flimsy, half-inch openings than through headphones?

(This is another behavior I have observed twice recently, and the Rule of Three will also have to be applied, if it gets to that point.)

You Get One Warning

I read an interesting article today in the business section about the strict no-phones/no-texting policy at the Austin-based movie theater chain Alamo Drafthouse, and how they turned a complaint left on their voicemail by a disgruntled patron into an ad. Brilliant and hilarious (and also, sad and disturbing). Here's the uncensored version of the ad.

I wish more places, particularly movie theaters, were willing to take this sort of hard-line stance against rude, ignorant behavior. Also: no ads before the movies, and no kids under 6 allowed. I wish Alamo would open a theater around here; it sounds like my kind of place.

Suited for Summer

Once you get a few years past college, it's likely that someone you know will get married. These events often tend to occur in clusters (one of my coworkers has a different wedding to attend each weekend this month!). And while weddings take place throughout the year, eventually your presence will be requested at an event that takes place during the summer. And if it happens not to be a wedding, then there will be some other situation (a job interview, a graduation, or a Derby Day party) that you will attend during warmer weather, where you will be expected to show up wearing semi-formal attire.

Do not even think about not wearing a proper, respectable outfit such as a suit, or at the very least, a sportcoat or blazer with a tie. I can tell your eyes are already sliding over toward your closet, and you're thinking, Why can't I just wear my "good" khakis and my nice blue button-up shirt? Forget it. If you happen to be still in high school, you sort of maybe get a pass, but beyond age 18 you need to dress like an adult.

Jesse Thorn of Put This On expressed the essence of this very well, but unfortunately I can't find the exact relevant quote at the moment, so I'll have to paraphrase: as guests of the bride and groom, we dress up for weddings as a way of acknowledging that it is a serious, important occasion and not just another day. In other words, you are a grownup, and you grasp the idea that there are certain occasions in life that require you to look like one.

You should be wearing a suit, and that's that, especially if you are attending this event with a wife, girlfriend, or significant other. If you don't it will reflect badly on her as well as on you, and it's likely she will suffer some embarrassment and end up feeling resentment toward you as a result, not to mention she will most certainly have gone to some effort to look her best, and it's disrespectful to her if you don't at least offer the appearance of having gone to some comparable degree of effort yourself. (Friendly advice: dressing in a way that upstages your date is highly ill-advised. You need to look good, but make sure she looks better.)

[Aside: During the past decade I have attended two weddings in California, one in the southern part of the state in July and one in the northern part in January. In both situations I was quite shocked to see how the guests, both male and female, were dressed. It's like they're living in another country or something. Extreme casual was the dominant look at both events, though it skewed slightly more toward streetwear at the first one and more than slightly toward hippie at the second. There were guests who looked like they had rolled out of bed maybe an hour before and literally grabbed the first pieces of clothing they could find. I still have occasional unpleasant flashbacks about this.]

Now, you probably own at least one suit, and that's swell. But trust me, you are not going to want to put on that thing made of wool in the middle of July, and I can practically guarantee you that the site of either the ceremony or the reception will lack adequate air conditioning, or that it will take place outdoors. I have been in both these situations while wearing a non-seasonal suit, and it's not fun at all.

Over a decade ago I found a very nice cotton suit jacket and matching pants the color of sand, deeply discounted at Banana Republic. I think I paid around $120 for both pieces, and I got more than enough use out of them over the years to justify the purchase. The lightweight fabric is a bit more forgiving in warmer weather, and the neutral shade gives you a chance to demonstrate your style with judicious use of bright color in your shirt and/or tie. (Incorporating bright colors in this way may not be the most appropriate choice for a job interview, but it depends on the situation; I did it once, and I got the job.)

Tomorrow: a few suggestions for you.

Couth Booth

Remember phone booths? Actually, depending on your age, maybe you don't: they were small box-like chambers made of glass and metal (or, even further back, wood) with a folding door. They had telephones inside that you used by depositing coins. There are still a few public pay phones around, but phone booths have largely disappeared.

I was thinking about this the other day, as I was stuck listening to one side of a deeply personal phone conversation about some very messy family issues* that, not very long ago, anyone with reasonable sense and dignity would have been much too embarrassed to conduct in a public place. (Side note: believe it or not, some people still don't have cell phones.)

The great thing about phone booths was that they enabled a modicum of privacy in public environments, so you didn't have to conduct your discussion of last night's booty call* or your most recent visit to your therapist* in full earshot of everyone around you.

So I humbly suggest: doesn't this seem like the perfect time to bring back phone booths? They don't even need to have phones in them, since everyone is already carrying a phone, so that would make them cheaper to build and install. Say you're walking down Boylston Street and your mother calls to ask how your pre-trial hearing* went. You could say, "Hold on a sec, Ma, I'm gonna step into this phone booth so I can tell you about it IN PRIVATE."

But of course, not everyone would be naturally inclined to do this, since it seems that many people have forgotten what "in private" means. Then how would people be encouraged to actually make use of them? I have an idea for that too: the phone companies could inhibit phone signals in most areas, but make them really strong inside the phone booths, making them the best spots to use cell phones.

But then we'd probably have to deal with people getting into fights over them.

And of course, this wouldn't solve the issue of having to listen to people have conversations while on the subway, either. Should the T enclose a couple of seats in each subway car?

(*All the examples I've cited above are actual, real conversations I have overheard in public places, including subway trains.)

Kid Wrangling

The whole Santa Cruz contingent is in town, including our infant niece, to attend a wedding. They arrived Thursday morning, and the nephews had expressed interest in going to the aquarium. When the Mrs. first told me about the plan to go yesterday, I thought she meant everyone was going, but I found out on Thursday that her intention was for us to take the boys, allowing their mother and stepdad to do other things that day.

