The crash and emotional aftermath

It’s been three days since the fatal metro crash in DC, and you can still feel the impact.

Ordinarily, I commute via metrobus – route 63, between Takoma and the Federal Triangle. It drops me off within a block of my work and it only takes ten to fifteen minutes longer than the metro does. (Not to mention, it costs half of what the metro does at rush hour… which is a substantial savings for a lowly intern.)

But Matt was in town, and for whatever reason, this means that I splurge. We were both in downtown DC on Monday around 4:30, and we decided to go home via metro to buy some time. Mondays are the days where I go down to the Savory Café to host an open mic, and it’s sometimes just nice to have those few extra minutes beforehand.

When we stopped shortly before Fort Totten, it wasn’t anything unusual. Trains stop all the time, usually if there’s a train ahead on the platform. After five or ten minutes, people began to open up to each other. It’s some kind of weird social phenomenon; if the train’s moving, it’s polite not to speak (at all, much less to fellow passengers). If the train has been stopped for more than five minutes, a sort of awkward air settles in, and it becomes acceptable to make some sort of sarcastic remark to your neighbor in order to clear the air. I experienced this when I got stuck in a train underground for twenty minutes, only that time was more fun. It was later at night, and the train was packed like a can of sardines. As soon as they announced the disabled train ahead, everyone began laughing and groaning all at once. One woman with two chocolate-syrup-whipped-cream beverages in clear plastic containers shielded them with her shoulder, smiling, as a passenger made a sarcastic joke about being hungry. Someone said we should sing a song; a man crowded up against a wall asked if it was anyone’s birthday.

The atmosphere was similar on this particular day, only the crowd was the older, rush-hour employees returning home, not the late night rabble-rousers. After awhile, the train conductor made an announcement: there was an electrical failure at Fort Totten. Great, we said. Metro trains jam-packed with people are stuck because of some stupid electrical failure. It’s the middle of the day, what could have possibly caused an electrical failure? Speculation peppered the conversation, until the news spread like fire, radiating outward from cell phones; two trains crashed; something derailed; we’re on breaking news right now; someone died.

It hit Matt right away. It didn’t hit me for another half an hour.

Someone died, he said.

Yeah, I said. I sat there uncomfortably, knowing I should feel something, but… what? People die. A few weeks ago, two people separately committed suicide using the metrorail system in DC. It was sad, sure, and probably terrible for the people on the train, and the train conductor, but… too distant. Too far away. Not important.

After a little while, the conductor came picking his way through the crowd. The train reversed and went to Rhode Island Avenue station, where everyone was dumped. Everyone. Hundreds and thousands of people, as the trains came rolling in, poured through that station. People were crammed up against the exit booths. And these were no tourists, no confused travelers who couldn’t figure out which way the little card goes in. These were rush-hour veterans with Smartrip cards. “Let us out for free,” shouted a man behind us. “Let us out for free!”

A short while later, the gates opened, probably not to honor one man’s request, but because of the density of scared and confused people. Details of the incident were scarce. The announcements at the metro station cited a “police incident.” We had no idea whether the collision was northbound, southbound, head-on… many people believed that they were right behind the train that was hit (which was later proven wrong; the collision was on the southbound track, and everyone getting off at that station was going north).

That was when the chaos began. Why are mobs so dangerous? It’s like everyone gets stupid all at once. Busses and police began rolling onto the scene. Crowds began to pour off the sidewalk in a flood; metro workers in neon vests tried to herd people. “Back up on the curb! Back up on the curb! The busses can’t get through!” Balding men in suits could be seen barking at the metro workers.

The police drove through, blasting instruction through their megaphones, and that was authority enough for most people. They crammed back up on the sidewalk, except for one man (again, balding with a suit) who approached the driver’s side window aggressively. That’s all I saw; the masses concealed the rest. There were people everywhere. Just everywhere. I saw a young woman being loaded onto a stretcher, though the reason was not immediately discernable. Metrobus drivers jumping into busses, still in their street clothes. There were quite a few people around signing, too. One young woman waved goodbye to a woman she’d been signing with, then got on her phone and explained that she was safe, and that she had helped this deaf woman call her family to let them know that she was safe. The woman on the phone brought up a good point (though I was eavesdropping, in a sense): there was no way a deaf person would have known what was going on. All the announcements were auditory.

