Oh, wrong bus bro.
**Long post ahead**
**Long post ahead**
One thing that I'll admit is good is public transportation. Anyone can ride it to get where they need to go.
The D/FW area has centralized public transport, which results in three agencies: DART, The "T", and DCTA.
DART is an agency that runs buses and light-rail trains in Dallas and the its member cities. It runs primarily in Dallas and Collin counties. The "T" is a bus service provided by the Tarrant County Transportation Authority, and runs only in Fort Worth. DCTA also runs a bus service, primarily in Denton, and has a light rail service that connects with DART's network.
Earlier this week, I heard that the people in my high school's Mariachi band were going to perform at a concert in Fort Worth. They usually hold it at a high school that's NW of downtown Fort Worth, so I decided to haul-ass there, via public transport.
I would drive, but I can't. And no one would want to take me; they would say, "It's too far."
So after doing a favor for my brother-in-law Saturday, his favor to me was dropping me off at the station. Before we left, I packed a duffle bag with a tripod, a flashlight, my Zune, a pair of sunglasses, cell phone, and a newly-emptied digital camera.
I left the house at 3.30, and the train left at 3.45. So he rushed up there and dropped me off in time to buy my pass and run onto the train. I set my things down in a seat and looked out the window. The people in the train car had seen me rush, and an older man, asked me, "So, how's your heart feeling?"
I replied, "It's pounding. I thought I'd miss the train, but thank God, I made it!"
I was fixing my things when I saw on a electronic banner that the next station was "IRVING HERITAGE/DOWNTOWN". That meant I was heading in the wrong direction! Fuck!
I got up and asked a TRE employee, "What direction is this train going?"
He replied, "It's going to Dallas."
Panicky, I said, "Can I get off?"
He told me, "Sorry, we're already moving."
He was right. He was standing on the edge of the door, and without me noticing, the train had began to move. I sat down dejectedly in my seat. I was heading in the wrong direction to a concert that would start at 5. About a minute or so later, after crossing SH-161, which is named after George Bush's father, the train stopped at West Irving. I got off, and asked the same TRE employee from before, "When does the next train come?"
"5:14"
"Oh, OK. Thanks."
I grabbed my duffle bag and walked onto the platform.
This is where I made my first mistake. Unbeknownst to me, this station has nothing, except for shelters and ticket machines. There is no sign of commercialism, so no vending machines or telephones. I should have just stayed on the train and stuck with it to Dallas. Instead, I got off at Nowheresville, and now I had to face being alone for an hour-and-a-half until it returned with a new load of passengers.
Along with me, a family (mom, dad, a smaller child, and a teenager), and an older man also got off.
The family drove off about three minutes after we got off, and all that was left was the older man and myself. Needless to say, I was frightened to be out in the middle of fucking nowhere with a stranger who is larger than me and could pose a threat.
The older man, wearing a blue dress shirt and khakis, walked away from my position, and sat upon a rock, reading a book. I remained on the platform island, testing out the manual controls of my camera. 1/1000th second speed for bright sunlight; 1/640th shutter speed in the shade in bright sunlight; 1/400th for darker shade in bright sunlight; anything under 1/400th will cause a washout.
I photographed the rail, the signs (some of which began to peel), and the sky, which was beautiful. It was sunny, puffy white clouds dotted the heavens, and the birds chirping were just fantastic. I had walked the entire length of the platform, and as I photographed the rail lines, I noticed the older man walking towards me. I paid no attention, just continued to photograph.
Finally, he came up to within three feet and asked if I had a cell phone he could use. He said that his wife had dropped him off earlier today to visit his mom at a retirement home in Ft. Worth and that his wife was late. I replied, "Yeah, but please make it brief. I only have a few minutes left on it."
I passed the phone, and he was met with an answering machine. "Hey, it's Jeff. I am the Irving West station, using the cellphone of a young man. It's 4.15 and I'm wondering where you are..."
He ended the call with, "I'm right where you left me. Please hurry. Bye."
Giving me back the phone, he complimented "my setup" and I said, "Yeah, it does the trick." We got to talk a little about photography, and he told me how he bought his daughter a nice camera on a study-abroad programme in London. He described his daughter to what I like to call a Instagrapher, "She will be at a restaurant and she'll take pictures of the food!"
After a few minutes of chatting, he walked towards a bus shelter as he waited for his wife to return. On the other hand, I packed up and began to listen and jam out to my Zune in a shelter on the other end of the platform.
A guy and girl arrived about five minutes into my jam session and I think they bought tickets. They went to a shelter at the opposite end of the platform (where I was photographing the landscape) and stayed there for about twenty minutes. In the end, they left in their early '90s Toyota Piece-of-Shit.
