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As the summer winds down (three more weeks!), it is time for another assessment of CTA logistics.

Extra Buses (or, Why it’s Better to Live on the North Side)
I concluded in the first installment that leapfrogging can be legitimate. On a busy bus route, a pack of buses showing up to a bus stop with lots of people makes for quick and easy boarding. Of course, sometimes you’re on the losing end of this deal: this morning, I walked out to the bus station to see a pair of 135s already on the Lakeshore Drive on-ramp. Damn. As I waited for the next one, the crowd at the bus stop swelled to epic proportions. Craning on tip toes, I finally spotted a 135 approaching. As it pulled up to the bus stop, however, it became clear that most people were not going to be able to fit on board. The bus was already standing room only.

The driver let about ten people squeeze on, then announced “doors are closing!” The stoplight changed, and the bus was off. Damn, I missed another one. So did a good 40 other grumpy people that had yet to have their cup of coffee.

We all looked to the north anxiously, but no 135 was near. It was time to bring on the extra bus.

The extra buses await

On any given morning, there is at least one (and often two) buses parked off to the side of the on- and off-ramps of Lake Shore. Today, there were two, and as the packed 135 rumbled off, the bus monitor (you know, the ones that stand on the corner with a clipboard and a chartreuse vest) that stands at my stop every morning signaled one of the extra buses to pull up. The door popped open, and the driver waited for his instructions.

“You’re a 135,” the monitor told him. The driver fiddled with the panel over his head, and soon the LED panels on the front and side of the bus reflected this news. The forty of us at our stop boarded the bus (I still didn’t even get a seat!), and we were off.

People are Retarded
On a less logistical note, I feel it is important to bring attention to people that make life obnoxious for everyone else. Yesterday, right as I was getting out of work, the skies opened and dumped a torrential amount of rain. Right before rush hour is the worst possible time for this to happen. People that would otherwise bike or walk home make a bee-line for the nearest bus. Wet people, crammed together on an overcrowded bus, smell. Traffic snarls along. A ride that should take 20 minutes takes twice that. It’s terrible.

Ideally, everyone would realize that these are non-ideal conditions and do what they could to make everyone comfortable. The bus was already packed when I got on with my dripping wet umbrella, and I had to stand. I’ve gotten really good at reading while I stand (even a novel), but the bus was too crowded to be holding a book out in front of me yesterday. I tried to keep my cool, stand still, enjoy the music on my iPod, and keep my wet umbrella from hitting people as I stood uncomfortably in a sea of swaying people.

The man sitting right next to me, fortunate enough to get a seat, had his laptop out. WHO WORKS ON THEIR LAPTOP ON THE BUS? I ride the bus every day, and I’ve seen this three times. The other two times, it was on a relatively empty bus. Oh no, not this guy. As I’m standing there huddled over him, trying not to bump into the people standing on the other three sides of me, I also have to be conscious not to bump his laptop. I have to try not to let my umbrella drip on him. I have to pretend like I’m not looking at his screen, wondering what the fuck is so important that he has his laptop sticking out into a sea of frustrated, crowded, wet people. (Incidentally, he was looking at Excel tutorials. Asshat.)

As the bus hiccuped north along a very busy Lake Shore, I wanted to skip a song on my iPod, so I reached into my bag and hit next. In this process, my not-quite-dry umbrella tapped his hand. The man paused for a minute, no longer focused on his screen, as if contemplating what to do. Then he looked up at me with the most disgusted, indignant look, as if to say “I am in control enough not to bump into YOU; I can’t BELIEVE you just bumped into ME with that disgusting, wet umbrella.” As if I had control over the fact that it was raining and the bus was crowded. I wanted to grab his laptop, stomp on it, grab him by his tie, throw him out the back door, and take his seat. Instead, I let my umbrella swing and bump him again a few minutes later, and refused to make eye contact with him until right before my stop. As the bus slowed to a stop, I glared at him with a look that was intended to mean, “Yeah. The second time was on purpose.”

Then I politely asked people to excuse me as I made my way to the door. That’ll show him.