I ride the train now. I have learned to run in high heels. Sitting at my desk, at 4:55 pm, I suddenly realize nothing matters more in the world than getting on the 4:59 train. On those days, the elevator invariably stops repeatedly, with most people taking it to move only one floor. I think that is a silly thing. I have come to know the low feeling one gets when one arrives at the platform just in time to see the train leave. I have been filmed by video crews while driving into the BART parking lot (really, how interesting could it be to film cars parking?), and have been filmed as I put my train card into the reader. My fame has reached another dimension, it seems...
My life is governed by the train. Going to and fro. Pulling my BART card out of my wallet over and over. 7:21 am, 4:59 pm, etc etc.
Once, a man offered me his seat. I did not take it. He looked so tired. Should I have taken it? I know not.
People snore on the train too. Probably the same people.
Upon returning at night, there is one rider (youngish man) who waits by the door and sprints out before the doors completely open in an effort to be the first one to the escalator. He doesn't always make it. He could plan ahead and place himself in the train car that would be the shortest distance from the escalator--but he doesn't. He's always slightly off.
I read on the train. It is the one truly fabulous thing about riding train, the one consolation for time lost in transit.
Another thing--every time I get off the train in the morning, coworkers pop out of nowhere. We are all on the same train but don't know it. To own the truth, I prefer it that way. I'd rather sit alone and read, which is semi-embarassing to admit. If I knew the person sitting next to me, I'd feel obliged to talk to them. Sigh.