At 5:14, the train once again arrives and I board it. I enter the first car, and it is full with passengers from Dallas. I exit and continue to the next car, which is a little less full. I see an open table seat and take it across a lady reading a book. I set my duffle down and she flashes me a smile. I do the same.
Behind her there is a gay couple and to my right there is a bald man with a large suitcase. Across from him a tall man wearing black typing away at his Blackberry. Behind them is an Ethiopian family, a man with his three children, all squirming in their seat they're so excited!
The train leaves West Irving and it arrives at Centreport, where I had originally gotten on at.
A teen sits across the gay couple, sporting Nikes, a muscle shirt, and a backpack.
I'm wearing my sunglasses inside, as are some people around me. One of the men sitting behind the woman keeps looking at me, he has blue eyes. He's wearing a thermal t-shirt, but I wonder why, if it's warm out. His partner, shorter, with thick-rimmed glasses, had green eyes, also flashed me a look or two.
We arrive at Bell Station. The bald man disembarks.
Next up, Richland Hills. The man in black disembarks and the couple in front of me take their place. A large woman and her husband take the seats of the men. Across from them sit another couple, a bit older, and dowdy-looking. The reading woman sitting across from me gets off here.
Next stop, we arrive at Fort Worth ITC. My stop.
I disembark, as do the couple to my right.
I look around and find a schedule for my bus, 1B. I walk around, confused, and ask a short woman, wearing a white t-shirt with "Budweiser" emblazoned on it where I can find the "B" buses. I thought I heard her speak in Spanish (because of the collective roar of the buses is so loud), I ask her, «¿Ud. sabe donde encuentro el autobús "B"?» She responded with a quick, "What?" and I apologized, thinking she spoke Spanish. I repeated myself in English, and she pointed out a sign with the letter on it. She told to go there and wait for it.
After asking a bus driver when the 1B bus arrived, I waited for an hour, taking pictures, listening to music, and going into the ITC building, which house an information kiosk, a Greyhound bus depot, and an Amtrak ticket counter.
At 6.30, my bus finally arrives. I rush over to it, swipe my pass, and sit down across a dad and his son.
The bus driver disembarks and begins to chat with her assistant. We sit still for 10 minutes while she gets her gossip on. They laughy annoyingly loud, even though they're ten feet away, I can still hear them.
Finally, at 6.42, we leave the station ten minutes late, and the bus begins to take the route I saw on Google Maps. Halfway through the route, we stop at a stop, and once again, the driver exits and begins to chat with her assistant. This time, they're far enough that I don't have to hear them laugh so loud.
The dad that sat across from me got off and starts to chat me up. He asks me if I'm a tourist, and in Spanish, says, "I saw you taking pictures. Are you from here, or are you a tourist?" I replied, "Oh, a tourist." Noticing my Houston Texans t-shirt, he asked, "Where from?" Taking the lead, I said, "Oh, from Houston!" He told me had taken his son on a daytrip, and that he lived the bus stop. He excuses himself and disembarks with his little son in tow.
I'm not alone on the bus too long before a woman, wearing white, boards. I talk to her, and ask if they always do this. She replies, in Spanish, "Yeah, they do this all the time. They wait for another bus to arrive before they continue on." I respond in Spanish, "Yeah, well they need to hurry-up because I'm going to be late!" We chuckle before its silence again.
After five minutes, another bus arrives, so the driver gets on, and continues on the route. Further down, after the woman in white disembarks in front of a supermarket, I ask the assistant, "How do I ask for stop?" She replies, "Just press the yellow strip. Tell me, where do you want to go?" I tell her, "The corner of McKinley and Azle." The assistant relays this to the driver, and she radios her HQ to ask where it is.
She stops at the corner of McKinley and Azle, and I ask her when the bus returns. She tells me, every thirty minutes, at :40 and at :10 past the hour. I tell her I got it and that I'll see her at nine.
*** END OF PART ONE***
Finally, he came up to within three feet and asked if I had a cell phone he could use. He said that his wife had dropped him off earlier today to visit his mom at a retirement home in Ft. Worth and that his wife was late. I replied, "Yeah, but please make it brief. I only have a few minutes left on it."
I passed the phone, and he was met with an answering machine. "Hey, it's Jeff. I am the Irving West station, using the cellphone of a young man. It's 4.15 and I'm wondering where you are..."
He ended the call with, "I'm right where you left me. Please hurry. Bye."
