Of course, you remember the old house rule in Monopoly, where there was a pot of money that grew through various means, and if you landed on Free Parking, you collected it all. For the normal folks, it was Monopoly money - for the gambling folks in college that I hung out with, it was real money. Whatever, find the parking spot, get the money.
For MARC commuters, some would want you to believe it doesn't work that way. There was an article in the Martin O'Malley Daily Telegraph .... errr .... Baltimore Sun, with MARC riders complaining how there is no parking at MARC lots, and a bit of an implication that folks living in the neighborhoods around the lots getting pissed because people are parking on their streets to get to the train station on time.
The story is here: http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/traffic/bal-te.md.parking26jun26,0,6903345.story
Now, there is a lot of fact-itude in that article. Parking is stretched at Halethorpe. But some of this problem is the fault of the very commuters who in the story are made out to be victims. Yes, by 7:20 this morning, when I got there, there weren't many spots open. But when I get there by 6:05, like usual, over half the lot is still empty (a lot that holds nearly 800 cars).
But here's the thing ... even at 6 a.m., when there are literally hundreds of spots available, people are still parking in front of people's houses on Route 1, or in the neighborhoods right around the lot, rather than parking in the lot. Apparently, the only thing I can figure is that these folks think it's easier to get out in the afternoon if they aren't in the crowded lot. Nevermind that they are taking up residence in front of someone else's house, houses which in some cases don't have garages, so the spot in front of their house is their spot, in a sense.
It's hard to blame the MARC folks if the lot is full - there aren't No Parking signs in the neighborhood, according to the Sun story. What there should be is a No Parking/Permit system, where the residents get permits to park where they want, and outsiders are kept out. This is how its done in the neighborhood around where I work, and it gets the job done.
But the MARC commuters themselves need to stop playing the victim card here, too.
First, if there's spots in the MARC lot, use them. If there's spots along US 1 on the opposite side of the houses, use them.
Second, I see people on the train every day who have been riding the train together in groups of 6-10 folks for multiple years. Surely, these folks can't all live in 10 vastly incongruent neighborhoods geographically. If parking is that much of a chore, quit fucking with the neighbors and carpool to the train station. You'd save a load of gas, have your company that you already talk to everyday for longer, and there'd be more parking spaces.
I don't condone the neighbors for going all vigilante and keying people's cars. But I also don't blame them if they called to have the invading cars towed. I don't know if it would work, since there are no signs, but it's worth a try. I see too many people using too many spots other than the ones designated (and open) to believe the woe-is-me crap presented in the article.
--
Meanwhile, according to CNN, The House voted 322-98 to authorize $1.7 billion over the next two years to lower fares and expand operations as more riders flock to public transit. The transit measure, which must be considered by the Senate, marks the first time federal money would be used to support local mass transit operating costs. Now there was another part of it that didn't pass with regard to oil drilling, but let's deal with the transit funding deal first.
When exactly would you expect any kind of lower fare to show up? You really think Metro is going to LOWER fares? Their employees are too busy running a brothel. And too busy riding the rails for free - so what do they care what we have to pay every day just to get to work! There's no chance of this happening here. Metro told us they needed additional funds with the last fare increase for maintenance purposes and to provide better service. Meanwhile, trains continue to be late, door problems continue to abound, smoke/fire continues to be reported on tracks, and there really doesn't seem to be anyone else who cares, because the system is having all-time high ridership days of late.
Hell, they know we all have to get to work. And they know we don't want to fill up for $50 or more every week. So, what reason, exactly, do they have to lower fares?
MDR
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
We're Back, and the Beatings will Continue Until You People Fall in Line.
Yeah, yeah, we've been in the basement a while. Whatever.
Dear Dude on the 5:20 Train on Monday afternoon:
What, were manners not on sale when you were growing up? You're 50-something years old, with the look of someone who plunders around the country club golf course on Saturday mornings trying to swing your putter with the 16-year-old beverage cart girl and the wife who has surely hired a pool boy behind your back ... you never learned how to chew gum? You know, Bobby Knight once said about writers ... "Everybody learned to write in third grade, most people moved on to better things." Well by third grade, everyone should know how to chew gum properly, save for that one kid that was in the corner who no one talked to because if you did he'd snap and drop about 47 bitch-slaps at you in a 40-second span - then he'd get a sticker for being an example of the human spirit.
