¡Ay, caramba!

My new job requires me to take public transit into work, since parking in San Francisco costs a king's ransom (and if Mayor Newsom has his way driving will too). This means taking BART every day, which is subject of tonight's rant.

Some of you outside of the 9 county Bay Area may have heard about BART because of the New Year's Day shooting and the mass protests and vandalism that followed. This rant is not about that, as there are plenty of others in the blogsphere doing this and I would prefer not to either encourage the vandalism or become a target of it. Instead I will use this forum to attempt to describe my observations of a typical trip on the BART train.

I will say, though, that I do not want to be on the jury for the officer's trial.

My day now starts a half hour earlier than it did when my job was in beautiful downtown Oakland and I coudl drive to work. This is not because I'm required to be at my new job at the same time as the old one, indeed my people don't show up until about an hour after I do. I need to start my day earlier because otherwise I can't get a parking space at the nearest BART station. There are only a limited number of unreserved spaces at the station and there is an 800+ person waiting list for the reserved spaces, which are coveted since they are rarely filled until about 10 am or so, compared to the 7 am fill-up time that I have to deal with. By nature I am not a morning person so this is a real pain, especially on the mornings after I'm up till 1:30 in the morning writing for my American Idol blog.

After navigating through the pay gates and the parking payment station (because even though the parking spaces are unreserved I still have to pay to park in one of them) it's up to the platform to wait for the train. This platform, like many on the BART system, is in the center divide of a freeway, a freeway that generates a steady gust of wind onto the platform that makes it difficult to read a newspaper and has been known to cause frostbite on cold mornings, especially when the train is late as it has been known to be.

Once on the train it is rare that there is a seat available. Since there are 8 stations on the line before mine there's little chance during rush hour of being able to sit down. It's even worse on the ride home since hundreds of people board the train in San Francisco before me. So that means standing, and standing means jockeying for position and defending your turf. People like to stake their spots by the doors, either for fear that they otherwise won't be able to get out of the train or because they want to get a jump on the race to the escalator at their stop. As more people get on there is more positioning and defending near the doors, because no one wants to give up their sweet spot and all the new passengers want one. So you see people leaning over, shifting out their legs or their bags, sitting on the train floor, reaching out for the handrails near the doors, or slowly shifting their body weight towards the dude or chick that is angling for their spot. It's sort of like a slam dance only without the heavy metal band. Indeed, it is all done very quietly. Rarely do I hear someone complain about someone else breathing on them or pushing them out of the way.

Since I'm usually trapped in the middle of these dancers I don't have the space to open up my morning paper and since most of my trip to the City is in underground tunnels where cell phone signals are only a memory, there's no way to pass the time with sometime productive like work or catching up on the morning news. So instead I play a game. I look around the train and try to spot the prettiest girl in my car. Usually they are sleeping or reading the paper (if they're lucky enough to get a seat) or just looking at the floor, but on the off chance that her and I make contact I smile and hope for a return gesture. So far, in the 3 weeks that I've been commuting I haven't got 1 smile yet. I haven't gotten an evil eye either so I guess there is still hope.

The last part of the trip to San Francisco is in the Transbay Tube, which sits on the bottom of San Francisco Bay. I've heard numerous news reports that the Tube, which was constructed in the late 60's/early 70's, is not seismically safe and could fail in an earthquake. And when they say fail they mean busting open and filling up with water. There is not a trip that I have taken through the Tube where that thought hasn't crossed my mind. There have been plenty of ballot measures passed that raised taxes for transit improvements, including a retrofit of the Transbay Tube, but for some reason the money seems to be going somewhere else. Where exactly I don't know, but I know it's not going into retrofitting the Tube.

When the train reaches my station in San Francisco there is the dash for the escalators and a decision to make. Do I go on the left side and climb the escalator, or do I go on the right side and ride up? You have to make this quick because there's about 100 other people behind you who have no time for you to make up your mind. And you better have your ticket on you when you get to the top and over to the pay gates, because nothing causes more complaints in the BART station (besides a late train or a BART police action) than having to wait for someone to get their ticket into the tiny slot at the gate.

After all that, it's time to get to work. Puts me in a right mood sometimes, let me tell you. And then, of course, this play is repeated on the ride home, only with a larger audience. At least the station in San Francisco is underground and has Wi-Fi capability so I can at least read my paper or e-mails easier while waiting for the train and don't have to freeze my hands in the process.

I've considered taking the ferry instead but that costs twice as much, takes longer, and I've been prone to seasickness. Thus, this is not an option unless the next big earthquake takes out the BART line, which as I said is something I think about every time I take this trip.

Excuses, Excuses

Well, I have a been a little busy as of late. There, I got that out of the way.

I started my new job this week, and so far things are going well. It was probably my best first day of work of the now 6 that I've ever had. No disasters, no mess-ups, no embarrassing moments, I was even fed lunch by the company. It's all still foreign to me and I know the names of only about a third of the staff, but everyone has been nice and understanding so far.

During this same week my brother and sister-in-law had their second child, a boy this time. I got the call at 9 pm on Wednesday and sped off to the hospital, which is about an hour away from my house. I waited, and waited, and waited some more, until my brother came out at 4:30 am to announce the birth. I didn't realize until that night that there was a show called Poker After Dark. I'll have to remember that the next time I get insomnia or when my sister-in-law has another baby.

It hadn't occurred to me until my sister mentioned it that with this birth the family name will now carry on. Neither I nor one male cousin on my Dad's side of the family have any kids, and from the looks of things it may be a while before either of us ever do (Not that I'm against the idea or anything, mind you, though my cousin appear to be). My Dad didn't mention this when I talked to him but I'm sure that he's happy about this development.

On top of all this I've been busy with working on housing reconstruction projects that are being built in China, and now next week comes the season debut of American Idol and the start of my other, other job, that as The Armchair Idol Judge. Which reminds me, I need to get that site ready for the season and take down all of the posers from last season.

It's a wonder that I have time for a real job.