Lousy Commuting

Yesterday morning, I left the apartment at 7:47 am. About two minutes too late to make my usual bus to Friendship Heights metro station.
No worries, the bus after my usual arrives at 8:01. This wasn’t the first time I snoozed one too many times. You would think waking up earlier gets easier, but according to my records, the difference is marginal.
Another testament of Murphy’s Law for the history books, kids. The next bus didn’t come until 8:16. Double the fun: it was a midget bus. Pardon me, a little person bus. On a day when I would have been comfortable the entire trip, my face was smooshed against the back door window. Nothing to fret over, the ride is only seven minutes long.
I sprinted down the escalator as I do every morning. You can’t trust the screens at the bottom that say you have three minutes until your train arrives, because the system is sporadically slow. It seems that only happens on the days I trust it, but I may be going crazy. Commuting can quickly do that to a person.
I got a seat! I was sucked into my book when I noticed the train stopped. Must have been part of Metro’s legendary “improvement strategy” for the abysmal red line. I got off, smooshed again, smelled an obese man’s back sweat. He had a delicate left earring, a loose fitting navy blue shirt, and the most peculiar chinstrap facial hair I’ve seen since last shopping at the Staten Island Mall. His odor indicated he ate onions, garbage, and Axe body spray for breakfast.
This was the first time I was late for work yet I did everything right. Not a great start to that day.
Nonetheless, this was all in the past! Today was a new day. No need to dwell on one lousy commute. I wasn’t about to forget about it entirely, though. That part right there, the part about me not forgetting: that brings me to right about five minutes ago. As always, an old person who still doesn’t understand how to dismount an escalator blocked my path when I needed to transfer to the red line towards home. Looking over my shoulder on the escalator at Metro Center, I saw the train to Shady Grove just open its doors.
I actually muttered “Fuck This” as I jumped over the escalator handrail in my desperate attempt for a speedy transfer. Then again, my headphones were blaring at an impressive volume so it could have been more than a mutter. It was by no means a straight shot between the escalator and the train: it was a goddamn mine field. I dodged, I weaved, I juked, but I never took my eyes off the open doors. I honestly don’t know how I didn’t trample someone, but I made it through my dash without taking down any bystanders. About 15 feet away, I heard that ding-dong-ding-dong just before that soul-less bitch says “Step back, Doors Closing.” About 11 feet back I saw the doors start to close and with 10 feet between myself and the train, remembering the bitch of a commute from the day before and the dinner my girlfriend had waiting for me, I decided to go for it. I narrowed my body, put my arms forward, and leapt with all my might. I felt the doors slightly clamp my arms, but the momentum I accumulated managed to push the rest of my body through. I made it! That was my thought for about half a second before I felt myself get yanked back the way you abruptly tug a dog’s leash when he has bad intentions. I’m pretty sure I made that same helpless wail a pup often does in that situation. In lesser words: it was quite a jolt.
Immediately I knew what happened. The doors closed at the perfect moment to prevent my backpack’s entry. My body made the leap relatively unscathed, but all of my belongings were on the other side.
Every person with a clear view of me stared wide-eyed. Some laughed and I joined in. What else was I supposed to do? I was calm; I knew the operator would be able to tell there was a remaining set of doors ajar. I expected to hear a repeat of “Step Back. Doors Closing.” I was just glad to make the train. No 18 minute off-peak bullshit wait for me, thank you.
Then, I stopped laughing. Something wasn’t right. The train was moving! No doubt about it, it was in motion. All at once my mind asked a series of horrifying questions: What’s going to happen to my stuff? I’ve got some important things in there. Am I going to screw up this ride for everyone else on the train? Can my bag fit between the train and the tunnel? Holy shit, what’s going to happen to ME?
I snapped out of it when I saw two men jump to their feet in order to assist me. Finally realizing the urgency of the situation, I jammed my right foot between the two doors, and I turned it to give my body the necessary slack. Once I was able to rotate my torso just enough to get my hands on the doors, I shoved them open and flung myself forward. After a few tugs, my bag came through and I nearly fell into the opposite set of doors. Some passengers sighed in relief, some laughed, and others had a stern disapproval in their eyes.
I quickly sat down next to a woman who had her mouth agape in shock. A few seconds of catching my breath rolled by when I realized everyone else was still staring at me too. I had only spoken prior to that moment to thank the men who tried to help me so I felt compelled to say something while still the center of attention. Between deep inhales I managed to squeak out “I really wanted to catch this train.” Apparently that’s what everyone was waiting for because the car filled with a hearty laughter. I smiled and finally caught my breath. The woman next to me then leaned forward and muttered, “You shouldn’t do that. You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry, lady.” I responded. “But I’d do it again to avoid another lousy commute.”