But no, you had to sit there on the train Monday, across the aisle from me, chomping your gum away like you were some kind of rabbit downing a carrot. Heh ... downing a carrot. I wonder if that's what the kids call it these days.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you annoyed me, and you have made the list. You've been given seat 3 in row 12 on the blog's special Train to Hell on Christmas Day - a non-stop cavalcade of everyone who has pissed me off in the last year.
Bring your gum.
Love,
MDR
Dear Dude on the 5:20 Train on Monday afternoon:
What, were manners not on sale when you were growing up? You're 50-something years old, with the look of someone who plunders around the country club golf course on Saturday mornings trying to swing your putter with the 16-year-old beverage cart girl and the wife who has surely hired a pool boy behind your back ... you never learned how to chew gum? You know, Bobby Knight once said about writers ... "Everybody learned to write in third grade, most people moved on to better things." Well by third grade, everyone should know how to chew gum properly, save for that one kid that was in the corner who no one talked to because if you did he'd snap and drop about 47 bitch-slaps at you in a 40-second span - then he'd get a sticker for being an example of the human spirit.
But no, you had to sit there on the train Monday, across the aisle from me, chomping your gum away like you were some kind of rabbit downing a carrot. Heh ... downing a carrot. I wonder if that's what the kids call it these days.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you annoyed me, and you have made the list. You've been given seat 3 in row 12 on the blog's special Train to Hell on Christmas Day - a non-stop cavalcade of everyone who has pissed me off in the last year.
Bring your gum.
Love,
MDR
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Parking Woes, Part Deux
Speaking of parking wars.
So yesterday, I went to the dentist. No big deal. Had some work done, everything was fine. Now, where I work, parking isn’t exactly ideal, and it’s especially difficult to find a spot. Because I’m in the program that gets the metrochecks deal, I can’t get a spot anywhere actually within our little facility here, so street parking is necessary. And usually, if you aren’t here by 6:35 a.m., the street parking is gone. Yeah that’s right, I typed 6:35 a.m. It’s not so bad that people get here that early I guess – but then I see some of those same cars still sitting there at 5 p.m. Seriously, I know there’s important stuff done where I work, but go home! Walk your dog! Cook dinner! Argue with your family! Laugh at the neighbor!
Anyway, I figured since there was no street parking available when I got there a little after noon (actually, there was one spot, but I wasn’t talented enough to squeeze my car into the small spot); I decided to head up the street to the Metro station, park there, and ride 1 stop into work. No big deal. Save for the fact that despite the sign not being on to indicate the lot was full – the lot was full. And because the parking garages are unstaffed at the wonderful, customer-friendly Metro facilities aren’t staffed, there was no way out of said garage without paying the $4.75 to exit, even though I didn’t actually park. That was wonderful.
So now I get to fight with the Metro folks to get my $4.75 back. I don’t think the odds are very good that I’m going to win that one.
Seriously, if this shit keeps up, I’m going to be like that dude in that one movie where he goes nuts at how the world is going crazy and he just starts going all sorts of apeshit on people.
I’m not sure I’ve really ever seen someone actually go apeshit, but I bet it’s interesting.
Not that I’d find a parking place close enough or cheap enough to actually see such a thing.
Maybe I should run for President and fix all this stuff. Nah, that'll never work.
So yesterday, I went to the dentist. No big deal. Had some work done, everything was fine. Now, where I work, parking isn’t exactly ideal, and it’s especially difficult to find a spot. Because I’m in the program that gets the metrochecks deal, I can’t get a spot anywhere actually within our little facility here, so street parking is necessary. And usually, if you aren’t here by 6:35 a.m., the street parking is gone. Yeah that’s right, I typed 6:35 a.m. It’s not so bad that people get here that early I guess – but then I see some of those same cars still sitting there at 5 p.m. Seriously, I know there’s important stuff done where I work, but go home! Walk your dog! Cook dinner! Argue with your family! Laugh at the neighbor!
