I got to the Huntingdon station on the Market-Frankford line at about 2:10 this afternoon. Typically, I missed the train by about 45 seconds, but that’s a different rant. When I got to the top of the stairs, the booth which usually houses the helpful*, attentive** SEPTA employee was dark and empty. A cardboard sign stuck in the window read “USE BIG GATE TO LEFT,” and included three helpful arrows for riders like myself who, on the verge of heatstroke from walking to the train through the soup that is the summer in Philly, had a little trouble focusing on the words.

  I live and die by the Blue Line, so I’ve observed plenty of SEPTA’s worker drones. I know that they’re usually stuck in a tiny booth by themselves for hours at a time, and I don’t begrudge one of them needing to take a bathroom/snack/smoke break, especially when they leave the gate unlocked so riders who show up while they’re out of the booth can get to the platform. They get to take care of their basic biological functions, and I save a token. However, when I reached the gate area, the newly-returned attendant was berating a man who was having trouble going through the gate. He couldn’t get it to open, and she was rudely directing him to the open gate. Which was on the far right. The best part? Her parting shot at he went through the gate was “that’s what it say on the sign!”

  Apparently, the transit organization can’t even afford to hire people who know which hand makes the “L” when you stick out your thumb. I am suddenly in favor of casinos, if the state will promise to dedicate some of the revenue to ensuring all SEPTA workers have a first grade education.

*unhelpful **inattentive

  When it’s hot and humid - as if it’s EVER hot WITHOUT being humid in this town - the back of the bus smells like ground in BO rinsed in stale urine. Then again, so does most of the city. When the exhaust is the best-smelling part of your commute, it’s time to buy a gas mask.

Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  How come the El train in Philly turns into a subway in Center City? Also, why does the subway turn into an El train when it’s not in Center City?
- Blue Line Bandit

Dear Blue Line Bandit,
 There is doubtless a Perfectly Reasonable Explanation, involving water tables, soil densities, and other dull technical information. However, my Wildly Uninformed Perspective is skeptical about all that blather. In the early 20th Century when the line was being constructed, Center City’s roster of well-to-do residents and businesses was “important” in a way that the poorer western and northeastern neighborhoods weren’t. That disparity of economic swagger still holds true today. Coincidentally, Center City’s residents and businesses get to have their rail transportation buried underground, while people living in Kensington and West Philly have the pleasure of a gigantic metal monstrosity covering their streets and trains rattling by at the level of their second-story windows.

  This is, of course, rank speculation. If anyone has a less invidious explanation, I’d be willing to entertain it.

  On my way home from work yesterday, I spotted a convergence of psychobabble chicanery that I’d previously seen only in unpleasant dreams. At one end of the car, a skinny, semi-professional looking blond woman reading The Secret. At the other end of the car, a rough, badly-used looking older gentleman cracking open a large envelope full of glossy Scientology paraphernalia. I swear I could see a fog bank of stupidity forming where their individual credulities converged.

  I’m sure I’ve beaten you about the head quite enough with my outrage over The Secret, but I don’t think I’ve ever broached the subject of Hollywood’s favorite cult “religion.” (I don’t have a tag for it yet, and until I find an alternate reality where my memory isn’t so porous, I’ll have to trust the silicon overlord.)

  I don’t have the energy to get into it here. The alien warlords and ghosts are almost too ridiculous to comprehend. However, I will make this (not at all insightful) observation; any “religion” that charges you money to learn their teachings is a fucking cult, regardless of what any number of brain-addled celebrities would like you to believe.

  By the way, Scientology is also Hollywood’s most notoriously litigious cult “religion,” so I’ll be sure to post a link to my legal defense fund as soon as I receive the cease and desist letter.

Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  Can you loan me 50 bucks?
- Fiscaliberal

Dear Fiscaliberal,
  Yes, as long as you can accept it in monthly installments of $.05 for the next 83 years. I’ll leave nickels on the floor of the Spring Garden El station. Look for the first one in a few days.

  Oh, Jesus Christ, the hair. It was supposed to be – had been, about six weeks earlier – red. Purple goop, squeezed from a tube and smeared on unsuspecting follicles resulted in a red that, given candlelight and sufficient squinting, could probably have passed for natural. After a month and a half, the weak winter sun had stripped the pigment, leaving behind a tarnished brass like a trumpet pulled from the rubble of a house fire. Under the fluorescent bus lights, it managed to appear vaguely auburn, brown, and a weird purplish green at the same time. My cones screamed in frustration as they tried to reconcile the conflicting signals, while my rods chuckled and went back to sleep. I’ve never been so happy to have a book to read.