purses, shoulder bags. Red Line passengers in DC. We’re going to be late for work. Again. God bless WMATA.
Eventually, another train arrives. It is packed to near capacity. I don’t even bother trying. A woman looking 10 months pregnant presses forward. I mentally wish her luck, and tell my goddam OFMs (ocular fetal magnets, aka eyes) to give me a break.
Then I imagine that our conductor was also pregnant and suddenly went into labor, and that’s the reason she had to dismiss all of us. Highly unlikely, of course, but it is a happier scenario than the thought that yet another Red Line train just bit the dust. The second train pulls away. It bears a troubling resemblance to a stock car.
Soon another stock car arrives. It is just a bit less overcrowded. I make my way forward and squeeze in. It is standing-room-only for the rest of my commute.
At last, I get to the office. Fish out my government ID, swipe it through the security device, and key in my code to open the door. Lock up my cell phone at the entryway, salute the framed photo of the President, and take a deep breath. Another day begins.
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