At 6:35 (about two hours after we got on the train), I got a call from my dad. And Matt got a call from his mom. He missed the call, and when he tried to return the call, he got a message saying that the network was busy. (No, really?) I’d never really considered needing good coverage for a situation like that, where a network might be really overloaded all at once.

That’s when I realized how big this was. Entire cell phone networks were hung up. People around Philadelphia were hearing about it. This was breaking news. This was bad. Real bad.

That’s when it really, finally, hit me. People were dead and it could have been us. I arrived at that point when the panic in the body finally catches up with your brain, and you start imagining all the ways that everything could have gone wrong, far, far more personally.

After mentally shaking off enough of these thoughts to function, we began to wonder: how do we get home from here? The answers varied for a long time (see the part where I talk about the mass confusion). Eventually, the metro folk decided that the shuttle busses would stop at Fort Totten and Takoma, and that the people needing to go to Silver Spring could transfer at Takoma. I don’t think this was a crowd-pleaser; I’d guess, just based on personal observation, that most people going up the red line on a weekday are trying to go to Silver Spring. It was, however, a solution, and so for maybe 45 minutes, we tried to catch a bus.

Docility was not our friend. We waited patiently on the curb for a long time, just like the nice policemen told us to, as bus after bus loaded. We found that we had not advanced, and that the sea of faces had shifted – without us. Eventually, we saw a shuttle approaching, and I took Matt’s hand with resolution. We’re getting on this bus. I don’t remember if I said it out loud. If so, I hope I said it quietly.

It was a little like body surfing, and a little like a mosh pit. At first, we were more or less swept out to the shuttle, as the crowd bulged out to meet it. Then there was a pause. And everyone began shouting, where is this bus going? Where is this bus going? Where is this bus going? And they kept it up with such fervor that no one could hear the response from the driver. Eventually, I caught wind of something like “Fort Totten and Takoma.” Out of sheer irritation toward the mob, and maybe too much experience being an obnoxious orientation leader, I leaned my body backwards, pointed my face to the sky, and yelled “FORT TOTTEN AND TAKOMA!!!”

People around me still had to ask me what I said. I think Matt addressed them, more politely than I did.

Anyway, shortly after my bellowing session, people began to feel like it was acceptable to get on the bus. That’s when the mosh pit part kicked in. I was being pushed from behind, pretty much exactly in a fashion you’d expect from a mosh pit. Luckily, I’ve been in mosh pits before, so I knew the rules. If you’re pushed, you push back, but you try to keep everyone standing straight up. I had to push back on the crowd to avoid crushing the wheelie suitcase in front of me. (Worst place ever to have a wheelie suitcase. I know it’s heavy, maybe, but this is kind of an emergency and we’re kind of in a mosh pit.)

Matt and I barely got on the bus, and everything went smoothly after that. We arrived home at 8 – a full hour after the open mic at Savory was supposed to start, and 3.5 hours after we began trying to get home. Theoretically, we could have still gone for about 45 minutes of the open mic, but… food.

When I got to the office on Tuesday, I found that I was obsessed by the crash. I couldn’t stop checking CNN and WMATA’s website. It was a compulsion. How many people died? How many injured? And most of all, what the crap actually happened?

So far: a southbound train was making a stop at Fort Totten. The second train, also southbound, should have stopped automatically, but didn’t. The second train vaulted up over the stopped train. Nine people died on the striking train, including the driver, and over 70 people were injured. So far, all they know is that the emergency brake was probably deployed, and an anomaly was found in one of the circuits that tells the train what to do when it’s in automatic mode. The striking train was also an older model, for which the National Transportation Safety Board recommended replacement in 2006. Cost was an object for the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority, so it didn’t happen. Now they’re asking the government for some money. Those trains cost about $3 milion a pop, and they have to replace over 300 of them.

