Transportation Woes Part II
Sorry for the horrendous delay in Part II of this blog post, that was poor blogging etiquette. If you haven’t read Part I, please do, I think Part II will be significantly more entertaining if you have background knowledge.
This was the first time I think I have ever felt like a tourist in the city I’ve lived in my whole life. The differences once on the Amtrak were endless,
- it was clean, I mean really clean. I was eating a roll, and picked up the crumbs afterwards. On the L, any scraps of food I left could only help cover up the smell that periodically filled the cars.
- I didn’t have to check my seat before sitting down and after sitting down I didn’t jump up and feel the seat of my pants to make sure they weren’t wet (sounds gross, but for real… take the L for a couple of months in Chicago and you’ll see).
- There was a woman who walked down the aisle selling treats. A) this was legal, as opposed to some of the solicitors on the L. B) She was selling treats, rather than a pitty story about how she couldn’t get a job.. (that sounded so horribly jaded, but I cared SO MUCH for the first 2 million people in downtown who asked me for money, I HAD to desensitize myself if I wanted to survive my commute.. seriously, I’m not just a jerk).
- No one told me I was going to hell if I didn’t repent of my sins.
- The list goes on….
But feeling like a tourist didn’t really have to do with being ON the train, it was more of the process of getting TO the train. First off, I thought the Amtrak worked like the Metra does. For those of you not from Chicago, that sentence may as well have been written in German. Here’s what I mean. When riding the Metra in Chicago, one has to show up about 10-15 minutes early, maybe 20 if it’s rush hour in order to stand in line at the ticket counter and get a ticket. Once the ticket is bought, it’s a two minute walk to the train, and you’re good. Regular riders have a monthly or weekly pass that just gets stamped once they’re on the train, so really only need to show up 5 minutes early to make sure they don’t miss it (a metra only comes about once an hour, if that frequently). If you are really late showing up for the metra, a ticket can be bought on the train, but it’s an additional $2 or something like that. So, I thought the Amtrak was the same.
Little did I know, ticket buying and Amtrak riding is more like being at the airport. As I go through my Amtrak experience, I will signify those things that I’m sure made all the regular riders around me roll their eyes in annoyance, as I do to all the fake cub fans who couldn’t possible be wearing more blue. Because I didn’t know how long it would take me to get to the train, I gave myself extra time, that was pure luck. Once there, I saw a line that resembled that of American Airlines. I gawked in amazement as people checked baggage, wondering if I was in the right place. When the teller asked me which stop in Milwaukee I was going to, I responded “there’s more than one?” (eye roll time.) After getting a ticket, I walked with a dazed and confused look on my face in the direction she had to point me in (eye roll) until I found a line at the gate (yup, like an airport) she said was mine. The line was by a sign that said gates A and B, so I innocently asked which train this was a line for. At that, I actually got an eye roll, because apparently there’s never been a time in history that both A and B have been used at the same time, and I should have miraculously KNOWN of course this was the right line.
I couldn’t figure out during the 10-15 minutes I was in line why some people got in line, and why some just walked past and sat in the seating area. I thought, “Do these people not care if they get a good seat? Or are they first class? (eye roll at myself in retrospect, there’s definitely no first class). Little did I know, that those people were the seasoned Amtrak riders. When the line started moving, I realized there really was no line—they just joined as they pleased and all of us suckers who stood for fifteen minutes still had to stand behind them. I’d be annoyed except I can TOTALLY understand wanting to pass all of the passengers who don’t know the ins and outs of your preferred mode of transportation.
At some point in this “line” process, the line dissolved completely and people picked up the pace walking towards the train. I could feel the rush of “I’m not getting stuck in the last seat” and I picked up the pace with them. As we walked down the platform, I quickly tried to morph into someone who knew where they were going to not miss the good seats. I followed the people who weaved in between traffic because I could tell they were the most seasoned of us all. Then it occurred to me. I’d been thinking so much during this process about the fact that I looked like those people on the L who didn’t have the common sense to read the map and figure it out. I’d been thinking about tourists and this city and how you can totally tell who is a regular and who isn’t. But it hit me as the pace picked up. I could feel the energy, we were all practically racing to the train doors for no particular reason (it wasn’t going to leave for another 10 or so minutes). The competition was there, the aggression was there. At that point I knew that, at least the people in my area at the time, whether bus or L or Amtrak or Metra…. we were for SURE all from Chicago.
