I’m a big believer in the light rail. Always have been, always will. I’ve never felt unsafe or annoyed by the experience, but I have, at times, been supremely amused by my fellow commuters. This is one of those times.
It was about 7 p.m. and I was headed home after a long day of classes. I was sitting in the bicycle storage area with my roommate. Next to us was this small, average-looking man.
The train came to a stop and two men rushed aboard. They were holding rags to their faces and their hands and shirts were covered in blood. And they were laughing.
“I can’t believe we got away!” said one bloody man to the other, through a nasally voice thick with blood.
“I know!” his friend responded. “God, I’m bleeding all over the place.”
“There’s so much blood!” said the first. “What do we do?”
It’s moments like these when, as a decent human being, you may want to ask if someone needs help. But, as a proud public-transit rider, the only option is to look on silently with a strange mixture of bewilderment and indifference.
Apparently, the man sitting next to me never learned that lesson, because he immediately began offering the kind of medical advice that you can only get on the light rail.
“Tilt your head back,” he said. “It’ll slow the bleeding.”
In contrast to their talkative adviser, the bleeding men knew exactly what to do when someone speaks to you on the light rail: stare at them like they’re completely insane and ignore them completely. Eventually, you’ll get left alone.
Except Mr. Talkative wouldn’t let it go. The more they ignored him, the more he insisted. I didn’t blame him — it’s good advice. But it’s the kind of advice you give someone after you get off the train, not while you’re still on it.
The only reason he stopped talking was that by this point, the light rail ticket enforcers had boarded the train. Once he saw them, Mr. Talkative promptly silenced himself. The closer they got to where we were sitting, the more nervous Mr. Talkative got. When they were within five feet or so, Mr. Talkative stood up and briskly walked to the end of the car.
The enforcers approached him again and he doubled back to the other end. He attempted this one more time before they double-teamed him.
I used to think that the reason we don’t try and help each other or speak on the light rail was because of years of social norms and general nervousness around strangers. And maybe Mr. Talkative became afraid because he didn’t buy a ticket.
But maybe, just maybe, the enforcers went after him for a different reason. Think about it. You never see anyone who sits quietly get kicked off the train. And you never see the talkative ones again after the enforcers have their way. Maybe we don’t talk because we’re not allowed to, because there are dire consequences if we do. Because the man is trying to keep us down.
So whatever you do, don’t say a word to a stranger on the light rail. You never know what might happen. Big Metro is watching.
Light Rail Confidential is a column written by anonymous ASU students who share their experiences surrounding public transportation — namely, the light rail. It is managed by journalism junior Danika Worthington and illustrated by kinesiology junior Rachel Ganger.
Contact the columnist at ddworth1@asu.edu