Basically, all these details coming out make it seem very much like this accident could have happened anywhere, at any time. It seems like the whole system is full of glitches and outdated equipment. Whether or not this is true is irrelevant to the thousands of metro patrons (or former patrons). On the bus this morning, I overheard a casual conversation to this effect: “So, you gotten on the metro yet?” The responder laughed. “Nah. Maybe next week.”

I feel the same. I found myself riding last night, by accident. I wanted to go to aikido, sure, but I forgot that it means riding the metro home. So I went down to the station, only to find I couldn’t get in. SEE METRO STATION MANAGER, said the entry gates as I swiped my Smartrip card. He was standing right there, so I saw him. He checked it on the computer, swiped it in the exit lane, and then handed it back to me. Then I realized what had happened: the card knows when it gets on the metro and when it gets off. I didn’t swipe out at Rhode Island on Monday. Even such a slight nudge sent me spinning off into perturbed memories.

I usually get on the last car in the train, because it’s quicker when you get off at Takoma. Once I found myself faced with that last car’s door, looming wide, I found that I really didn’t want to get on. I ran up the train and got in the next car. (Aside from that, service hadn't yet resumed at Takoma -- they finally opened it up today, three days after the crash.)

Honestly, I just sat there, trying not to cry. I was on the verge of tears the whole way home, which was a little strange because I hadn’t thought the events had affected me so badly. But I couldn’t ride without jumping at every little sound, without wondering if the train would derail on a heightened track, without wondering if there would be a sudden, sickening jolt. Without wondering if I would be called upon to save someone’s life, or if I would call out for someone to save me.

I know these are outrageous thoughts, and that the system has been very safe for decades (the last fatal crash was in the early 80’s). I want to be a good environmentalist and say that my faith is in the public transportation system, which is still safer than going by car, but I can’t help it. People died on Monday, practically right in my backyard, because of the public transportation system. I’m not going to get over it for awhile.

Vinegar to the rescue!

Vinegar has come in handy the last couple days. Vinegar, of all things. I'm starting to become quite fond of it.

This entry, coincidentally, is also brought to you by the letter "A."

Thing Number 1: Ants.

We have a minor ant problem in the house. I hypothesize that it's because they're thirsty; they're not coming in huge droves, just a few at a time. I soaked part of a paper towel in vinegar and rubbed it along some likely cracks, and they stayed away for a good couple of days.

Just this morning, I had a few ants sitting on my windowsill, so I decided to test it out again. I took a folded over piece of toilet paper, got it good and vinegary, and rubbed it in a line in front of the ants. They approached the line, stopped, and then turned around and started going the other way.

Probably a more effective way of doing this would be to fill a small spray bottle with some combination of water and vinegar (you can find various combinations on the web). Try it out. Let me know what goes down.

Thing Number 2: Acne.

Acne? Acne. I'm not kidding. I take a folded up piece of TP, dab some vinegar on it, and rub it on my face. It's great for existing acne or blemishes; it burns a little, but a really bad blemish that I've already gone and picked at will clear up in a couple of days. My skin always feels really nice after I use it, too.

If you want to try this out, do a couple of things. First, probably dilute it (I may be crazy using full-strength vinegar on my face). Second, test a small area of your skin before you use it on your face. Some people are allergic to vinegar.


The great bit about these uses is the non-toxic nature of it: most ant "remedies" involve poison or toxins of some sort. Furthermore, what an outrageously simple way to deal with acne! No messing around, trying to figure out which ingredients in which products are criminal and which are beneficial. Some people even drink vinegar in water as part of an acne regimen. Can you say that about your current facial cleansers?

Listen up, ladies: waste-free cycles.

Of course, when you say things like that, it makes people think, "eeeeeeeeww." Or something along those lines.

However, it's possible, and it has saved me a ton of hassle. I no longer worry about running out of supplies, or any funky smells, or feeling dirty once a month, or getting TSS, or anything like that. I always have what I need, and it makes me feel better about my cycle. Oh, and I save a crapton of money.

I began to use reusable products on the basis that I should reduce my monthly landfill package, but at this point, the benefits to my personal life have become so valuable that the zero-waste bit is kind of an added bonus.