Anyway, I figured since there was no street parking available when I got there a little after noon (actually, there was one spot, but I wasn’t talented enough to squeeze my car into the small spot); I decided to head up the street to the Metro station, park there, and ride 1 stop into work. No big deal. Save for the fact that despite the sign not being on to indicate the lot was full – the lot was full. And because the parking garages are unstaffed at the wonderful, customer-friendly Metro facilities aren’t staffed, there was no way out of said garage without paying the $4.75 to exit, even though I didn’t actually park. That was wonderful.
So now I get to fight with the Metro folks to get my $4.75 back. I don’t think the odds are very good that I’m going to win that one.
Seriously, if this shit keeps up, I’m going to be like that dude in that one movie where he goes nuts at how the world is going crazy and he just starts going all sorts of apeshit on people.
I’m not sure I’ve really ever seen someone actually go apeshit, but I bet it’s interesting.
Not that I’d find a parking place close enough or cheap enough to actually see such a thing.
Maybe I should run for President and fix all this stuff. Nah, that'll never work.
Parking Woes and Stupid Sunglasses Guy
So after about a month’s hiatus, I ventured back on to the rails to commute to work on Tuesday. I had been sick for a good part of the last month, and still am, but since I hadn’t used the rails, I had built up quite an arsenal of the metrocheck things, to the point where I could get a monthly ticket for free. Free is good, so I thought, what the hell.
What the fuck would have been more like it.
The commute itself really wasn’t all that bad I don’t guess. Save for the dude on the MARC ride home who was the type we’ve discussed here before, wearing dark sunglasses on the train when we haven’t seen the sun here in several days. If it was anymore gray outside, it would have looked like, well, I don’t know, something that looks very gray.
But anyway, he spent most of his time staring at the girl (she was maybe 23) in the seat across the aisle from us – who, while very pretty and not particularly overdressed, probably didn’t deserve to be mentally stripped by sunglasses boy. He was also one of these super annoying people who carry on way too much stuff for a commuter train. Part of his stuff went up into the little compartment above the seats, which is usually about big enough for a wallet and small raincoat. But he kept a notebook, a radio, a bottle of water, a cup of coffee, and his umbrella in his lap. Seriously, either dude had way too much lap or way too much stuff.
When the train came to my stop, this also created a problem for sunglasses dude, because he then had to move all this stuff to try and get out of the way so that I could exit. And he didn’t even bother getting up out of his seat, which A) would have made it easier for me to get out, and B) got him closer to the girl of his dreams. He was just all around an inconsiderate little bastard. But that’s pretty much normal service when it comes to public transportation, I guess.
More fun awaited when I left the BWI rail station. The trick at BWI is that they have two parking garages, and for common folk, it costs $9 a day to park. That’s kind of exorbitant but whatever. Supposedly, however, if you are a monthly ticket passenger on MARC, this fee doesn’t apply.
Well, that’s true except for me, apparently.
Because when I got to the gate and showed the dude my ticket, he said, “That won’t do you no good here.” Now, bless this guy’s heart … he’s probably never held another job in his life. He seriously looked like he’s been manning this parking lot booth for a long time. I mean, he probably watched his Colts beat the Giants in the ’58 Championship Game right from that very booth. But his rationale was that I didn’t have the special ticket that you have to get “mailed from Florida,” and that he could give me an application. Which, of course, does me no good unless I want to then turn around and spend all the money I saved by saving up the metrochecks to then send it to some clandestine place in Florida that apparently has the parking lot racket all squared away. Nevermind that I had a monthly ticket, too, I guess I didn’t have the “right kind” of monthly ticket. The dude’s last words (before I left, I didn’t kill him) were, “Yeah, there’s been a lot of misunderstanding about this whole deal.” I told him it was because the deal was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, and I drove off.
So, now I get to fight with the folks I bought my ticket from because as far as I’m concerned, that rail ticket is useless, since I have no intention of paying $9 to park every day when I can drive to work and fight the same level of crazy people for parking places for free.
