Patients/Patience

One thing that all of my physical and psychological struggles this summer (pleurisy, change of meds, sick cats) have taught me is the tremendous power of patience, especially when you're the patient. It sounds cliched, I know, but I've come a long way from when I once had to lay still for an hour during a PET Scan and nearly lost my mind. For me, that experience at the time was equivalent to two weeks in solitary. It was that traumatic.

But now, after weeks of bloodwork, IVs, waiting rooms, tiny syringes with live-saving pet medicine, the excruciatingly slow process of stopping two meds and starting another, I realize I've come out much better on the other side.

To wit: the other morning I experienced something that might have really frustrated me before. I got to the bus stop - five blocks away, running late - only to realize that when I'd switched handbags that morning, I'd left my SmarTrip card at home. I scramble into my wallet and, to my relief, realized I had a single dollar and two quarters. Bus fare's only $1.35, but it was better to have more than to not have enough. One hurdle crossed; I still had to purchase and use a paper Metrorail ticket once I got to the station.

Now I'm lucky in that McPherson Square is a relatively mellow place to catch the train during rush hour. I'm heading out of the city, which helps, and only the orange and blue line stop there. I skip down the escalator, extracting my ATM card to make the purchase and realize there's a long line...at one single ticket dispenser. All of the others taunt us with "Out of Order" signs. Really? During rush hour? Okay. It's not so bad.

In fact, the guy ahead of me bails. As does a second guy. Sweet! I'm now second in line. And I quickly realize why they'd left. Standing in front of me were to very sweet, very slow elderly people trying to purchase what must have been their first Metro Cards ever. EVER. As the wife peers over her glasses at the screen, the husband drops in a dime. Clink! The dime's no good. So what does he do? He pops it back in the machine. Again. And again.

By that time the line is eight people deep and I'm wondering when the candid cameras are going to pop out and reveal that I've been a part of one of those 20/20 experiments on human behavior. But as the husband turns around, smiles at me and says with a chuckle, "The machine doesn't like the dime," and his wife finally, mercifully pulls out a dollar instead, I'm reminded that a little patience goes a long way.

After all, if I've sat around waiting to see if Harry was going to make it through the night; if my chest pains were just inflammation or something much, much worse; or whether my own brain had turned against me (it hadn't, thank goodness), then I could surely grant this couple a few minutes of patients as they navigate what, to them, must be a terribly complicated process.

Turns out I made it to work on time after all, and as I sipped my first cup of coffee of the morning, I realized things were pretty good, after all, if you just take the time to stop and enjoy the ride.

Stand Back...Doors are Closing...

I'm a really nice person. Really, I am. I've never felt that kindness towards others - especially strangers - was an area of my personality in which I was lacking. I have no empirical evidence to prove this, of course, but the way in which children and animals generally flock to me tells me I'm smiling enough and doing something right.

I feel as though I regress for approximately 90 minutes each day, though, dear readers. Actually, it's for 45 minutes, twice each day.

This is when I step on the Metro.

Unlike many, for me "the Metro" encompasses both bus and train (That's LBJ standing in front of a mock-up of a Metrohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif rail car in 1968). And I greet them with equal aplomb most days. And it's not for the reasons you might think! Oh no - I can deal with the delays, the fare increases, the broken A/C, the inability of Metro employees to efficiently communicate appropriately in times of crises. That's old hat for those of us who have been riding public transit for a decade or more.

What I can't stand a little more each day is the increasingly selfish and flagrantly offensive behavior of other riders. Now, some might say this is owing to a general Decline in Western Civilization As We Know It or some such nonsense. But I disagree. I think denizens of D.C. are just bad public transit riders.

Go to New York, for example. Some might say that New Yorkers riders are rude. I say no! They're efficient. Go to Chicago then (Love the EL! At left). You might think these riders are stodgy. I say no! They're practical. In both instances people know where they're going and how to get there. And they won't drive you insane along the way.

Riders here are spectacularly slow, consistently confused, and usually unaware that they're doing one of the following:
a) taking up a seat that should otherwise go do a person with a disability or someone who's elderly, or - heck! - a woman who looks really tired
b) blocking the entrance to an escalator/the bus's back door/a train's opening/any turnstyle/the forty-seven other people trying to just get somewhere for Pete's sake
c) using their iPhone as a boombox (the earbuds actually go in your ears), or having a very personal conversation on their mobile phone
d) standing when they should be walking; likewise, running when they should be walking is equally annoying (and, might I add, just downright dangerous)

Do other major cities with clogged public transportation arteries not suffer this fate? Of course they do! But here's the difference: we in D.C. consistently tolerate this type of behavior without questioning and without realizing how good we really have it. Let me explain...

