The $40 lesson
Sometimes I forget that as a car-free American, I’m unusual. I totally tune out car commercials and people’s online discussions over things like handicapped parking spaces and road rage. I don’t really encounter these issues. I actually enjoy public transportation. Well, mostly. It is hot in the subway this time of year and on those days when the bus or subway stops for no particular reason and you are mashed against other humans with no idea of when you’ll reach your destination, well, I think about cars. But then I also think about traffic and gas prices and having to watch the road ahead of me instead of my app or my book. I think about getting lost, which I always seem to do while driving. That moment of panic as you wonder if this is your exit, with no bus driver to ask. And flat tires and roadside breakdowns. No thanks!
I was already planning this post when, while discussing a possible excursion of mine to an area a few states away, North of the City asked me, “have you researched the transportation there?” Well, of course I have researched it. Down to every possible permutation. Greyhound or Bolt Bus or Chinatown bus or regional rail? Which is the cheapest? Which is the fastest? Which meets up with the local bus of a city in which I have spent no more than five minutes of my life? Researching local buses is by far the most complicated yet interesting part of any trip I plan, in any state or country. The websites of local bus networks are meant for locals and they read that way. Even my own Metro-North site organizes its local trains by “East of the Hudson” and “West of the Hudson.” If I told you to meet me in Croton or in Hawthorne, how would you know which of those to choose? This is what you’re up against when you plan trips by public transport.
But I love doing it. I love the challenge and the planning and the novelty. And then, of course, you have to do the whole process again for the way back. That’s the most important part, really, and I discovered that two decades ago in college, planning a trip to a mall in the suburbs of Baltimore. I loved malls and the one in White Plains, where I grew up, was easily accessible by public transportation. The Bee Line, Westchester’s system of buses, has actually won awards for its coverage and organization. And then I came to the Baltimore area where things weren’t quite so good. I remember phoning the Capital Center in Landover and asking them how to get there by public transportation so I could see the Rangers play. “You can’t,” the guy said to me matter-of-factly. “I mean, you could take a taxi here, but no cab would come pick you up.” That sort of stunned me. How could there be a place not accessible by public transportation? That’s when I became a Baltimore Skipjacks fan. You could get to the Baltimore Arena easily on the #3. You still can, even though the Skipjacks left long ago and they keep talking about replacing it. The Cap Center is gone, though, replaced by an arena that is situated on top of a transit stop. Ha!
But back to the malls. I found that this mall (and I honestly cannot remember which one – White Marsh? Hunt Valley? Who knows) could be reached by bus and I planned my trip. Except somehow, I missed that there was only one bus in the afternoon that returned. Naturally, I figured that out after I had done my shopping and needed to get back to school. And then, and then, I had to go to the ATM and withdraw $40 which was what the cab cost to go home. That may not seem like a lot now, but back then, I had so little cash in my account that I usually couldn’t even use the ATM because it only dispensed twenties and I never had $20. I think I used my credit card to take a cash advance. The only way I could keep from mentally berating myself all the way home was to tell myself that it was a $40 lesson. The lesson was, always plan the way back, too. And I always do now. It seems pretty cheap if you average it over the years that it has stood me well. Good as gold.
I also learned to stick with Owings Mills or Mondawmin as far as malls went. In Mondawmin, which was the closest mall to campus, I was the only white person I ever saw. I remember thinking, “do no other Hopkins students know there’s this mall right here?” And you could take the bus or the subway, a rarity in Baltimore. Weird! Once, on the bus, in which I was also always the only white person who got on west of Hampden, I was walking down the aisle to get to my seat when a guy I had passed sitting in front called out, “I got jungle fever!” Later, I starred in the Baby Got Back video.
Anyway, I may still take this trip, it’s not been decided yet, but either way, it was fun to plan. The way back, too.
I can’t believe it’s been a week since Austin! In between there was a parade and, well, I love a parade. Myself, Sister1, and Niece4 (away from school on special dispensation) braved hordes of drunken mooks to get tiny glimpses of baseball players’ heads. It was worth it! People climbed trees and street lights and sanitation trucks but we just stood on a bit of higher ground behind a fence that finally gave way from all the pushing. Freedom! Here’s the only picture I got with anyone in it. See Tiny Jeter in my hand? (That’s Bob’s joke, thanks Bob). Also shown, Minka Kelly and her mother-in-law, Mrs. Jeter, at the front. Delightful.
