Dec 18 2003
First In Flight
I try so hard to be good. I really do. Possibly the problem is I can’t actually tell the difference between the two, and this gets in the way of any real success. Anyway:
In an attempt to be responsible since I am a) underemployed (almost chronically, at this point); and 2) technically an adult, I decided to take BART to the airport instead of a cab. The fact that it was preceded by a haircut and two hours of shopping at Vickie’s and Sephora and Lush is irrelevant.
So, carrying my purchases and impeccably coiffed for a change (underemployment leads to underachievement in grooming on the whole), I descended into the bowels of BART, and into Hell.
In my innocence, I tried to charge the $4.70 it takes to get to SFO. BART machines will only do credit card transactions for $20 and up, the scam artists that they are. Though the booths are manned, the people manning the booths will not give you change. Why they are there at all I couldn’t tell you. The change machines will only change $20’s, and they will not give you coins. I didn’t have the exact change, so I ended up spending $5 for the ticket and being totally ripped off for 30 cents.
I was incensed, and yes, I realize that someone who spends that much on her hair and underwear shouldn’t get so upset about 30 cents, but again: not the point. The point is that they deliberately stole that 30 cents and you can just tell they make a career of it. Also, no-one gave in to me to fix it, and that is always unacceptable. On top of everything else, public transit. PUBLIC FUCKING TRANSIT, OK? And I haven’t even discussed the smell and all those other people.
So the train finally shows, thinking it’s fashionably late when it’s actually just rude for making everyone wait so long. Two stops into the whole ordeal, train appears to give into the despair I am feeling, and sits dejectedly at the platform. Finally, there’s an announcement that there’s been a damn earthquake again, and they have to make sure everything is OK before letting us go on (even though quake was in Oakland, miles and miles away, and teeny, like the late and notoriously petite Herve Villechaize). Why it couldn’t have waited until I was off BART, I don’t know. Earthquakes are so self-centered it’s really shocking. Sat there listening to Wilco and thinking evil thoughts for an eternity, alternating with thinking of a cab, any cab, with the longing usually reserved for dinner at the French Laundry or a frosty bottle of vintage Cristal.
Finally pull thoughts away from Self and realize this also means I might get to the airport after Beth & Ben emerge from Customs and they would wonder. I have never yet failed to meet someone at the airport when I said I would (even though no-one ever meets me at the airport. Ever). Try to call Beth’s cell phone to tell her I might be late. No service for my cell phone in the deep, dark Hell of BART. But then, what else can you expect? I mean, it *is* HELL, after all, even if they try to disguise this fact by calling it BART.
Finally get the all clear, and as Elvis Costello would say, things got back to normal and the train began to roll again. Get to the airport approximately the same time flight is scheduled to arrive. Even though BART arrives at the international terminal, (which I can never find and always have to ask directions to at least twice every time I’m looking for it), still can’t find the arrivals hall, and yes, have to ask where it is. Turns it out it was only down one escalator, but guy took me there personally, undoubtedly feeling I was too stupid to be trusted on an escalator.
Get to the arrivals hall to discover flight is in fact, delayed, meaning more boredom for poor, beleaguered Suzy, and the boredom quota for today had loooong ago been reached. Beth & Ben finally turn up. I spend $40 on cabfare to get us home in heavy traffic, but the horror of the whole day is immediately redeemed:
Megan has agreed to go to Blackalicious with me tonight!!! But they’re playing in Sacramento and the show starts at 10 pm so we’ll have to stay overnight, but Blackalicious! We’ll have to stay overnight since it will be late when the show is over and it won’t be at the Sacramento equivalent of the Drake.
Also it could be considered rude to ditch your relatives on their second night in your home, but: Blackalicious, baby! And I did ask both B’s if they’d care to accompany us on this intellectual outing and they declined, so I’m not completely without manners. Just almost.
Did I mention Blackalicious?
3 Responses to “First In Flight”
Never ever ask me about public transport in South Africa as you would think I live in darkest Africa and not a well structured civilised country which we claim to be.
You survived the trip at least and on time – that is a good thing, isn’t it? At least its behind you now and you can enjoy the time with your sister.
I think your post pretty much sums up most of the reasons I’d never live in a big city. Hahaha. That SUCKS. And there really is not much more demeaning than public transit.
Oy. But – at least you have a mostly functional transit system which is better than a bus that comes every 1.63 hours and only goes to your stop on the 3rd Tuesday of months ending in ‘y’ which is what I’ve got over here.