The Metro and I go way back. I used to spend a good 90 minutes a day commuting via Metrorail before I got wise and moved closer to the city. I saw all sorts of crazy things: drug deals, a flasher or two, a drunk guy peeing in the corner, a fist fight, but never, ever did someone push the red button on the emergency intercom.
It’s as if there was a decency force-field attached to the little box that says “I don’t care if you’ve been drinking, I don’t care if you’re convinced hemadrones are coming for you, don’t fucking touch this thing unless the train is on fire, some is very near to death, or this train is beneath another train.
Apparently, however, it is just a portal to a car dealership disguised as a train driver. So, next time you’re on a train, and you need a Benz Truck, you go right ahead and push that button to get one from the driver.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
I live and work in the District of Columbia. I write at We Love DC, a blog I helped start, I work at Technolutionary, a company I helped start, and I’m happy doing both. I enjoy watching baseball, cooking, and gardening. I grow a mean pepper, keep a clean scorebook, and wash the dishes when I’m done. Read Why I Love DC.
