Friday, February 20, 2009

The Devil and SEPTA, or February 20th, 2009

A post by the lovely and wonderful Stephanie Dellavalentina--our newest contributor. Amazing.

So I’m waiting for the bus this morning- bundled up to my eyeholes and hunching against the 12 degrees of whipping awful- when I realize that I’m at the stop early. My breakfast at Vincenzo’s took no time at all and was peacefully cooling in my purse, leaving me ten minutes to spare before the bus. I thought about going home for a minute to warm up, oddly enough the 9th Street bus- which is rarely on time- is early and already down at about Snyder Ave. I take it as Omen: Good and wait. Sipping my tea I was blissfully ignorant that it was really Omen: Richard Donner. Thus began my morning with SEPTA and The Devil.
For your edification: the 9th Street bus is a boutique route. It comes occasionally, stops when it wants to, and really is only present to serve the little old Italian ladies who can’t make it up to 11th or down to 7th. There is a small handful of us who have figured out that the first run of the day gets you into Center City at 9am (give or take) and opt for rouletting it on 9th rather than subjecting ourselves to the horror that is 7th. I can step out my front door and be at the stop, and my office is half a block away on the back end. Despite the unreliability, I love this line.
This morning I noticed right away the large number of new faces occupying the prime real estate that is the elevated rear of the bus. I opt for second best and take up the bank directly opposite the rear doors, and with that decision get a front row seat to the bout.
As the bus rolls through the Italian Market. A passenger requests the next stop and waits at the back door, calling out to the driver. The bus genuflects, lets a woman out the front, takes on another passenger, and rises, preparing to pull away. The guy waiting at the back door calls for the back door again. It plays out something like this:
Guy: “BACK DOOR! YO MAN, CAN I GET THE BACK DOOR?!”
Driver: “Front door:”
Guy: “YO MAN- BAAACK DOOOOR!!! BACK DOOR!”
Driver: “FRONT DOOR.”
I wonder WTF this is all about and curse the early morning pissing contest. I then realize exactly what is going on. The bus is stopped in the Italian Market, meaning there is limited space to maneuver. Looking out the windows on the back door I realize that the back doors are directly next to a burn barrel and flames are licking up the side of the bus. I think I saw one squeeze in the opening between the accordion doors. I then appreciate that the dude in front of me could only be seeing the same thing that I was- if he walked out the back door he’d be walking into fire.
Devil: “MAN, I SAID BACK DOOR!!!”
Driver: “You can come on out the front.”
Devil: (looking longingly at flame): “Ok, ok… I’m not trying to fight today.”
Devil: (under breath) “You’re gonna get your due, though. Tell you that.”
Ok, so the longing look part is embellishment, but the rest is truth- hand to god. He muttered that last part in my direction, shook his head, and walked to the front.
So The Devil gets off the bus and we continue through the Market. Driver is still worked up, so when we get to Christian and there’s a truck blocking part of the street, Driver forgets his responsibility as a SEPTA bus driver. Instead of sticking his head out the window, yelling, and laying on the horn until the other driver is enraged or embarrassed into moving or hustling, Driver whips the bus down Christian.
And the Devil got his due. 7th- cars parked. Nowhere to turn. 5th- blocked off by PGW. 3rd- no dice. I think that’s where Moyamensing comes in and makes that weird triangle. So the 9th Street bus is now forced all the way down to the Delaware River. Front Street did not provide any more opportunity. It wasn’t until Lombard that we were able to right our course. By this time the riders were restless. If you don’t know Philly- I will educate you. The next to last place you want to be is on SEPTA with a bunch of angry mugs. The absolute last place you want to be is in the shoes of the guy causing the frustration.
By the time I got off the bus (oddly on time- because we didn’t have to stop and do all that, y’know, superfluous picking up and dropping off of passengers), Driver had lost much of his swagger. His crap face was gone; left behind was a thin film of sweat and fear. I shouldered my bag and debarked. The cold of the wind hurting my exposed grin, I shook my head and walked to the office.
Man, I always thought The Devil WAS SEPTA, but he’s droppin’ tokens just like the rest of us.Next up- Encounters With
Extraterrestrials In ACME. They’re out there. You know it…