Here's a story from reader, and friend, Sarah, recounting a lovely trip back from the shore on SEPTA...
Coming home from a weekend down the shore, I took PATCO to 8th Street. I toyed with the idea of walking home, but realized it had started to drizzle at that point. "No problem!" thought I, "The El will take me the rest of the way."
I only had to wait a few minutes for the next train. I was standing behind a big group of people who were slowly shuffling into the train. There was a bit of a bottle neck and I stood just outside the doors, waiting for the group to clear some space. Standing half in, half out of the train seemed like a bad idea.
I've made many good decisions and I've made many bad decisions in my life. Staying on the platform was one of them.
The little orange lights flashed and I realized the doors were closing. "The hell? I'm not on the train yet. Neither are the two people behind me." "Doors closing," announced Mrs. Septa. I swung my arm between the doors, thinking it'd be like an elevator and stay open. Then I realized this had the potential to be one of those bad decisions and pulled my arm back out.
The doors closed, right in my face.
I turned my head towards the conductor-end of the train and shouted "HEY! WE WANT TO GET ON THE TRAIN."
The train pulled away.
I felt like I was back in gym class, getting picked last for dodgeball. "Did I really just get rejected by the El?" I turned to the two gentlemen who were also denied. "Did that just happen?" Both were as stunned as I was. The conductor would have had to seen us, if he had glanced down the side of the train. I wasn't standing next to one of the columns, I was definitely between it and the train. Weren't they supposed to look? Make sure everyone was on the train before closing the doors? What if stroller or wheel chair was having trouble navigating the gap?
I marched up to the ticket window and explained what had just happened. The woman was extraordinarily concerned and suggested that I log a complaint. She turned away and I assumed she was getting some sort of official complaint form. Instead, she handed me a piece of cardboard from the back of a stack of tickets, with a phone number written on it.
Back on the platform, I made sure to note the exact time (2:42pm) the next train pulled into the platform, so I could explain to whomever took my call that it was the train before that had kicked dirt in my face. When I called, however, the Septa customer service rep insisted on having the car number. Which I did not write down. He promised to make some inquiries and call me back.
About a half hour later, he did. Miracles.
He told me that without a car number, it was impossible to figure out which conductor it was, but that there had been a train through 8th Street at 2:36 and one at 2:45 and he was pretty sure it was this good-for-nothing female conductor in the 2:45 train, because she's getting older, you see, and...
I cut him off there and explained that it couldn't have been the female conductor in the 2:45, because I was pretty sure that was the train that had actually picked me up.
"Oh," he said, followed by a bit of silence. "Well, I can't go to the union without a car number anyway."
I'll give him this - he seemed to be genuinely concerned with fixing my problem enough so that I would go away, somewhat satisfied.
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