For 9 years we’ve had a great relationship. Growing up, the rides on your orange-and-yellow interior into the Manhattan were often more memorable than the trip itself. When I was 12 you helped me attain status: I was one of the cool kids at the Solomon Schechter Jewish day school who shunned the yellow bus for an afterschool slice and a ride home on the Q46. One year later I descended the stairs to your vast underground bowels for the first time without parents—it was more of a coming-of-age moment for me than my Bar Mitzvah that fall. In high school I did more homework riding your trains and busses than I ever did in my room (being the social climber I was, the lack of reception in your tunnels was a blessing). In college, I moved to Chicago but you were never far from my heart. While riding Chicago’s dreaded “el” I constantly spoke of your virtues compared to your Second City counterpart. You are the high school sweetheart I never had, the lover who never stopped giving, traveling at the fastest possible speeds so I could get to my preferred destination for
I’m afraid it’s coming to an end. You might think we've reached the twilight of our relationship because of the budget cuts, but really it has nothing to do with them. I promise.
It doesn’t bother me that you sent two of your underground tentacles, the V and the W, out to pasture. The part of the V line I took was replaced by the M, and the W was a redundant line anyway.
It’s unfortunate that you had to cut buses, too. It further shows your unfortunate tendencies to overlook non-Manhattan residents, and, especially the elderly most likely to ride those buses. But I can’t hate you for that. In an economy like this one, cuts are inevitable, and someone’s bound to be hurt.
There’s no love lost for announcing higher fares—again—while simultaneously cutting services. I understand that it’s unrealistic to expect to fork over just $2.00 for an unbelievably expansive transit network.
There’s been some recent unrest over your compensation benefits. Some people don’t like the vacation days your employees get, but I applaud you for your compensation packages. Working for you is a difficult job—you would have to pay a lot to get the investigative journalists that launched the “vacation days investigation” to join your ranks—and it’s one of the few well-paying jobs that lower income New Yorkers have a realistic shot at.
I’ll be honest, though, it does bother me a little bit that in the face of all these financial difficulties you’ve invested in a whole host of new train and bus models. I’d rather that money be spent elsewhere, but in an age of environmental radicalism, these efficient buses and trains were probably inevitable. Also, the heat down there, with temperatures reaching triple-digits above your tunnels, borders on unbearable.
Nevertheless, I’d still love you. Really, I would. I would choose to reminisce about my happier times with you, take the good and the bad—as any long love affair requires—if it weren’t for one thing. If only I never had to hear this again:
AP Image“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize for the delay. There’s train traffic ahead of us, we’ll be moving shortly.”
I heard that message exactly 19 times last Thursday on my way to, and from, work. And yes, the recorded voice announcement is extremely irritating, but you know what’s really, so frustrating about the message? THAT THERE’S TRAIN TRAFFIC IN THE MIDST OF MASSIVE SERVICE CUTS. Simple logic says that if there are fewer cars on the road there will be less traffic, and so if there are fewer trains but more traffic, something is not adding up.
MTA, I’ve already found it within my heart to forgive you for enough transgressions to turn most of a city against you. Really, I’m trying to be patient, here. But if you’re going to take trains out of service, run them less frequently, raise fares and invest in efficient trains (which, by the way, are the trains plagued with the irritable recorded voice), it shouldn’t take me an hour and a quarter to travel what used to take just 45 minutes. My train shouldn’t stop repeatedly in the tunnel, and then halt, with opened doors releasing the train’s much needed cool air, at stations for an extra four-to-five minutes, and it sure as hell shouldn’t crawl along what’s advertised as an express line.
Oh, and my fellow F riders and I got the point the first 18 times. Take it easy already with that recorded message, will you?
Sincerely,
Adam Fusfeld
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