It took me by surprise at first, but I didn't really have a problem with it. The boys are about to turn ten (in fact, turning ten tomorrow) and three months from being 13. In the past we would have hesitated to consider this kind of an outing, but they're old enough now, and in the past couple of years they have made a lot of progress in moderating their public behavior.

So yesterday morning we drove over to Harvard Square so I could purchase discount passes to the aquarium (a perk offered by my employer) and then out to Concord to pick them up where they are staying. They got some stern warnings about behavior from both mother and stepdad, but they know from experience that their aunt doesn't put up with any crap. Basically that's her job description: not taking crap from people for a living.

During the car ride they reenacted scenes from their favorite movies and YouTube clips, which kept them occupied most of the way into the city. When we were driving around the Greenway area, hoping to find a parking space, they got a little antsy, so we gave up and parked in a garage. We had warned them that it was chilly and windy, but the younger one insisted on wearing shorts. As we made our way along the waterfront from the garage, they got a taste of just how chilly it really was.

Our visit to the aquarium went just fine. In fact it lasted less than an hour, because both boys said they were bored. The penguins held their interest better than just about anything else. We had thought they would enjoy the museum of science more, but the aquarium had been specifically requested. Whatever; we were all hungry by then, so we went off in search of lunch.

Our original plan was to walk to the North End and go to Pizzeria Regina, but before we'd even made it across the Greenway, we realized that it was too cold to walk that far, so we detoured to the Quincy Market location. The boys devoured the pepperoni pizza quickly, declaring it good.

We drove back to our house, because we had to tend to the dog, and the boys wanted to see her. They also got an hour or so to indulge in the pleasure of the Cartoon Network, because while they are allowed to watch movies at home and have access to Netflix, they don't have any regular TV service.

When we got in the car to return them to their parental units, they started getting kind of aggressive toward each other. We sat in the driveway and waited it out. By the time we were on route 2 heading west, the older one had fallen asleep, possibly still jet-lagged, so the rest of the ride was quiet.

When we got to our destination, their stepdad said, "You didn't lose them? We would have paid you extra."

T Etiquette: School's in Session

I realize that some of you just arrived here a couple of weeks ago to start college. I was in the same situation, almost 30 years ago. And I doubt anyone else is going to tell you, so let me help you out:

You cannot sit on the steps of a Green Line train obliviously reading a book, especially during rush hour. One thing that you will notice very quickly is that people around here, especially the ones taking public transportation, are in a hurry. We want to get the hell home at the end of the day, and you are in the way.

By sitting there blocking the steps, you are slowing down the process of exiting and boarding the train. You are asking to get growled at, hit in the head with someone's backpack or purse, or flat-out pushed off the steps and out of the train. I don't care if all the seats are taken; suck it up and stand, like the rest of us. You probably didn't roll out of bed until 11 am today, anyway.

T Etiquette: Refresher Course

I guess the heat has boiled everyone's brains, because it seems like people have forgotten the basics of deportment while riding our transit system. So it's time for some remedial instruction (appropriate since it's summer, when those who have failed typically have to attend make-up classes):

To the guy leaning against the pole, pretending to be oblivious while noodling away on your iPhone: thanks so much for preventing four or five other riders from having something within comfortable arm's reach to hang onto. It's not as big a deal for me, because I'm tall and have long arms, but some of the shorter folks can't reach the horizontal bars or even the hanging straps, and anyway, being such a dick so early in the morning is just uncalled for.

And to the guy yesterday afternoon who had your backpack parked on the seat next to you (who, interestingly, kind of looked like the other guy): yeah, that's right, I stood in front of you and said "Is this yours?" in a loud voice while pointing at the bag, thereby shaming you into picking it up so I could sit down. It didn't seem to make a difference, though, because at the next stop the person sitting on the other side of you got off and you just slid it onto that seat. But then a stop later another person did basically the same thing I did and you were forced to hold the bag on your lap, like the rest of us manage to do. Poor you.

What's the Total, Please?

When you buy something at a store, does the cashier say the total amount of the purchase out loud to you? Do you think s/he should? At the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney, allow me to gripe for a moment.

I've always thought of this as Basic Cashier Protocol, so basic that it shouldn't even have to be covered in the training class, and during the many years when I worked behind a register, I always made sure to speak the amount to customers. But as our society gets lazier and stupider, apparently retail workers now feel that it's too strenuous to work those vocal cords for a few syllables.

Today I decided to go to the Stop & Shop near my office to get a banana and a yogurt for breakfast. I ended up getting a couple of other items, and while I sometimes make a rough tally of the total in my head, today I was thinking about something else while I was in the store and so didn't do the math.

The cashier scanned my items, and then (this is my favorite part of these asinine situations) stood there staring at me, waiting for me to hand over cash or make a move for the card reader. When this happens, I just stare back, waiting. If more than a few seconds go by, I then ask, "What's the total, please?" She finally looked over her shoulder at the screen and told me the amount. Hope that wasn't too much trouble for her.

I don't think it's unreasonable to expect that part of a cashier's job should be to look you in the eye and say "four dollars and forty cents" or whatever the amount happens to be in an audible voice. Hell, the self-checkout tells me the total out loud, but I'd actually prefer an interaction with a person. In my case, I can't see the readout on the screen from where I'm standing on the other side of the counter, which is the reason I want the cashier to tell me the amount.

I'm sure there are plenty of other shoppers--the elderly, others with visual impairments--who have difficulty seeing the numbers on those screens from several feet away, but that should be irrelevant. It should automatically be part of the process, because, well, act like you give a fuck. Really, it's no more complicated than that. Working retail sucks and we all know it, especially those of us who have had to do it. But regardless of what your job is, do it with dignity and in the process you dignify the job and yourself. Act like a witless slug, and that's what I'll think you are.