Maybe I need to start a Parking Wars blog.
What the fuck would have been more like it.
The commute itself really wasn’t all that bad I don’t guess. Save for the dude on the MARC ride home who was the type we’ve discussed here before, wearing dark sunglasses on the train when we haven’t seen the sun here in several days. If it was anymore gray outside, it would have looked like, well, I don’t know, something that looks very gray.
But anyway, he spent most of his time staring at the girl (she was maybe 23) in the seat across the aisle from us – who, while very pretty and not particularly overdressed, probably didn’t deserve to be mentally stripped by sunglasses boy. He was also one of these super annoying people who carry on way too much stuff for a commuter train. Part of his stuff went up into the little compartment above the seats, which is usually about big enough for a wallet and small raincoat. But he kept a notebook, a radio, a bottle of water, a cup of coffee, and his umbrella in his lap. Seriously, either dude had way too much lap or way too much stuff.
When the train came to my stop, this also created a problem for sunglasses dude, because he then had to move all this stuff to try and get out of the way so that I could exit. And he didn’t even bother getting up out of his seat, which A) would have made it easier for me to get out, and B) got him closer to the girl of his dreams. He was just all around an inconsiderate little bastard. But that’s pretty much normal service when it comes to public transportation, I guess.
More fun awaited when I left the BWI rail station. The trick at BWI is that they have two parking garages, and for common folk, it costs $9 a day to park. That’s kind of exorbitant but whatever. Supposedly, however, if you are a monthly ticket passenger on MARC, this fee doesn’t apply.
Well, that’s true except for me, apparently.
Because when I got to the gate and showed the dude my ticket, he said, “That won’t do you no good here.” Now, bless this guy’s heart … he’s probably never held another job in his life. He seriously looked like he’s been manning this parking lot booth for a long time. I mean, he probably watched his Colts beat the Giants in the ’58 Championship Game right from that very booth. But his rationale was that I didn’t have the special ticket that you have to get “mailed from Florida,” and that he could give me an application. Which, of course, does me no good unless I want to then turn around and spend all the money I saved by saving up the metrochecks to then send it to some clandestine place in Florida that apparently has the parking lot racket all squared away. Nevermind that I had a monthly ticket, too, I guess I didn’t have the “right kind” of monthly ticket. The dude’s last words (before I left, I didn’t kill him) were, “Yeah, there’s been a lot of misunderstanding about this whole deal.” I told him it was because the deal was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, and I drove off.
So, now I get to fight with the folks I bought my ticket from because as far as I’m concerned, that rail ticket is useless, since I have no intention of paying $9 to park every day when I can drive to work and fight the same level of crazy people for parking places for free.
Maybe I need to start a Parking Wars blog.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Welcome to February
Well, first of all, to put to rest one vicious rumor ... I'm not dead.
I also was not on the MARC the morning of the Great Derailment at Union Station, was not pinned between train cars, did not fall beneath the tracks into the bottomless pit of derailed dreams, and I haven't broken my neck breakdancing (remember that rumor about Alfonso Ribiero from school?).
I also have not been signed to a 6-year, max contract by the New York Knicks and I was not traded to Baltimore in the Erik Bedard trade.
I also did not have to appear before Congress to explain my possible use of HGH and other performance-enhancing drugs. That's right, folks, I write all this shit on natural, God-given talent. Hell yeah!
But I've spent most of the month in bed.
Yeah!!!
No, don't get excited.
From the onset of Super Bowl weekend till about, I don't know, now ... I've been sick with pneumonia. Or at least that was the first guess by the doctor I saw. Another said I didn't have that, but didn't say what I have, who knows. I'm going with the pneumonia diagnosis for right now because I've never had it before, I've never been sicker, and I think the first two doctor knew a hell of a lot more about what she was talking about than the second one did.
So the product of being sick is that for the month to this point, I have commuted by rail exactly twice, and one of those was only a half-day, so there wasn't much to tell there - other than having to go to something known as Track 28 at Union Station to get my train home. I think I actually walked to Ocean City before getting to the track where the train was. It was so far out that once I got there and got on board, I was quite sure I was on the wrong train and was going to end up in Red Deer, Alberta, four days later.
