Apr
14
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
A blast of cool air washed over the people crowded in the el cars as the doors slid open. The matter-of-fact voice of the CTA announced, “Doors opening on the right at Adams and Quincy.”
I followed the feet in front of me and stepped out onto the platform. Already there were lines of people snaking toward the exits reminiscent of meat grinders. As I struggled to pull on my gloves I looked over my shoulder at the end of the platform, and thought, that’s funny. There was a full car that had not made it to the platform. The conductor at the head of this metallic caterpillar had stopped too soon, and left one full car behind where the platform began.
As I tried to shrug off my morning sleepiness, I noticed that the doors of that last car had, in fact, opened with all the others. Are there people in that last car? I wondered.
A sudden rush of panic swept over me, followed instantly with relief. Jeez! I thought to myself. What if I had been on that car, and unable to get off at my stop? I would have been trapped—forced to ride to the next stop, where I would have had to get off and wait for another train to take me back in the opposite direction!
Maybe nobody on that car needs to get off here, I thought. That’s lucky I guess.
I imagined the doors opening before me, and seeing nothing but air, walking through to the next car—struggling with that very heavy door that allows you to cross to a new car—and then made it out onto the platform just in time. All these thoughts passed through my mind in moments, as my sight stayed drowsily glued to that last car, while passengers from the other cars streamed around me.
Then came that unmistakable two-toned warning sound that the doors were about to close. The doors shut in unison. Guess they didn’t get out, I thought to myself. The el train pulled forward thirty feet and stopped again. The voice announced the doors were opening.
In front of me, a woman and a man stepped out from the last car onto the platform. I gave them a confused look. “Did the doors open for your guys right onto the tracks?”
The woman saw me and exclaimed, “If he hadn’t pulled me back—” she gestured to a man beside her, “—I would have walked right out into the air.”
What happened next was a talking-over-each-other exchange of information:
me: “—You don’t expect the doors to open and there to be nothing—”
her: “—I’m usually not the first person out of the car, but this morning—”
me: “—You could have just walked out and fallen ten feet onto the tracks?”
None of the other hurrying commuters appeared to notice anything unusual.
What I surmised had happened was that due to red/brown line construction, the el has upped the number of cars on its morning trains from six to eight, and this particular conductor forgot to pull up appropriately.
Walking out the el doors onto nothing and slamming onto the el tracks ten feet below…I can think of better ways to start a Tuesday morning.
The moral of the story: Be good to the environment. Take public transit. But keep your eyes open, especially when getting off the el.