An Open Letter to Public Transit...

...and some morning commute observations.

I've been doing a reverse commute to Jersey lately...looks like it may become a permanent thing, temporarily. Complicated. What isn't? Who cares, I'm happy.

Anyway, this reverse commute. I've done it three days now. Up at 5:20...out the door by 6:55, train to the bus, hello Jersey. I've made morning commute friends: I have the two paper guys near Port Authority, we talk about the weather, converse quickly ("How was your weekend/Mine was fabulous and yours?/Fabulous? Really?/Of course! If it's not fabulous it wasn't worth having"), I am showered with blessings from God and sent on my way with two papers: Metro and AM New York.

I arrive at Port Authority. Originally I had decided the Upper West Side was where dreams go to die, but I've since had to retract that statement. The Port Authority Bust Terminal is where dreams go to die. I am the obnoxiously cheery commuter. Everyone else carries their coffee in front of them, like a navigational beacon, I chat happily on the phone to various friends who are also awake. Or at least, they are now, because I called. There is nowhere to sit at Port Authority, nothing is open when I'm there (in case I wanted to shop at 'Strawberry'...which I don't, so perhaps this is a win-win?).

I get on the bus. This morning my 'gross New Jersey boyfriend' seems to have succumbed to one of three fates: a) he's missed the bus, b) he didn't work last night, c) he didn't party last night. His name only comes from the fact that he gets on the bus with me in the morning with bloodshot eyes, I mean, its worse than that. He's a wreck. And then he proceeds to stare at me nonstop for the duration of my ride. He doesn't blink. I think his eyes are too dry to shut. I grabbed extra papers for him this morning, with the intent to give him a set and tell him he could look at them instead. Alas, he's not around, and I find myself in the midst of a gaggle of weathered, old, possibly alcoholic Jersey grandpa's. They're all wearing more or less the same outfit: grey wool coat, black wool hat, grey stubble. Skin tones that aren't quite alive, but definitely not dead. And they're all doughy. None of this is bad, its characteristic, and it's noteworthy -because they all look the same.

I love everything about my commute (especially the Port Authority Pigeon-pictured above-whom I found happily wandering the BACK of the terminal.) Except the bus to Jersey.

Dear New Jersey Transit Bus System:

Is there ANY possible way you could be less efficient? We are fine in the morning, aside from the fact that you failed to stop at my stop today (half my bad, I didn't know I had to REQUEST a stop that is on the route, oh wait, no, you're just silly). In the evening though...you are late. Chronically late. And not a little...you are always 20 minutes late and it is cold and no matter how many pairs of socks I wear nor the presence of 'winter leggings' under my jeans will ameliorate this. Furthermore, it was my understanding that a bus stops at each stop dictated on the bus schedule. NJTransit. Really? Really must I FLAG DOWN THE BUS LIKE A CAB? I rest my case, I'll see you tomorrow, we'll try this again...

And now to bed. For a 5:20 wake up. Oh please let me sleep tonight...