The I-95 Girard Avenue Interchange Project has put the SEPTA 15 trolley on ice, although their return can’t come soon enough.
The trolleys are considerably larger than the buses, so there are rarely people standing in the aisles. And while they have the small added advantage of being on time (as trackless vehicles they can whiz past any road obstruction), they are often not on time, a curious fact that has many riders scratching their heads.
But lateness apparently has nothing to do with whether a vehicle is on tracks or wheels, but it often has more to do with the state of mind of the driver, the “condition” of passengers on board, and traffic patterns.
Take Friday night, for instance. Friday nights are SEPTA-anarchy nights. Something happens on a Friday: People are in a celebratory mode; hermits who’ve been shut-ins all week pick Friday to come out and play. For many, Friday is the day to unleash their internal savage beast. That’s why rowdy passengers can turn even the most well intentioned and patient bus driver into a sniveling, frowning misanthrope who’s likely to ignore your “Good evening” or “Have a nice night.” Whether it’s too many stuck wheelchairs, or drunks who have lost their token or transpass, or even people who beg for free rides, by the time Friday night is over I can imagine many bus drivers just wanting to get as far away from people as possible.
Some drivers, not being saints, take out aggression in different ways. Stress may cause some to drive so slowly it’s as if their wish is to hit every red light. It’s as if they’ve given up trying to keep on schedule or they no longer care if their passengers have to get somewhere on time. They drive like the classic “Sunday driver,” the theoretical elderly couple out for a spin around the block while being trailed by a line of angry drivers stuck in a no-pass zone.
Other bus drivers work the gas pedal as if it was the trigger of a gun, unmindful of the havoc that slight turns or sudden stops in the road cause, when stuff on passenger laps flies off and rolls to the front of the bus accompanied by an accumulation of floor trash rushing towards the front of the bus as well. Clang, clang, bing, bam! No doubt that discarded Pepsi bottle has been rolling back and forth among the seats since the morning rush hour.
Urban public transportation has benefited since the fall of the economy. Many people have decided to leave their gas-guzzling SUV’s at home. (Gas at almost $4.00 a gallon has a forbidden ring; who can deal with Center City parking anyway?) When I travel the Market Street line, it’s always a struggle finding a seat no matter the time of day or night. Rush hour used to end about 6:30 p.m. but not any more. At 7:30 p.m. the trains traveling from Center City to Girard are still mostly standing room only.
Standing room only is still in high gear early Sunday morning. If this phenomenon smacks of a mass exodus to brunch or church, I want to know.
Where are all these people going? Are people working later, taking second jobs on the weekend, or do people just want to get out of their houses and apartments more?
I know that in my own neighborhood, many residents, especially younger ones, rarely travel into Center City. City Center for them might as well be Manhattan or Pittsburgh. Then again, that’s Philly: a series of all-purpose neighborhoods that ape little towns. Many don’t feel the need for Center City at all.
That’s not true for me, of course. I need my Center City inoculation. I value it more than I value not having a car in this explosive new world of gas extortion and hard to find parking spaces. I’ve made my peace with the fact that so many people have switched to SEPTA. Traffic can be hazardous to your health, especially along the smaller streets in the riverwards where SUVs sometimes miss playing kids by a hair as they speed-turn corners on a dime.
When I think of the congested Market-Frankford line I think of the Japanese subways where they have workers whose job it is to push people from behind so that they will all fit into a train car. These passenger pushers don’t care about comfort or respect; it’s all about stuffing a turkey so that the doors can close.
Can you imagine SEPTA employees stuffing passengers en masse into waiting trains? I can, but I can also imagine the ensuing riot that would result.
You might be glad to know that I found a solution to my daily travel travails. As solutions go, it was in front of me all along: Take the Broad Street subway, where there are less people and where there are always available seats (barring an invasion of Temple students). What a comfort it is to be able to board the train at Broad and Walnut and ride leisurely to Girard, where I take the Route 15 to Richmond and Cumberland. No standing. No pushing. No big knapsacks in the face, and a comfortable seat to boot.
It’s almost too good to be true.
The only problem, of course, is the switch to the Route 15 at Girard, especially on a Friday night (those nights when I am not out cavorting myself) when the driver has that look on his face—that look that says I can expect anything from rolling soda cans at my feet, to a slow motion stage coach ride that will plant a kiss on every red light.
