Ridin’ That Train… High On Methane…

Some people who blog in Boston do little else but bitch about the T. I have refrained thus far, as I only ride the detestable subway when it gets cold outside. But baby – it’s cold outside. So as it happens, I have a gripping tale of lust, agony and deceit to share with you from this morning’s commute. Translation: strange smells, mental illness and filth. Or ‘business as usual’ as most regular riders would agree.

Look – and I shouldn’t have to come out and say this – please don’t break wind on the T. Unless you have a syndrome of some kind or a severe digestive dilemma – there’s just no excuse for it. No one has ever had to bust ass so badly that they can’t hold it for a few stops. When I walked onto the train at Haymarket this morning, the warm, slimy gust of methane that greeted my sinuses made me feel like I was stepping into a cattle car for a 3 day ride to a gulag somewhere. It smelt like a goddamn pig farm – who are you people? Here’s an idea, save a cork from your next vino purchase and plug yourself up anytime you need to leave the house. Oh, and my new Nextel makes a loud fart sound whenever someone texts me. In that context, it’s perfectly acceptable.

After I found a spot leaning against the wall, a small man with a beard and glasses loudly slapped the wall beside where he was sitting, got up and rushed of the train just as the doors closed. Maybe that’s some kind of OCD, maybe he was high-fiving the car due to an impressive travel time or maybe it was even a little fresh with him. I really can’t say. But I will say this – find him and lock him up immediately. To my left was a scrawny, herion addicted looking chap with a Great Gatsby hat, beard and so many earrings that I felt a sudden need to inventory my tackle box when I get home tonight. He was drawing a floorplan in a small notebook and when the train stopped at Park Street, he started cursing and waving his hand up and down. Then he turned to the horrified woman beside him, smiled and asked to get past her. Needless to say, she obliged. Then he stepped off the train and broke back into his cussin’ and blindin’ as he walked along the side of it. I have to assume that the floorplan was actually a few ideas on how to feng shui his padded cell when his day pass expires at 4 p.m. today.

Then, before we could pull out of Park Street, the T driver got up suddenly, came out from behind her curtain like the Wizard of Oz, looked at the car full of people, said something unintelligible and then walked off – only to be replaced by 2 MBTA cops. They surveyed the crowd, talked to a few people and stayed on board until the hysterical driver returned 3 or 4 minutes later. Did she think she’d spotted a suspected terrorist in her rear view? Can you guess why the cops didn’t stop to talk to me? I was a little insulted as I like to think I look rather ominous when wearing my Triple Fat Goose jacket and Trailer Park Boys toque. Please be gentle and don’t ruin that for me. It’s all I have.