A year or two ago, I was using tampons and pads. The standard. Then I began to wonder about reducing my overall waste, and I discovered the menstrual cup through some googling. At first, yes, the notion of a little cup sitting inside me all day was a little weird. Then I realized that I was currently shoving a wad of cotton up there all day. However, they can be reused for ten years (possibly longer, but that's the recommended length), which means a huge savings on the landfill and on my wallet. I bought my divacup at a local co-op for $30, and I was... sort of kind of hooked.

It wasn't easy at first! It takes some getting used to, but you'll find that's true of any change you make in your personal life. So, yes, I was frustrated at first, but it was still better than the alternative. For one, I could wear it overnight. And because it collects, and doesn't absorb, there was nothing to make me feel dirty or even conscious of my period; I couldn't even feel it after it was properly situated. Basically, unless I get cramps, a period day is just like any other day. I don't pack anything extra in my purse, I don't have secret caches of tampons. If I know when my period's coming, I may even deploy the cup in advance.

Furthermore... my cramps declined in intensity after I began using the divacup. This may be a coincidence, but I tend to believe otherwise.

I should mention, as an aside, that there are other types of menstrual cups, and the divacup is just one brand. However, I have a friend who tried the keeper for a little while; she reported that the rubber used was not as soft as the silicone of the diva, and she's had much better success after switching.

However, I wasn't done. I was still using pantiliners, because I'm the sort of woman who needs to wear one every day. Pads suck. Not only are they disposable, but they always manage to stick to things they're not supposed to stick to, like your skin.

I had toyed with the idea of cloth pads, but I wasn't entirely on the boat. How does one clean them? Don't they stain? Don't they smell? Is there some sophisticated laundering method involved?

I was booted into using them when I went out to an island in Alaska for two months. No way was I carting out two months' supply of disposable pads... and then carting them back out with me once I was done using them.

So... I bought some from the same co-op I'd bought my divacup at, but they were kind of big and bulky. These were designed for periods; I just wanted pantiliners, something simple. Luckily, my mother is a genius on the sewing machine. She whipped me up a batch of eight, made from scraps of flannel she had in her studio.

If you want to make your own, just follow these guidelines: use cotton or flannel; sewing machine is fine, hand-stitched is fine; shape is irrelevant; sightliness is irrelevant; you're pinning it to your underwear for God's sake. If you're worried that your significant other won't like it, I wouldn't worry. Just look at the photo! They are totally fun. They make adhesive pads look like a pile of poop. Mom made mine with snaps, but again, not important; safety pins work great! I have taken to pinning mine onto my underwear so that they don't slip during the day.

As for laundering, it turned out to be a non-issue. At this point, I just let them dry 'till laundry day, or I do a small load inbetween laundry days. It all comes out, and what doesn't come out, doesn't matter. Again, the whole pinning it to your underwear thing.

Another attractive bit is the savings. Not only have I completely halted the flow of feminine products from the shelf to the landfill, but I've saved a ton of money. A $30 cup and scraps of fabric... let's say they cost about $0.50 each, which means about $7 or $8 for the pantiliners. So $38. For ten years, at least. My estimates are a little rusty because I haven't bought any tampons in years, but I'm gonna estimate that a box of 20 will cost about $5. That'll get you through maybe two periods, depending. Plus about another $5 for some pads to wear overnight, that'll last you a few periods. (If you've made it this far, do a little experiment for me -- try to accurately estimate how much you spend per cycle.)

Let's say you go through 8 boxes of tampons a year, nevermind the pads. If they cost $5 each, the reusables still pay for themselves in less than a year. However, the diva can be used for up to ten years, and cloth pads can basically be used until you somehow destroy them. Even if you don't care about the landfill issue, that's got to get your attention.

Ice is not nice

A small companion post to go with the soda entry.

When one thinks of simplifying, they really think about maybe shipping half their belongings off to Goodwill. Dig deeper! How else can you limit your energy consumption?

For some reason, I got to thinking about ice. Normally, ice is a hassle anyway, because they always give you a ton of it in restaurants. Once you have sipped your beverage to a certain point, you reach the zone of ice hazards. I mean that danger zone where if you tip the glass beyond a certain point of equilibrium, to get to that last little bit of beverage, you get ice crashing all over your face.