There really wasn't much to tell from today's commute, either, other than to say that the 5:10 express train experiment may just be working for MARC, but it's hard to tell. The 5:20 train was still fairly crowded, and there were some people standing, but it wasn't as overpackafied as usual. It wasn't difficult to find a seat and there wasn't any one standing in the aisle today trying to sit on me or eat their dinner or whatever.
It was a little annoying that apparently the person actually driving the train was the 87-year-old grandmother of 21 from those Life Alert commercials, as the train never got above about 41 mph and we were late getting in at Halethorpe.
As a consequence, it's 6 minutes after 11 p.m., I feel like I just got home, and it's time to turn in already.
Oh well.
At least I'm not dead. Or traded.
Yet.
(Well, as far as I know. I guess I could have been dealt to Grand Forks for 20 hockey pucks and a blog about missile silos to be named later).
MDR
I also was not on the MARC the morning of the Great Derailment at Union Station, was not pinned between train cars, did not fall beneath the tracks into the bottomless pit of derailed dreams, and I haven't broken my neck breakdancing (remember that rumor about Alfonso Ribiero from school?).
I also have not been signed to a 6-year, max contract by the New York Knicks and I was not traded to Baltimore in the Erik Bedard trade.
I also did not have to appear before Congress to explain my possible use of HGH and other performance-enhancing drugs. That's right, folks, I write all this shit on natural, God-given talent. Hell yeah!
But I've spent most of the month in bed.
Yeah!!!
No, don't get excited.
From the onset of Super Bowl weekend till about, I don't know, now ... I've been sick with pneumonia. Or at least that was the first guess by the doctor I saw. Another said I didn't have that, but didn't say what I have, who knows. I'm going with the pneumonia diagnosis for right now because I've never had it before, I've never been sicker, and I think the first two doctor knew a hell of a lot more about what she was talking about than the second one did.
So the product of being sick is that for the month to this point, I have commuted by rail exactly twice, and one of those was only a half-day, so there wasn't much to tell there - other than having to go to something known as Track 28 at Union Station to get my train home. I think I actually walked to Ocean City before getting to the track where the train was. It was so far out that once I got there and got on board, I was quite sure I was on the wrong train and was going to end up in Red Deer, Alberta, four days later.
There really wasn't much to tell from today's commute, either, other than to say that the 5:10 express train experiment may just be working for MARC, but it's hard to tell. The 5:20 train was still fairly crowded, and there were some people standing, but it wasn't as overpackafied as usual. It wasn't difficult to find a seat and there wasn't any one standing in the aisle today trying to sit on me or eat their dinner or whatever.
It was a little annoying that apparently the person actually driving the train was the 87-year-old grandmother of 21 from those Life Alert commercials, as the train never got above about 41 mph and we were late getting in at Halethorpe.
As a consequence, it's 6 minutes after 11 p.m., I feel like I just got home, and it's time to turn in already.
Oh well.
At least I'm not dead. Or traded.
Yet.
(Well, as far as I know. I guess I could have been dealt to Grand Forks for 20 hockey pucks and a blog about missile silos to be named later).
MDR
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Thank You Sir, You'll Have Another ...
That can be the only explanation to the news this week that Metro ridership is up 3% in the wake of their fare increases that went into effect on January 6. Whoever is responsible for Metro perhaps ought to think about running for President of the United States. Because somehow, this person has convinced the public that it really is a great deal to pay more for fewer parking places, pay more for the same lousy customer service, pay more for the same unreliable trains, and in some cases, get roughed up (allegedly) by Metro workers! This is the kind of marketing touch that you just can’t find anywhere on Madison Avenue.
