Out of town.... In Dayton!

Hey, kids! Sorry I've been out of touch! I have been out of town trying to wrap up my long-aborning higher education. I have been in DAYTON! Where the bus system, while usually on time, can be even more exasperating! I have walked home (about a half mile) three times so far after missing the last bus. I have missed the bus several times because they have come earlier than the schedule listed. The bus depot downtown, built just a couple of years ago, is like the bazaar of a decaying middle eastern town, full of crazy folk, ex-cons, current cons, homeless, and just average folk like me trying to brave the Rust Belt Jungle to get home safe just one more night. Plusses of the Dayton Regional Transit Authority: It has the town pretty well covered. I runs later than COTA, and this on more than one line. It runs later on Sundays, allowing people to be out until at least 11 P.M. if they need to be (COTA, are you listening?). It has computerized timetable displays that let you know when the next bus is (or isn't) coming, and heated waiting areas at the downtown bus depot. You are well advised to keep your valuables close and hidden when forced to change buses though. It appears I've gotten a few look-sees on this blog, but no comments. Please do! I was in Columbus over the Thanksgiving holiday and I rode COTA a couple of times. I had the misfortune of boarding around 3:30 P.M., the Saturday of the OSU-Michigan game. It took over half-an-hour to go from South Campus Gateway to Lane Avenue. But I can't blame COTA for that. Once we got through that human morass, things sailed fairly smoothly. I even thanked the driver (instead of cursing him under my breath)for his fortitude in dealing with post-game traffic. I hope to return to central Ohio in the spring, and most likely, I'll still not be able to afford a car, so it will be back to bitching about COTA.

STRIKE!!!

Day Two of the Great COTA Strike of 2012, and I will have some thoughts about this very soon. I live in Clintonville, where much of the neighborhood still is without power five days after El Derecho blew threw town, turning lives and trees upside down....

New Bike Racks Are, well... RACKED!!!

I had the unpleasant experience the other day of using one of the new bike racks on the downtown-bound #16 Long Street local, which I boarded somewhere in the wilds between Gateway East and Easton. They're black and yellow (damn, yellow again!--see previous post), and made of heavy plastic. They're a real pain in the ass--bulkier, heavier than the previous aluminum models. The yellow handles that hold the bike in place are difficult to dislodge from their magnetized mounts. When I used them the first time, the handlebars of my bike became entangled with the bus windshield wiper during my effort to wrest the holder from its mount. It takes longer to fuck with, and it's sure to increase the ire of passengers already pissed off because the biker takes too long to get the bike on the rack and get on the bus. I estimate it took me an extra 30 to 40 seconds to secure my bike on the rack. Thirty seconds on a behind-schedule COTA bus can make the difference between missing a connection and getting to work on time--not to mention saving oneself from the icy glare of passengers (many of whom I am convinced secretly hate bikers!)--and being late for the umpteenth time. Some things in life just should not be messed with--including the light-weight, easy-to-handle aluminum bike racks that are one of the brainier ideas COTA ever devised. Are you listening, COTA?

Sociopaths Ride Among Us

It never ceases to amaze me the level of sociopathological behavior on ample display on our society--although at my age, it shouldn't. From the halls of Congress, where idgit-brained lawmakers posit the most outlandish and destructive behaviors and actions, to our entertainment industry where it seems the sociopath as star is de rigeur, right down to our bus system here in li'l ol' C-bus town.

Just last week, I had just sat down at the back of the bus, around 6 A.M., full of peace and goodwill toward men. Sitting in the corner seat nearby was a big, burly guy in a rubber duck-yellow hoodie, glowering. Normally, I steer clear of such person's "space" and this time certainly was no exception. Twenty years of living in New York City made me pretty adept at giving people their "space." The driver stops at a Clintonville stop, and Hoodie shouts out: "I'm getting off!" But the bus lurches forward and begins its drive away from the stop. Wanting to assist, I yell out: "Someone's trying to get off!" The dude, by now at the back door, turns his head toward me and exclaims, "Shut the fuck up! I don't need nobody speakin' for me, muthafuckah! Don't tell 'im to let me off; I can speak for my own damn self!"

Needless to say, I was taken aback that my small effort toward helping was rejected. As he leaves the back door, he continues to glare at me and begins with the menacing body language--stepping away from the door as if he were going to come after me, stepping toward the door to exit, trying to make me edgy.

"Just keep walkin'," I mutter under my breath, possibly as a prayer of sorts that he would indeed keep walkin' and spare me the specter of a busted face.

"What'd the fuck you say?! C'mon! Right now!," he shouts, making moves toward me. No one on the bus is saying or doing anything to prevent the potential bloodletting about to ensue, least of all, the driver.

"I said, 'Have a nice day,'" I say.

Pointing, and pointedly, he yells, about to leave the bus: "I'll be seeing you some morning, muthafuckah!"

"I'll pray for you," I say, as the bus moves slowly moves away, while he continues from the sidewalk to glare at me, hoping to lock me in a death-stare, and thereby justifying his beating the shit out of me.

I ignore him--just like the driver and other passengers who witnessed the exchange. Fortunately, for me the cops'll probably grab his ass before he grabs mine, with an attitude like that. Maybe it was the hoodie that put him in an aggressive mood; no grown man should ever be caught wearing that bright shade of yellow (unless of course, you're a drag queen). Maybe the sheer brightness of that color blinded him to act with any sense of common civility (not that civility is very common in Amerikkka these daze). But I doubt it. That's just the way he approaches life--mean, nasty, confrontational, lookin' for a fight.

I've been on a roll tonight. I guess there's something about being caterwauled head-first over the seat in front of you that jogs the mind and loosens up those creative juices. Just wanted to note that this is my first-ever blog, and there are technical things with which I am unfamiliar. I hope to get someone with a little more experience with blogs to help me work out the kinks, and teach me things about blogging. I almost lost all of my posts tonight--for some reason I have yet to understand. So bear with me. I'm also hoping I can somehow drop blogspot from the URL so I can be listed right up there with the COTA website. That way I can make some noise, get some readers, and best of all, comments with their own experiences on our wild and wacky public transit system!

COTA's New Ad Slogan

It's "Forward with Columbus." Guess it's s'posed to be COTA's nod to this year's city bicentennial. I've got a few ideas though. How's about replacing "Central Ohio Transit Authority" with the more-accurate "Central Ohio Tardy Authority? Or how 'bout this for a catchy slogan: "COTA--We'll get you there when we fucking feel like it!"

Did You Know...?

...that if the bus is late because of a ramp malfunction (as happened to me on the southbound No. 2 a few weeks ago, causing me to be 45 minutes late for work), that you cannot get an official excuse from COTA because it is "ADA-related." Yes, it's true. I called and asked that they send a letter to my employer documenting exactly why I was late--and the request was refused for this very reason. The bus was late because the driver could not get the wheelchair ramp to work correctly, leaving a crippled guy without a ride, and dozens of other commuters late for work. Ain't that a hump?