Open Letter to … Oh, Who Cares

To Whom It Does Not Apparently Concern,

I know that no public transportation system is perfect. Things happen. Trains break down or even get stuck on the tracks in the “narrows” between Draper and Lehi like the southbound train did this evening. I don’t even know how that kind of a thing happens, but I’d like to understand why it did. Because seriously, if trains were running every hour southbound all day without incident, I wonder what happened. Was there a snowdrift? Could the train’s momentum not push through a snowdrift? I guess I could just jump onto a news website and find out what happened, but it’s so much more fun right now to vent.

The conductor did say that “bus bridges” would pick us up from the Draper station and drop us off at the stops farther south. I was fine with waiting at the stop, because I texted the situation to my husband, and he offered to pick me up.

I was fine waiting in the warm train, away from the frigid air, until the conductor announced (and apologized) that the train would have to go back north. He said that everyone would have to get off the train and wait for the bus bridges. I even bundled up and felt prepared to wait in the cold. Somewhere between zero and ten degrees Fahrenheit. Reilly found the address to the station online, and he texted me that he would pick me up soon.

That text came at 5:44pm. We got kicked off the train at 5:58. Draper’s not that far away from Orem, and northbound rush hour traffic isn’t as busy as southbound, so I guessed Reilly would arrive in about 20-25 minutes, which meant 6:05-6:10.

The wait went beyond that range of expectation, which means that I got that much colder for every minute that I waited past 6:10. I was perfectly cozy in my many layers before then. And then somehow my toes froze inside my insulated boots, which means the insulation worked the wrong way.

So Reilly didn’t get to the Draper Frontrunner station until 6:27, which means it took him 43 minutes from Orem. The station looks to be quite in the middle of nowhere, and I wondered if people who’ve never been to the station could easily find it. The answer is easily no.

Thing is, dear Emersonian eyeball of public transportation: Just because you name a road “Frontrunner Boulevard” doesn’t mean the Frontrunner Station is automatically easy to find. Online, the station location is 12800 S 500 W, but the street names do not follow this grid address system near the station. That extra 17 minutes in the cold really isn’t anything to whine about, but if public transit in Utah is to be efficient and comprehensive:

  • Mark Frontrunner (and bus) stations with signs at the freeway exits
  • Use signs en route (from the freeway exit) to clearly direct public transport commuters to Frontrunner stations
  • Provide better online maps/links for Frontrunner station locations
  • Update the website immediately with alerts or route changes

It could have been worse, definitely, but no one should get lost looking for a Frontrunner station, especially if so many people rely on Frontrunner to get to and from work, and especially if another situation like today happens and people don’t want to keep their friends and lovers cryogenicizing out in Siberia because uncoordinated or lacking streets signs have caused the station to David Copperfield. Poof.

Things could be worse. I could be in Florida, stuck on Blanding Boulevard or the Buckman Bridge. I could be in Manhattan, in a Zipcar on the Westside Highway on the Friday before Labor Day.

But things are better now. My feet are warm again, and I can feel my toes.

So, I guess as long as the mercury doesn’t freeze, there will always appear to be a silver lining.

Thanks for letting me vent,

May

Man, This Day

This time last year I was in Australia. Becky, Karl and I spent the weekend in the Blue Mountains (after Karl voted in the Prime Minister election), then I spent the last four days of my visit doing really low-key things, like watching wonderful Australian television and having really nice dinners. My prospective boss and I exchanged a couple emails about scheduling an interview for the Friday before school starts, and my flight would arrive at Salt Lake City from Los Angeles Thursday close to midnight. If I remember correctly, we arranged an afternoon interview so that I could sleep a little. I don’t remember sleeping that much. Which is nothing new.

The rest is a bit blurry. I don’t remember buying books or other supplies; and I don’t really remember the first week of school. I totally blame jetlag.

Today feels crowded. Students are back to take over their campus. They look so . . . I shouldn’t say. I like an empty campus. I like solitude. I like small groups.

I’m just cranky. Campus is crowded and I don’t feel like sharing it. Only a week left before classes start, and I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed, but that’s the way it goes every time. I’m just going to keep enjoying the quiet walks in the morning to work. I’m going to keep watching people and wondering what their stories are. I’m going to keep being a good friend. I’m going to keep listening and trying as hard as I can to understand.

I’m going to keep my peace.

From My Window Last Night

In Provo, we celebrated pretend 4th of July on the 2nd of July. I don’t feel like explaining why the big party couldn’t be on real 4th of July. There’s a big event called the Stadium of Fire, and big guest stars show up and sing then fireworks go boom in the sky and it’s apparently a lot of fun.

I think this is my first time in Provo during the 4th of July. Maybe I was here sometime in the 90s, but I honestly can’t remember that far back without pulling my cerebral cortex.

Anyway, everyone was off doing something, and I have a pretty good view from my bedroom window, so I turned off my light and waited for the show to begin. I didn’t get to hear any of the accompanying music – I do like patriotic music – but I also missed the performances of David Archuleta and Brad Paisley. I’m sort of bummed about Brad Paisley. Dude can play a guitar.

The fireworks lasted about 20 minutes, and here are the last 3 minutes or so. What I like about pretend 4th of July is that I get to see a lot more fireworks shows on real 4th of July. And I’ll keep remembering all the ways America is awesome before returning to feeling that a lot of Americans are not awesome. That kind of blind patriotism doesn’t only apply to America; I saw it in Africa, too, but mostly among the kids, but they were kids, and we don’t have any excuse, really, because it’s not just our kids who are acting like that. I’m not absolving the adults from being lousy examples to their kids, because they’re adults and they should understand their responsibility to bring up children to be healthy thinkers and honest and community members and not zealots who base their decisions on fallacy and ignorance. I’m not knocking gratitude or democracy or a lot of the things that make America a great country, because America is wonderful. Keep being grateful, but just stop being stupid. You know who you are.

Four Photos

I made Becky take some photos of me before the pretty party. Note two major seldom occurrences: Curled hair and stilettos. This may not happen in this combination again for at least another year. Kind of like the conjunction of the moon, Venus and Jupiter from two weeks ago. Or like last night’s proximity of the moon to the earth. Did y’all know about the largest full moon of the year last night? It was like a floodlight or the one beam from the mothership ready to take me up. The roof of the pretty party was the perfect romantic setting, cold enough to have some dashing man remove his tuxedo jacket to keep me warm and then embrace me from behind while we gaze at the moon and then into each other’s eyes, our heads, like orbs around a star, gravitating toward a midpoint as a winter’s heavenly kiss. No such thing happened, though. I don’t know why, because wouldn’t you want to smooch the lady below? Click on the photos for the closeup. At your own risk, of course.