an open letter to Metro

Commuting on 405 is harder than it should be

A comment like “commuting on 405 is herder than it should be” is not exactly original. One does not have to burn the midnight oil to come up with such a thought. All one must do is commute on 405 for a couple of days and it becomes clear. One should not commute on 405 unless it is essential to the survival of democracy.

Well, for 6 weeks I have been commuting on 405. I took a temp assignment until school started and it went well on the professional end, the people I worked with were a great group, but I would need to move before taking a permanent job with them. Clearly, this does not meet the “save the free world” threshold. In and of itself, this is no big deal. I got through the commuting as best I could and moved on. But there is something that happens that merits a comment, some ranting, and an open letter. Hence the following story which will function as an open letter of sorts.

Dear Metro Bus Driver on Route 342:

A man gets to the park and ride. He is a good five minutes early. Buses are never early, and since we are not telling a story of Mussolini’s Italy where everything ran on time or the drivers were shot, he feels safe. His stop is actually across the street from the park and ride and he and many other riders park on one side and get dropped off later that day on the parking side of the street. He walks to the corner and waits to cross. He waits. He sees his bus one light down. He sees the bus stop at the stop down the street. He sees the bus approaching. His light has still not changed. He has been standing at the corner of 73rd Avenue and Bothell Way for almost five minutes. He waves at the bus driver who appears to see him as the bus approaches. The light finally turns yellow, but the bus runs the light at it turns red. He still doesn’t get to cross due to a green turn arrow. The riders on the other side load onto the bus. The green arrow turns red and the walk signal finally comes, almost 6 minutes of waiting. The bus pulls away as he steps into the street to cross. The man swears loudly. The smoking hot espresso stand girls nearby look up. Drivers at the red life chuckle at the man.

Perhaps he can take the next bus? No. The next bus is not for half and hour. The man must rush to his car and drive to the next park and ride up the line. His morning has just become much more frantic than necessary and the bus driver knew he was coming. It happens two more times over the coming weeks. The man learns that arriving early for a bus that is late does not matter when one is in needs of crossing a very, very busy street that has a light that lasts longer than the fame of reality television stars.

Later that day the man must remember to get off at the correct stop, but does not, and ends up having to ride more than one bus to get back to the correct park and ride. The man swears again, not at the heavens this time, but at the ghost of Mussolini.

Sincerely,

Jefferson