On Being Late for Work

Sometimes, try as you may, you end up being late for work.  Generally it's my own fault - I didn't leave home early enough, or I slept too late, or some such thing.  Other times it's Metro's fault - trains are slow, late, too full, whatever.  But occasionally, like today, things just get ridiculously compounded, to the point when you stop trying to find someone to blame and just look on and shake your head at the foolishness of it all.

This morning was one of those times.

Now, I will admit that I was running a bit late, and I didn't get to Waterfront station until about seven minutes before eight (not allowing enough time to get to work by eight, true, but I've given myself a ten-minute "acceptable tardiness" cushion).  I went down onto the platform and was discouraged to see that it was fuller than normal - which of course means that getting a spot on the next train is much less likely.  Discouraged, I found a place in the throng.

Minutes later - about 8:00 - an odd tri-tone chime was played and followed by an announcement - telling us that there was a sick passenger at Navy Yard, the station before Waterfront, and that trains would be delayed.  Now, "sick passenger" sounds much more innocuous that it is.  It sounds like "someone has a cold on the train, oh noes" but in fact means that someone needs medical attention, generally for the sudden development of a major condition, like a heart attack.  So a sick passenger is likely to foul up your entire commute.

Moments after the first announcement, the announcer - I presume the station manager, though I have no way of knowing - told us that a train would be coming into the station, but that trains were single-tracking, so it would show up on the opposite side of the platform, where trains going in the other direction arrive.  So the whole crowd shifted over to the other side of the platform and waited, only to be informed a few minutes later that, just kidding, the train would arrive shortly on the normal side of the platform.  Just kidding folks!

So the train arrives, and it's jammed to the gills.  A few intrepid people forced their way on, but as it was already quarter past eight I figured I could wait for another train rather than get up in someone one else's (or elses') personal space to a degree that I usually - no, always - reserve for my boyfriend.  Fortunately, another train showed up two minutes later  - in total defiance of the arrivals board, which declared that the next train wouldn't come for another seventeen minutes - and I got on, thinking that my troubles were over.  Of course not - we had to wait in the tunnel for a few minutes while the train in front of occupied the platform at L'Enfant Plaza.  I should have known.

When I finally got off at L'Enfant Plaza to change lines, I heard another announcement, informing the world that there was a sick passenger at Navy Yard, which I already knew, and that I should expect delays throughout the system.  The entire system, delayed on account of a sick passenger at one of the stations, and not even one served by multiple lines?  Bah, humbug, I thought to myself, being careful not to be angry with the sick passenger, only with Metro for handling it like O'Hare handles a snowshower.

Upon reaching the lower platform where my next train would arrive, I was disheartened to see an even more crowded platform than the one I had left at Waterfront.  After dodging lots of oblivious people who seem to think that the best thing to do once getting off an escalator is stop dead and look around confusedly, I made it to the far (and emptier) end of the platform, and was able to get on a train after waiting a while.  (It's a bit past 8:20 by this point).  In short order I was delivered to my destination station, but upon disembarking found yet another crowded platform, with people in long lines for the escalator.  High volume, I thought, and I exited the system thinking only about how late I would end up being for work.

But when I came above ground, yet another change from normalcy awaited me - the entire plaza, which I usually cross to get to the street, cordoned off.  Uniformed personnel directed us towards the only un-cordoned-off exit and I went around a couple of buildings before arriving at the point where I would have been had I been able to cross the plaza.  Then I saw the fire trucks and ambulances, and the blocked-off street, and began to worry.  Apparently a large government building had been closed off, in its entirety, but no one was saying what was going on.  No SWAT team in sight, so probably not a hostage situation, but who knew?  Bomb threat, maybe?

I made it to my office and logged onto my computer, thinking to check the news, and only then glanced at my phone.  8:30.  It took more than half an hour to make a commute I can usually do in about twelve minutes.  Tripled.  Oy vey.

Well, turns out it was a grease fire in a food court which spread to some ductwork.  And it also turns out that I wasn't the worst affected by a long shot.  They closed the building's associated parking ramp too, so my boss (who drives to work) couldn't park for hours.  They didn't give the all clear until 11.  Yet another reason I'm glad I don't drive.

You will be please to know, of course, that my afternoon commute was totally uneventful.  After today, I think karma owes me a couple of weeks of smooth sailing, don't you?