Metro officials say it could be that ridership is up because of gas prices. Nevermind the fact that the fare increase in many cases probably outweighs the gas increase from last year to now. But it’s not as if anything has changed. People are still unruly on the trains themselves, inconsiderate, and even abusive in some cases. Then there are deals like yesterday afternoon when I was riding home, and we sat at a station for 5 minutes while the doors to the car opened, closed, opened, closed, opened, closed, opened, closed, opened, closed. This in itself wouldn’t have been all that unnerving, had the automated voice not been going along with it, announcing that the doors were opening, stand back they’re closing, opening, stand back they’re closing, opening, stand back they’re closing, you get the picture. You are probably just as annoyed by simply reading that as I was having to watch it.
And yet, we are paying more for it. And we are doing it happily.
We are a beaten consumer with no heart.
But … at least some of us know how to pay for Metro! (see next post for details)
MDR
Machines and Lines
The American public – you know, the one that is currently going through the state by state process of picking the nominees to be the next President (you know, because the Metro marketer guy probably won’t run) – has become so overwhelmed by the world in which they live that fare card machines have become a source of great befuddlement. Yesterday, I had to stop at one at Union Station to refill my SmartTrip card. I usually do this with Metrochecks (if I have one handy). There are two machines on the one side, and there was one person using each, with one person each behind them. Fine, it’s not like I’m in a hurry to get to work. At about the same time, both folks finish their transactions and move along. That leaves a person at the head of the line for each machine, with me waiting for the one on the left. The woman who was using the one on the right may very well still be there – I forgot to look this morning when I walked past them. She was trying to figure out how she could add change to her card. I think she was trying to add a quarter. Now, I’ve seen people do this before and hey, whatever, if you need a quarter to get to the next stop, you do what you gotta do. Yeah, no … this woman had $121.35 on her SmartTrip card.
And she was trying to add a quarter.
$121.35.
Quarter.
These are the people that the Metro workers should eject from the station. What could you possibly do on Metro that would cost that much, where $121.35 wouldn’t cover it, but $121.60 would? The average Metro fare is what, $3? What good will the extra quarter do? And why does this need to be done in the morning when about 31,000 other people are in the station trying to get on with their day?
Then there was the woman at the machine in front of me. She seemed like she knew what was going on, and she was even pretty. Yeah – didn’t help. Upon putting her money in and doing everything it seemed she needed to do, there then started a long bout of staring at the machine. I thought maybe she was praying (because it doesn’t hurt to do that when you’re about to board public transportation these days). But no, she had either missed her train of thought or her motor stalled. I peaked somewhat over her shoulder and realized that she didn’t know how to get her card that she paid for. So I reached over and hit Button C, which is what you have to hit to get your card. Maybe I should have just said something, and maybe pushing the button for her was embarrassing, I don’t know, but I was kind of afraid she was going to be stuck there for hours and maybe she might die. So in a way, I saved a life. She laughed and was very appreciative. That’s nice. Good deed for the day.
Because it’s more fun, I’m going to blame this whole incident on the fare card machine itself, in retrospect.
MDR
And she was trying to add a quarter.
$121.35.
Quarter.
These are the people that the Metro workers should eject from the station. What could you possibly do on Metro that would cost that much, where $121.35 wouldn’t cover it, but $121.60 would? The average Metro fare is what, $3? What good will the extra quarter do? And why does this need to be done in the morning when about 31,000 other people are in the station trying to get on with their day?
Then there was the woman at the machine in front of me. She seemed like she knew what was going on, and she was even pretty. Yeah – didn’t help. Upon putting her money in and doing everything it seemed she needed to do, there then started a long bout of staring at the machine. I thought maybe she was praying (because it doesn’t hurt to do that when you’re about to board public transportation these days). But no, she had either missed her train of thought or her motor stalled. I peaked somewhat over her shoulder and realized that she didn’t know how to get her card that she paid for. So I reached over and hit Button C, which is what you have to hit to get your card. Maybe I should have just said something, and maybe pushing the button for her was embarrassing, I don’t know, but I was kind of afraid she was going to be stuck there for hours and maybe she might die. So in a way, I saved a life. She laughed and was very appreciative. That’s nice. Good deed for the day.
Because it’s more fun, I’m going to blame this whole incident on the fare card machine itself, in retrospect.
MDR
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