Go ride the Chicago El or the NYC Subway. Wait two minutes. Somebody's gonna start asking you for money, I guarantee it. Whether they're trying to sell you something or they're just asking outright, that's a scenario that's rarely encountered here. And have you ever noticed a bit of cool air blowing around when you're on the train platform underground? Trust me, there's nothing even CLOSE to that in most major cities, and you'd really feel it if was gone. And how about the electronic signs telling you when the next train arrives? Sure, you might get mad when it's 16 minutes, but at least you have a clue as to the delay most of the time.

So it's time to rise up, D.C. Metro riders! We need to let our fellow riders what's what! We have it relatively good here, even with the lasting delays on the Red Line (although it was a terrible tragedy that brought us to this point). If you see an able-bodied young person taking a front seat on the bus, say something! If you encounter a consistent door-blocker, as them to move! We have a right to take back our system and enjoy our rides.

There IS a "Me" in Metro.

For the Birds...

Unbelievably, I've been pulled into a natural disaster waiting to happen. A quick Google search shows that 90 - 95% of wild birds that are hand fed don't survive. Yet here I am, using dull tweezers and a quarter-teaspoon measuring cup to feed Archie. That's what I've named him: Archibald. Archie for short.

What's wrong with me?

Why did I have to stumble upon his gaping wide open yellow mouth last night? What led me to be outside on a ridiculously humid evening, when thunder and lightning were barely a memory and more of their ilk threatened my lush neighborhood any minute? And why him? A sibling lay prostrate nearby, clearly killed by the fall. But this little guy...he thrived. He survived.

So a 12-pack diet Coke box is his home, and a brick keeps him safe from predators. I cannot believe he even survived the night. His feathers are growing, his legs are getting stronger. And like a newborn baby, his head is WAY too big for his body.

Grow strong, little guy! Spread your wings and fly...

So, I kinda suck...

...'Cause I haven't "officially" started training yet for the 10K. I have a great plan, new tennis shoes, the whole nine yards. And I've been incorporating way more walking into my everyday routine, I just...

Too many years of regimented inactivity have imprinted themselves on my physiology and my psychology. How to break this? How to circumnavigate what has - for lack of a more elegant term - become a seemingly inoperable case of Couch Brain? I have a few thoughts.

• Sell couch; replace with Pilates reformer. This is good for a couple of reasons. I could no longer lay on my couch, smiling happily as I sip on Fresca and nod knowingly at the subtle wit that is New Yorker magazine cartoon humor. Instead, I'd have to get some kind of stretchy, muscle-building workout if I was going to occupy that same space. Problem is, I don't know how to do Pilates.
• Move my couch to the top of the Exorcist stairs in Georgetown. That way, whenever I wanted to chill out, I'd have to get in a bit of a cardio workout in order even to sit down. Problem is, other people would probably want to chill out on my couch, too. And getting it there in the first place would pose a challenge.
• Undergo hypnotherapy to replace the word "couch" with "gym" in my brain. This might be the best solution of the three. Like instead of my old way of thinking I would now think, I shall go home and chill out on the gym tonight. Okay, so the prepositions might not translate exactly, and I couldn't exactly use the word as a verb anymore (Her request was "gymed" in respectful language? I think not.), but I'm beginning to like this one more...

In the end, it boils down to me just having some discipline, something that I'm very good at in certain parts of my life, but not so good at in others. Tomorrow I shall strap on my digital watch, lace up my new tennies, and hit the pavement with a sense of purpose I have heretofore been missing. I promise.

Don't Call Me...I'll, um...

Well, I can't call you. Because I don't have a mobile phone right now. In fact, I haven't had a mobile phone for over three weeks at this point.

Guess what? I haven't missed it. Not for a moment.

Even when I was unable to reach the people for whom I was supposed to babysit...I used a pay phone.

Even when I really, really wanted to order a pizza...I used their online ordering option.

Even when I... Wait. Those are the only two times I needed a mobile phone. So there.

To all those hunched-back, semi-zombies on public transit, lingering on their every email notification - get a life.

To all those text-obsessed, can't miss a missive backlit-keyboard-illuminated drones - get a life.

To all those attached-at-the-hip, can't-leave-my-desk-without-being-connected paranoids - get a life.

Yep. I get an iPhone from work this week. But I dare you to catch me looking at it.