This was the first time I think I have ever felt like a tourist in the city I’ve lived in my whole life. The differences once on the Amtrak were endless,
- it was clean, I mean really clean. I was eating a roll, and picked up the crumbs afterwards. On the L, any scraps of food I left could only help cover up the smell that periodically filled the cars.
- I didn’t have to check my seat before sitting down and after sitting down I didn’t jump up and feel the seat of my pants to make sure they weren’t wet (sounds gross, but for real… take the L for a couple of months in Chicago and you’ll see).
- There was a woman who walked down the aisle selling treats. A) this was legal, as opposed to some of the solicitors on the L. B) She was selling treats, rather than a pitty story about how she couldn’t get a job.. (that sounded so horribly jaded, but I cared SO MUCH for the first 2 million people in downtown who asked me for money, I HAD to desensitize myself if I wanted to survive my commute.. seriously, I’m not just a jerk).
- No one told me I was going to hell if I didn’t repent of my sins.
- The list goes on….
But feeling like a tourist didn’t really have to do with being ON the train, it was more of the process of getting TO the train. First off, I thought the Amtrak worked like the Metra does. For those of you not from Chicago, that sentence may as well have been written in German. Here’s what I mean. When riding the Metra in Chicago, one has to show up about 10-15 minutes early, maybe 20 if it’s rush hour in order to stand in line at the ticket counter and get a ticket. Once the ticket is bought, it’s a two minute walk to the train, and you’re good. Regular riders have a monthly or weekly pass that just gets stamped once they’re on the train, so really only need to show up 5 minutes early to make sure they don’t miss it (a metra only comes about once an hour, if that frequently). If you are really late showing up for the metra, a ticket can be bought on the train, but it’s an additional $2 or something like that. So, I thought the Amtrak was the same.
Little did I know, ticket buying and Amtrak riding is more like being at the airport. As I go through my Amtrak experience, I will signify those things that I’m sure made all the regular riders around me roll their eyes in annoyance, as I do to all the fake cub fans who couldn’t possible be wearing more blue. Because I didn’t know how long it would take me to get to the train, I gave myself extra time, that was pure luck. Once there, I saw a line that resembled that of American Airlines. I gawked in amazement as people checked baggage, wondering if I was in the right place. When the teller asked me which stop in Milwaukee I was going to, I responded “there’s more than one?” (eye roll time.) After getting a ticket, I walked with a dazed and confused look on my face in the direction she had to point me in (eye roll) until I found a line at the gate (yup, like an airport) she said was mine. The line was by a sign that said gates A and B, so I innocently asked which train this was a line for. At that, I actually got an eye roll, because apparently there’s never been a time in history that both A and B have been used at the same time, and I should have miraculously KNOWN of course this was the right line.
I couldn’t figure out during the 10-15 minutes I was in line why some people got in line, and why some just walked past and sat in the seating area. I thought, “Do these people not care if they get a good seat? Or are they first class? (eye roll at myself in retrospect, there’s definitely no first class). Little did I know, that those people were the seasoned Amtrak riders. When the line started moving, I realized there really was no line—they just joined as they pleased and all of us suckers who stood for fifteen minutes still had to stand behind them. I’d be annoyed except I can TOTALLY understand wanting to pass all of the passengers who don’t know the ins and outs of your preferred mode of transportation.
At some point in this “line” process, the line dissolved completely and people picked up the pace walking towards the train. I could feel the rush of “I’m not getting stuck in the last seat” and I picked up the pace with them. As we walked down the platform, I quickly tried to morph into someone who knew where they were going to not miss the good seats. I followed the people who weaved in between traffic because I could tell they were the most seasoned of us all. Then it occurred to me. I’d been thinking so much during this process about the fact that I looked like those people on the L who didn’t have the common sense to read the map and figure it out. I’d been thinking about tourists and this city and how you can totally tell who is a regular and who isn’t. But it hit me as the pace picked up. I could feel the energy, we were all practically racing to the train doors for no particular reason (it wasn’t going to leave for another 10 or so minutes). The competition was there, the aggression was there. At that point I knew that, at least the people in my area at the time, whether bus or L or Amtrak or Metra…. we were for SURE all from Chicago.
Comments
KZ