Giving me back the phone, he complimented "my setup" and I said, "Yeah, it does the trick." We got to talk a little about photography, and he told me how he bought his daughter a nice camera on a study-abroad programme in London. He described his daughter to what I like to call a Instagrapher, "She will be at a restaurant and she'll take pictures of the food!"
After a few minutes of chatting, he walked towards a bus shelter as he waited for his wife to return. On the other hand, I packed up and began to listen and jam out to my Zune in a shelter on the other end of the platform.
A guy and girl arrived about five minutes into my jam session and I think they bought tickets. They went to a shelter at the opposite end of the platform (where I was photographing the landscape) and stayed there for about twenty minutes. In the end, they left in their early '90s Toyota Piece-of-Shit.
At 5:14, the train once again arrives and I board it. I enter the first car, and it is full with passengers from Dallas. I exit and continue to the next car, which is a little less full. I see an open table seat and take it across a lady reading a book. I set my duffle down and she flashes me a smile. I do the same.
Behind her there is a gay couple and to my right there is a bald man with a large suitcase. Across from him a tall man wearing black typing away at his Blackberry. Behind them is an Ethiopian family, a man with his three children, all squirming in their seat they're so excited!
The train leaves West Irving and it arrives at Centreport, where I had originally gotten on at.
A teen sits across the gay couple, sporting Nikes, a muscle shirt, and a backpack.
I'm wearing my sunglasses inside, as are some people around me. One of the men sitting behind the woman keeps looking at me, he has blue eyes. He's wearing a thermal t-shirt, but I wonder why, if it's warm out. His partner, shorter, with thick-rimmed glasses, had green eyes, also flashed me a look or two.
We arrive at Bell Station. The bald man disembarks.
Next up, Richland Hills. The man in black disembarks and the couple in front of me take their place. A large woman and her husband take the seats of the men. Across from them sit another couple, a bit older, and dowdy-looking. The reading woman sitting across from me gets off here.
Next stop, we arrive at Fort Worth ITC. My stop.
I disembark, as do the couple to my right.
I look around and find a schedule for my bus, 1B. I walk around, confused, and ask a short woman, wearing a white t-shirt with "Budweiser" emblazoned on it where I can find the "B" buses. I thought I heard her speak in Spanish (because of the collective roar of the buses is so loud), I ask her, «¿Ud. sabe donde encuentro el autobús "B"?» She responded with a quick, "What?" and I apologized, thinking she spoke Spanish. I repeated myself in English, and she pointed out a sign with the letter on it. She told to go there and wait for it.
After asking a bus driver when the 1B bus arrived, I waited for an hour, taking pictures, listening to music, and going into the ITC building, which house an information kiosk, a Greyhound bus depot, and an Amtrak ticket counter.
At 6.30, my bus finally arrives. I rush over to it, swipe my pass, and sit down across a dad and his son.
The bus driver disembarks and begins to chat with her assistant. We sit still for 10 minutes while she gets her gossip on. They laughy annoyingly loud, even though they're ten feet away, I can still hear them.
Finally, at 6.42, we leave the station ten minutes late, and the bus begins to take the route I saw on Google Maps. Halfway through the route, we stop at a stop, and once again, the driver exits and begins to chat with her assistant. This time, they're far enough that I don't have to hear them laugh so loud.
The dad that sat across from me got off and starts to chat me up. He asks me if I'm a tourist, and in Spanish, says, "I saw you taking pictures. Are you from here, or are you a tourist?" I replied, "Oh, a tourist." Noticing my Houston Texans t-shirt, he asked, "Where from?" Taking the lead, I said, "Oh, from Houston!" He told me had taken his son on a daytrip, and that he lived the bus stop. He excuses himself and disembarks with his little son in tow.
I'm not alone on the bus too long before a woman, wearing white, boards. I talk to her, and ask if they always do this. She replies, in Spanish, "Yeah, they do this all the time. They wait for another bus to arrive before they continue on." I respond in Spanish, "Yeah, well they need to hurry-up because I'm going to be late!" We chuckle before its silence again.
After five minutes, another bus arrives, so the driver gets on, and continues on the route. Further down, after the woman in white disembarks in front of a supermarket, I ask the assistant, "How do I ask for stop?" She replies, "Just press the yellow strip. Tell me, where do you want to go?" I tell her, "The corner of McKinley and Azle." The assistant relays this to the driver, and she radios her HQ to ask where it is.
She stops at the corner of McKinley and Azle, and I ask her when the bus returns. She tells me, every thirty minutes, at :40 and at :10 past the hour. I tell her I got it and that I'll see her at nine.
*** END OF PART ONE***
