DISCLAIMER: If you are my mother (or my mother-in-law), just stop reading. You will not like what is about to follow. Because although I am extremely thankful to take the Boston Subway (or MBTA, fondly known as “the T”) to work, I often encounter grimy-ness that can only be described as odious. Being squished up against strangers during rush hour, smelling their coffee breath, dodging their up-close and personal sneezes… it’s all a little stomach-wrenching. Especially in the wee hours of the morning. Actually, its equally as sick in the evening, too.
To be completely honest, I am thankful to live in a walking, community-oriented city that provides public transportation for its inhabitants. It’s a wild world out there (cue Cat Stevens jam), and we are all just trying to find our way. Mostly to work, but occasionally our way also leads us to a new restaurant. Or bowling alley. I promise I’m not as grandmotherly as I sound (although, I have yet to gush about my new crochet project. Details to come.)
My personal work journey involves walking about 6 minutes to the T, taking two trains (red line, switch to the green line) and then walking about 6 more minutes to my office. Haymarket is one of my favorite stops, not necessarily because it leads me to my office, but it is also the stop that takes you to Boston’s historic Italian North End (to-die-for cannolis anyone?)
Hailing from Atlanta, where public transportation is only used by criminals (sorry MARTA), the initial thought of taking the subway to work just made laugh. With ironic glee. In Atlanta, my husband and I each had our own cars and frequently drove hundreds of miles per week. Just for life stuff. Church, family, work. In Georgia that’s just the norm. My new norm? I exist within about a 4-mile radius. And I never leave it. I have to attribute most of that to the MBTA. So as much as I complain about the T and its germ-laden handle bars, I am secretly relishing the city-girl lifestyle it provides me. And the lack of a car payment and insurance. Oh, and gas prices. I have stopped paying attention to gas prices. Don't cry, car owners.