Raise Two F-U Fingers High for The MBTA

Okay. So I’m a bus person. And a daily rider of Boston’s lovely fucking Orange and Red lines. For those of you who experience the MBTA on a daily basis, I thank you for your sympathy and return it to you ten fold. For those blessed enough to have avoided this fate, you are some lucky shits.

In my few short months as a MBTA commuter, I’ve experienced some shit. I’ve seen people making out and people pass out from the heat. I’ve enjoyed the peaceful sounds of wailing children at 8AM. I’ve been sandwiched between two of the largest people I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had someone’s ass in my face while their backpack literally rested on my damn shoulder.

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Quick heads up for you monsters who bring backpacks on the subway: Take them off and put them in between your legs. It takes the pressure off your back, leaves room for more of us in MBTA Hell to squeeze in and it prevents you from being a huge douche.

I’ve also seen shirtless women and a man rocking these bad boys.

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I’ve been semi-stalked and fully harassed. But nothing compares to what happened yesterday.

I was sitting on the Orange line on my way home, something I was thrilled about because I almost never get to sit on this particularly heinous leg of my journey. I was listening to Guster and reading Christopher Moore’s Fluke, when a group of rowdy little shits boarded.

They were yelling and pushing into people and being overall fucking obnoxious. I was doing fine until one of them started yelling about some stupid shit. At first I thought it was a joke, until they began pushing one another. Eventually one them took things a step further and pulled a knife. A fucking knife.

As I freaked the hell out internally, I continued to keep my eyes on my book and my finger on the trigger of my pepper spray.

As soon as the train stopped I got myself onto a new cart, sat down and felt the impact of what I had just witnessed wash over me. My legs began to shake, my fingers trembled and tears welled up just under my sunglasses.

I managed to get myself off the train reasonably well and walked until I saw Dan’s car where I proceeded to have a full blown anxiety attack. What fun. Especially for Dan. He’s there smiling waiting to take me home to our little fish, Luna, and I’m standing there bawling and yelling, “Can we just go home!” Not the ideal greeting to say the least.

Well he managed to calm down, wipe the snot from my face and stop my legs from incessantly shaking. We got crab rangoon and watched old episodes of Psych.  He even managed to make me laugh. He’s fucking brilliant like that.

There are lunatics everywhere. Every fucking where. Especially on the train. Especially in Boston. But I still love it. Even though it drives me nuts, occasionally leaves me exposed to the occasional knife fight and gives me stress and anxiety I sometimes can’t bear. There are still adorable old married couples and even the rare well-behaved cute child. This is the crazy but beautiful life I signed up for. Besides, there are too fucking many interesting people that need watching, so I can’t give up now.

And when things get really bad, there’s always Dan, Chinese food and perfect TV shows that got cancelled way before their prime had passed.

R.I.P Psych

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