For those of you who weren’t there on Saturday, my brother told the most fantastic story I have heard about the WTC Disaster. Don’t worry. This one won’t be about carrying out handicapped people and no one dies.
So my brother’s friend’s father worked at the World Trade Center. Tuesday morning, the man’s wife was calling his office and his cell phone desperately trying to get through to her husband…to find out if he was alive or dead.
At some point during the late morning, she gets through to his cell. He nonchalantly answers. She frantically asks how he is and if he’s okay and where he is. He says of course he’s fine, he’s at work sitting at his desk.
What do you mean, you’re at your desk? How could you be at your desk? Your office building collapsed...
The question is, is it a relief to find out that your husband survived the WTC collapse because he was at a hotel with his mistress, or do you wish your cheating pig bastard husband burned slowly trapped in an elevator?
Maybe there was something in the air this morning besides the rain. It just seemed a little dumber out. It’s like everyone got up on the stupid side of the bed.
I lined up at the end of the street for the bus. One arrived as soon as I got there, but it was already stuffed to the gills. Usually, when this happens, the bus driver changes the sign on the front of the bus from the bus’s number and destination to “BUS FULL. TAKE NEXT BUS” or something like that. But this driver chose not to post it. Rather, he stopped to let off two people, which didn’t do much for the capacity, and then went into a four-minute explanation as to why we should take the next bus, which happened to be waiting in the small traffic jam that this bus had created. The girl in front of me was politely nodding and agreeing that it would be fine if we took the next bus. I, on the other hand, was waving my newspaper in a vain attempt to get this guy to keep going. Jesus. We could see that the bus was stuffed to the doors. It’s not like we had to discuss it.
Then the damn cord was stuck somewhere, so every time the driver of the bus I actually got on hit the brakes, the little “Stop Requested” voice would come on and the sign would light up. Since the Pentagon cloosterfook is still in effect, the bus drivers are all doing routes that they aren’t used to and don’t really know where all the stops are. So, since the sign kept lighting up, the driver stopped the bus every ten feet.
The metro was even more packed than usual. Local news channels and newspapers have been talking an enormous game about how much traffic is worse since the Tuesday and how much effort people are going to have to put into getting around it, so every schmuck in the area is on the train. Today was even more packed than usual, for some reason, and a full train went through the Pentagon City station without even stopping. I managed to get onto the second train, where I was stuffed between the pole and some young Abercrombie and Fitch patron who was standing on the train with his stuffed-to-capacity backpack still on his back. The damn thing was as big as a whole other person.
I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again: if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. The longer we allow these people to think the rules don’t apply to them, the longer the rest of us will be inconvenienced. I was a bit more reserved in today’s protest, however, merely leaning against the backpack rather than holding onto the pole, shoving into him with every train-jerk. He seemed confused as to why it was happening. I guess he didn’t notice everyone on the train breathing down each other’s necks.
Four people chose to ignore the Stand On the Right escalator rule. Women dragging wheeley suitcases walked through the station like it was a Sunday afternoon. I guess the “Let the Assholes Drive Today” theory that explains how bad drivers all seem to be out at the same time applies to mass transit too.