D.C. Metro, Part I

The D.C. Metro can be a beautiful thing. It can guide tourists, game patrons and business men to their destinations. It shrinks a regional area covering 2 states and is accessible to over 5 million people in one of the most densely populated regions in the country.

But the second-busiest metro in the nation can also be an unforgiving bitch. A place where giddy travelers and impatient politicians collide. On occasion, it can breed an indescribable fury in a region already strife with high rates of road rage. This wasn't more evident then on the morning of June 5, 2007.

I was on my way home after the Las Vegas shenanigans. Armed with a backpack and rolling suitcase the goal was simple, board the Yellow Line and proceed home. However, that Tuesday morning would dictate otherwise.

Situated at the Pentagon stop, I found myself entering the lion’s den. The rush hour commute was at full strength as men in suits and women in heels began crowding the dock. The air was filled with morning grogginess and a "don't talk to me!" tension. Immediately recognizing my slim chances of boarding the first train, I took my position behind the thick layer of people and turned the volume up on my iPod. It would be 12mins before the next line, giving me plenty of time to make my way to the front of the dock to ensure an easy boarding. In the meantime, heartless and impatient people began to fill the space. Within minutes, the entire platform was packed, as if a train had never arrived.

No sooner then I could have hoped, the dock lights started blinking, indicating the next trains arrival. It was time to leave this human gridlock behind. As the train rolled in, my position - which I had cleverly maneuvered into - began to shrink. People crowded every inch in hopes of being the first ones through the doors. At first, my luggage held firm and created a natural bubble between myself and those seeking to steal my space. However, my position quickly disintegrated when a 'large' woman blitzed into my bubble. She was a hefty one, someone who more than likely grew up with the riddles and jokes of a tormented childhood. But now, she lived in NOVA, in a dog eat dog world. And she was determined to show skinny people like me that she wasn't going to take anymore shit.

With her at my right side, the train stopped. In a cruel turn of events the nearest doors found their way to her side. "No worries," I thought to myself. She'll be the lead block to my 6 yard gain. The entire episode couldn't have lasted more than 10 seconds. People were closing in fast, my luggage had maintained the bubble and my lead blocker had delivered. The only thing left to do was make a cut and squeeze through the opening for the score. I made my move. Then, my blocker turned into a regulator, as if to say 'not this one, fun boy.' The hefty one laid a deliberate, but subtle elbow on my chest rendering my position obsolete. I had been displaced and forced back for another 12 minutes of ‘do nothing.’

Dumbfounded and annoyed, I took the beat down and reorganized my thoughts, determined to make a push on the next train. Without hesitation, I successfully made my way on to the next line. I had finally prevailed after nearly 30 minutes of metro eligibility.

Until this day, each time I board the D.C. metro I think back to that experience. Through it, I have become stronger, faster and keenly aware of the double-edged sword that embodies D.C. metro.