The 1880

MBTA riders: We're in this together.

Dear MBTA,

We have always had a volatile relationship. You rarely give me my space, you’re messy (your Metros are everywhere) and sometimes you smell a little. You’re always saying you’re going to change, but things never seem to get any better, and you’re not a cheap date either. Quite frankly, I don’t know if I can take it anymore, so I will confront our issues point-by-point.

1. Riders: Sometimes, you just really irritate me. How many times does the driver have to say, “move into the train,” for you to release your death grip on the pole next to the door? And do me a favor: don’t sit on the outside seat when the T is full and the window seat is empty. What an obnoxious thing to do. Also, turn your iPod down, because “Crank Dat Soldier Boy” does not settle well with me at 8:30 am.

Most importantly, if you are under the age of 40, and a woman over the age of 80 steps on the T, please stand up for her. If a woman climbs up the steps and looks like she may give birth at any moment, remove yourself from your seat. If someone comes on with a child strapped to their chest, then up on your feet! Your insensitivity is poisoning our relationship.

Riders, I don’t believe this is hopeless: we can make it work between us.

2. Employees: I sincerely apologize that I have to interrupt your reading of the latest Danielle Steele novel or MILF Monthly magazine with my problems. It kills me to watch you struggle out of your windowed cubicle to come help me with the ticket machines that never work or the gates that are only taking Smart Cards today. I must be wrong in thinking this is an aspect of your job.

Please do not misunderstand: nothing makes me happier than when a T-driver gives an impassioned Red Sox shout-out or stops short so that I don’t have to run to the other side of the platform. My point is, you have the ability to make my day better, and I have an obligation not to give you shit. Our relationship has potential, but we have to communicate.

3. Trains: What is with you being so goddamn noisy and catching on fire all the time? All you do is screech and spark and I am forced to tune you out by gently placing my fingers in my ears. Sometimes you frighten me by inexplicably smelling like smoke, or giving up in the middle of a dark tunnel. And stop fooling me with your “test trains.” We all know it’s just an excuse for the driver not to walk to his or her destination, because I see that smug smile every time it passes.

Bottom line: Get your act together, or I’m walking!

Love (?),
Megan McNeill