Trapped on the T

“Set the hand brake!!”

It was those immortal words that I heard shrieked over an intercom just one week ago. Last Friday evening I was part of the infamous crowd literally stuck in the tunnels of the MBTA’s Red Line between Central and Harvard.

At first no one panicked. It seemed like a routine stop. But after seeing both train conductors heave themselves from the front of the train to the caboose and back again, we knew something was amiss. And when I say heave, I’m not exaggerating – the trains were packed and the conductors weren’t petite.

Then we started to roll. In the wrong direction. As the conductor bellowed those immortal words… over and over again. “Set the hand brake! Set the hand brake!!”  Eventually our heroic conductors managed to stop the slow creep, and then the waiting began.  

Welcome to my commute!

Please keep in mind this was the day after a snake went missing on the very same line, so you can imagine how uplifting the conversation became.

“Well, I guess we’re about to become friendlier,” said a fellow passenger as he removed a few layers of his clothing (although the train’s engine wasn’t working, the heater certainly was – and it was hot!).

“I just hope Penelope isn’t on this train,” I said (half) jokingly to my new train-friends.

“Penelope?”

“Yeah, you know – the snake that went missing on the Red Line yesterday.”

Commence panic. Apparently no one on my train was a news junkie like yours truly and this was the first they had heard of the missing “pet.” And that’s when our delay turned into a study in archetypes.

Seated next to me was the fearful, uptight woman. The one who picked up her feet (just in case Penelope was slithering under her seat) and pressed me for detail after detail. “What is the MBTA doing about the snake? Do you think it could be on this train? If the snake got into the engine, could that be why we aren’t moving? Do you think it is poisonous?”

Standing diagonally in front of me was the angry, swearing hoodlum. You know the type – they get angrier and angrier the more powerless they feel in a situation. “What the ‘fudge’ is the problem? Why can’t these ‘iceholes’ fix this ‘mother-trucking’ train? ‘Jeebus’ – the T is full of ‘farging’ idiots! They better get me the ‘fudge’ of this train before I find that ‘mother-clucking’ snake!” 

Standing directly in front of me was the unprepared and distracted young male. In other words, the one who neglected to use the “facilities” before he left and couldn’t focus on anything else. At first he was fairly inconspicuous – standing with his legs crossed and taking deep breaths. Initially I thought he was trying not to flip out as a result of claustrophobia. Turns out his quiet demeanor, constant fidgeting, deep breaths and closed eyes signified intense concentration (“don’t pee on the train, don’t pee on the train, you can hold it, think of something other than running water”). After about 40 minutes he let us all in on his secret need when he abruptly stated: “If they don’t get this ‘G.D.’-train moving soon I’m gonna pee myself!”

Across the train were the dorky coeds – the ones who laugh a little too loudly at a stranger’s jokes, the ones who get into heated debates about the veracity of certain television shows, and the ones who will, undoubtedly, do something ridiculous like blog about their experience stuck on the train with a snake on the loose…

Oh. Point taken.

Wishing you an easy commute this evening!

~Sarah