Going to college in New York City did something to me. Well, it did several things to me. It taught me that as a pedestrian I have the right to walk across the street whenever I want, and then also have permission to yell at any cars that almost hit me. It taught me that odd smells are to be tolerated. It taught me that white kids with trust funds can live next door to poor minorities in something resembling harmony.
But most of all, it taught me that there’s no shame in relying on public transportation.
If the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty are the crown jewels of New York City, then the subways are the lower intestine and colon. A packed mismatch of everything New York has to offer, these tubes take everyone where they need to go and drop them off in the appropriate place. Sleek, convenient, and only especially uncomfortable in the summer, I had no problem getting on board with mass transit, so to say.
When I moved to Chicago, things were different, but similar. It still smelled but not nearly as bad, which I attributed to the lake, until I remembered the ocean that borders New York. Many more roads in Chicago – and room to park the cars that are on them. But I just trudged on the same way as I always had, unlimited pass in hand, happily reading while sitting in the comfortable, padded seats that Chicago offers us weary train patrons.
But a new problem has shown itself. Its the problem of arriving somewhere on time. To be specific, I can’t do it, not to save my life. I doubt this is a Chicago thing. It probably existed in New York too, but I was having too much fun sneaking into class late to care. But now it’s becoming a serious issue in my life, and one that I’d happily see resolved.
See, the trains have two schedules. They have ‘Get Philip to his destination promptly, thereby causing him to be 20 minutes early’ and they have ‘Let’s run at such a bone-grindingly slow pace that the sun will be in an entirely different place in the sky before we get anywhere at all.’ The second schedule happens just often enough that it’s not safe to pray for the early train. So I can only assume that the train will take longer than I plan.
But this just causes me even more problems. If I decide to get to the station early, the train will most likely come early, and therefore I’ll get to my stop super early. Or I may get on the train at what I assume will get me to my destination at a reasonable time. In this case it’s always late, causing me to be super late. There’s no beating the CTA in this regard.
So all I can do is be prepared for either aftermath. If I’m early, I have my book of the day, Sukodu, and phone (women have it made with purses). If I’m going to be interviewing, or meeting with someone, I need to be sure to stay in a social and mentally stimulated mindset. I also need to ensure that my hair is in place, my clothes look good, and I’m the symbol of professionalism, the Greek god equivalent of the modern man.
But it could just as likely go the other direction, and have me horribly late. Now granted, I’m far enough out of college that I don’t show up to important meetings late, at least not on regular occasion (and only when I can tell that enough other people on the train are running late that I won’t be accused of making up stories). But the threat is still there. Lateness will ruin any effect I was hoping to have on the person I’m meeting. And believe me, in the world of improv, promptness is extremely important.
Yeah, right. I think I’ll show up 10 minutes late to my next gig just to spite myself for that statement.
So I feel that the only solution is to keep leaving the house earlier and earlier, until I catch myself sleeping from 10pm to midnight, getting up, and jumping on the crowded train to go downtown, with the girlfriend on the phone complaining I never have time for her. Some things never change.
