Ode to Red Line

Oh red line how I love your service. Your frequency and cleanliness surpass all your siblings. You may be crowded at times but you offer up the best chance of a seat over all the others. And the ambiance you provide at your stations does not go unnoticed. From the blind banjo player with his seeing eye dog at Porter to the crazy electric guitar player with his stocking hat at Alewife to the occasional klezmer at Harvard. A quiet crazy.I rode the orange line last night and it paled in comparison. I would have thought I was stuck in a little corner of hell if I had to take orange every day instead of you, oh glorious red. But instead, I found it funny. The harmonica player who at first glance was providing a pleasant accompaniment while waiting for the train that would just not arrive. Pleasant until you realize he’s looping and it was a two stanza loop. Over and over, the same two lines. But the train arrived and a seat was found. And just as the doors shut on the crowd packed in, a last minute addition arrived. An addition that could not be seen through the huddled masses hanging on to the subway bars. But could be heard. Over and over, screaming the same thing. The little boy was insistent.
And he did not wear out after a few stops like the Cambridge kids will on your wonderful red line. He kept on going and going. What he was saying, I do not know. I do not speak orange line speak. At first it sounded like “I wanna go back” which then morphed into sounding like “I wanna go bed” (which might have been me projecting what I thought he really needed during this melt down). In the end I think he was saying “I want the gun back”. Which I would never think of on you, safe red line, but on orange…
And, oh glorious red, that was funny on its own. But what topped it was that the young gentleman standing in front of me who was trying to read caught my eye. On you, quiet red, the commuters respect the silence and there may be the occasional eye contact. But on orange, the awkward conversations pop up and he says, “This reminds me of that German commercial for condoms.” What do you say to that? For me, the first thing that popped into my head was, “How does it end?” It ends with a tired father and toddler having a tantrum with a caption that says, “don’t you wish you used acme condoms?”
Oh red line, how I missed you last night. And although I enjoyed the dinner with friends, and the old camaraderie. The late night of girl talk before my sleep over, I missed your smooth ride in this morning. The green line may be young and hip, but you are old and wise. And I greatly prefer the slow and steady type that gets you there faster than the stop-go jerkiness of the young. My empty stomach missed your soft ride.
I look forward to our reunion tonight. Your familiar riders and the familiar crazies. Thank you for getting me home safely and quietly each night. And for getting me into work without demanding my attention. I appreciate your understated grace. Thank you red line for being my line.