Yeah, I Done Did It

I did a really smart/dumb thing today: I signed up to run a 10K in October. And not just any 10K, but the Marine Corps Marathon 10K. Even worse, my friend Triathlon Virgin has agreed to run it with me. And by "run," I mean "race." Yes, he's thrown down the gauntlet and challenged me to a race on this, my first ever attempt at sustained movement on a paved surface. What have I gotten myself into?! And yet...


Perhaps, just perhaps, I've gotten myself into one of the greatest adventures of my life. You see, going to the gym is fine and all, and I'm heading back tomorrow for a session called "Candlelight Stretch" (doesn't that sound fantastically relaxing?) and to start my walking program, but there's something about having such a grandiose goal that might just be the kick in the butt that I need to really commit myself to a healthier lifestyle. I mean, I've been challenged to a race! I might as well have been slapped with a white glove and been asked to duel with a single-barrel pistol (does such a gun exist? I might have made that up...) on the dusty main street at high noon. Safe dif.

As the saying goes, If you can walk, you can dance, if you can talk, you can sing. And I guess if you can walk, you can run, and if you can run, you can race...

Nightmare on the Red Line

So there I was - leaving my new office with plenty of time to get to a babysitting gig in a suburb of Maryland. I even had a back-up plan that if I missed the bus from the Metro to the house where I babysit, I could quickly and easily (and cheaply!) take a cab. Perfect, right?

WRONG.

Behold of the beauty of a severely overburdened public transportation system: Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority. I hopped on the Orange line and had only a single transfer to make at Metro Center. Of the first train, up the escalator...utter and complete chaos.


A jam-packed train is sitting on the platform with the doors open - never a good sign - and the platform itself is quickly filling to capacity. I feel like we need those Japanese Subway Pushers to get things moving in the right direction. Minutes pass and passengers start to exit from the train. Sweet! Now I can get on the train. And stand there. Sweating, with everybody else. For what seems like hours. But is probably closer to 15 minutes (although I find out that other passengers had already been on the train as long as 20 minutes).

Then we move - hooray!
And we get to the next station - awesome!
And the engineer tells us the trains going out of service and to exit immediately - what the?!

Yep, an entire train, full to capacity, exiting back onto another almost-full platform. And then the train sits and sits and we stand and stand. And I realize I have to go call the people I'm babysitting for. And just, I mean "go" call, because I am sans phone right now. Luckily I have a fist-full of quarters and a payphone within site.

Quick call to 411 to get the digits. They give me the numbers, then HANG UP ON ME. Wait? Aren't they supposed to connect the call? Luckily I memorized the number; nobody picks up.

Quick call to 411 to get the digits. They give me the numbers, then HANG UP ON ME. Wait? Aren't they supposed to connect the call? Luckily I memorized the number; nobody picks up.

Yeah, I just wrote the same paragraph twice...on purpose. The same thing happened twice. At my wit's end, and with the upper level of the station quickly filling, I call my mom, to see if she's at home so she can access my email contacts online so that I can call the family's cell phone. Yes - we've upgraded to Defcon 3.

Four minutes for four quarters; better talk fast. Give her the password to my webmail; it doesn't work. Of course it doesn't! It's now nearly the time that I'm due at their house for babysitting and I'm out of options. "Please insert two quarters to continue the call." Check wallet - no more quarters. Click!

I descend to the platform one last time to see about catching a train. There's on in two minutes and one in 12. Yikes! The first pulls up and is already so unbelievably crowded that only 1-2 people can enter at each door. There are hundreds on the platform. This is hopeless.

So I dejectedly head up the escalator...again. And this time I'm going all the way up - to fresh air, to elbow room, to possibly buy a disposable cell phone. I need more quarters to let my mom know I'm okay, but I need cash. I buy some gun from CVS, get $5 back on my debit card and ask for two of the dollars in quarters. Guess what? They're out of quarters.

I then tell the guy panhandling outside the CVS that I'll give him $5 for eight quarters because all the banks are closed becase I spent to freakin' long underground because the freakin' Metro cannot figure out how to remove a disabled train from their freakin' tracks in a reasonable amount of time. This lovely gentleman has not been given one quarter all day. We chat for a minute and I give him a couple of bucks anyway and have to go to an ATM and then to Starbucks for some quarters.

Nearly two hours later, After having walked for blocks and blocks to find a payphone, I end up practically screaming into a scuzzy, bent one (the connection was bad, so I had to yell for my mom to hear me; mercifully she had found the people's number online and told them I wouldn't make it) still a mile from my house. Luckily the bus would soon be there to take me home.

Or not. I waited an extra fifteen minutes and then just shook my head with disbelief.

I took a cab home.