Speaking of, here’s the Texas Statehouse. There are lots of fun things inside, like hinges with the state seal on them and light fixtures in the shapes of stars. But this is my favorite photo. Oooooo.
That evening, we went to the Halloween procession down 6th Street. It’s sort of famous but we went too early to see the best of it, mainly because there was some sort of race we were supposed to be in the next day. There were lots of great costumes, notably the Headless Horseman (he was the horse too, it was kind of amazing) and the Dick in a Box guy. You heard me. But the best was this kid. We later spotted her at the Damned show.
No, not this!
This! It was such a beautiful day and because it was in a location off the beaten track, they imported Texas cheerleaders to place along the route to cheer us on. They rocked! I understand they take football seriously in Texas or something.
Ooooh, purple flowers! I might even forget it’s a backpack.
This is what most people think of with Johns Hopkins, except without all those poles. Maybe they Photoshop it. Anyway! Up there is the main library, called MSE, where people less slackery than I studied and in front of it is “the beach” where people more sexy than I sunbathed. In fact, even here in the Summer, there are some out there. Those school buses belonged to hordes of high school students visiting and being led on various tours. They were everywhere when I was visiting. I willed one of them or their parents to ask me a question so I could answer, “save yourself! Don’t come here!” but no one did. As I walked up the oval to MSE, a white-haired man holding a pile of library books caught up to me and despite my headphones started conversing with me. This doesn’t happen to me in NY but occurred several times this day. I kind of loved it. I pretended I was still a Baltimoron and the conversation went like this:
Wow, picturesque! I really know how to showcase the place, don’t I? In fact, this dead end garbage dump area is where I went every single day to eat. That white door on the right was the entrance to the Kosher Dining Hall and by “Hall,” I mean a room with a long table, two sofas, a stereo, and a little prayer area, plus a kitchen. This was religious Jewish life at Hopkins while I was there. But, you know, I met College Boyfriend there which is why of all the places I see when I visit, this is the one that has a 100% chance of making me cry. I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that it no longer exists there as a testament to all the things that happened to me there or if it’s the memory of all the good and bad events in general, but there you are. A lot goes on in a one room area you visit every day for four years. It’s all locked up and I don’t know what they use it for now; I pressed my face up to the dusty barred window and tried to peer through the slats. Nothing but darkness.
Feel better? This is what college is supposed to look like. That’s the lower quad, mostly because the main focal point of the upper quad was under construction and covered with scaffolding. In the distance there is Shriver Hall where they had concerts, amongst other things. I saw Ministry there before I knew they had changed their sound to… nothing like their old sound. That was a surprising show. A couple of years after I graduated, I volunteered to take one of our artists at my first label to his show there. He was my idol and I thought by coming back as somebody, I could show Hopkins that they hadn’t trampled my spirit utterly. That feeling lasted for a month or so. But don’t worry, I did ultimately get my self-esteem back.
Moving right along, I did eventually hop on the #3 bus and go down to the Harbor to see my store. Of course, it isn’t Sam Goody’s anymore, because the Musicland/Sam Goody chain is dead, but I hardly expected to find what I did in an upscale tourist mall, which was a discount dollar store. In fact, it was so bare-bones that it was called “A Dollar.” It was run by an immigrant couple who were so lax on security that I managed to take BlackBerry photos all over the store, including the back room. I meant to post them all with captions like, “here’s the slatboard where I used to organize the Maxell and TDK blank tape and here’s the area where I put a thousand cassettes and CD’s into a thousand plastic theft-proof ‘keepers,’” but in the end it was too depressing.
After that, I read the Baltimore City Paper and sipped fresh-squeezed lemonade while watching the scene at Harborplace. And then I met up with Alex and Steph and other friends from my current life and that was a nice end to the day. But just as we were finishing our dinner, a giant storm came out of nowhere to wash away the humidity for a moment. That happens everywhere, New York too, but somehow it seemed like I remember it more from there. I was glad it happened. Because whatever transpires in your life, you can always count on the rain to come and clean it up for you.