And no, the solution is NOT a straw. If you're paying attention, we're trying to limit energy consumption. Straws are ridiculous little pieces of plastic that go in the trash after one use. Not cool.

If you manage to savor your beverage instead of guzzling it, you run into another ice problem. Ice is pretty much a conditional state of being. The condition being that it needs cold around it to exist. Ergo, watery beverage, which is NOT what you ordered, thankyouverymuch.

If you like a chilled beverage, a better option is to refrigerate. Still using energy, but have you ever considered how much energy it takes to create conditions cold enough to freeze water? Don't answer that question if you live somewhere cold.

Personally, a room-temp beverage is fine with me, but to each his own.

The part that really bothers me, I guess, is when you go to an establishment where the ice is self-served. Invariably, if you visit these establishments at a high-traffic time, you will find a mountain of ice melting in the trays of the soda machines. It's sort of maddening when you begin to see ice as an investment of energy. Melting ice is wasted energy.

I'm aware that there are certainly bigger fish to fry as far as energy conservation, but every bit helps. Save five dollars every week, at the end of the month you'll have $20. In a year, you'll have $260. All you have to do is start doing it!

Let's think about soda.

Soda is one of those junk foods that somehow misses the "junk" qualification because it's a liquid. I don't know why this mentality persists, but it does. We all know that cheese curls and ice cream are full of sugar and salt and high fructose corn syrup and fat; if not to be totally avoided, we know they should be on our "limit" list. When it comes to soda (or energy drinks or what have you), we’re not so sure. Either that, or we are sure, and we just look the other way.

I had begun to phase soda from my life years ago. I was still drinking soda, but I started to drink cranberry juice instead. Fruit juice is sweet and flavorful, possibly even more than soda, but it also counts as a fruit serving, which was part of the appeal.

I was also aware that fruit juices could potentially count as water, depending on who you asked; there was no way soda would ever qualify. When I was younger, I hated water. It tasted bad to me. So I can sympathize with the people who feel the need to buy brightly colored bottles of stuff touting itself as some variety of “water.”

Finally, I went cold turkey. There was no soda on East Amatuli, one of the seven Barren Islands in Alaska where I worked with the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service. Two months on an island 60 miles out of port means that you pack in all your food, and pack out all your trash. Soda is not worth the hassle. It doesn’t hydrate or nourish you, and it’s heavy.

We had plenty of things to drink: milk (in boxes), juice from concentrate, Gatorade in powdered form. And of course, water.

Three things I’ve come to understand about soda.

1. It has no nutritional value. It cannot nourish. And anything one has to digest that doesn’t nourish is a strain on the digestive system. This doesn’t mean one shouldn’t drink it, necessarily, but it requires one to understand: soda is more like candy than anything else in the food kingdom. Would you eat a candy bar every day? (Yes, I include diet soda. Would you believe that a zero-calorie candy bar is any healthier for you than a normal one?)
2. It ruins the taste buds. The constant sweetness of soda on the tongue can potentially spoil the intricate flavors of other foods and beverages (in my humble opinion.) I’d be willing to guess that this is why I used to hate the taste of water: not because the water tasted bad, but perhaps because it could never compare to the taste of soda.
3. It’s full of strange ingredients. Who knows the effects of these things on the body? Have any conclusive studies been done? You can find a plethora of stories about how chronic illnesses mysteriously disappear or lessen when soda consumption is stopped…
   

I haven’t been entirely soda-abstinent. If a friend offers me a rum and coke, I’m going to drink it. To be honest, though, I’ve stopped craving it. Chocolate is another story, but soda no longer appeals. The thing that does appeal is water. And it tastes fine, now.

But why oh why am I blogging about soda in a blog devoted to ecological consciousness?

It’s pretty simple. Actually, it’s all about simplicity. Processed foods are always going to be more harmful to the environment. Always. And I can’t think of anything more processed than soda, except for perhaps some strains of cheese that are enveloped, individually sliced, in shrink-wrap packaging. It takes a good deal more energy to produce soda, and all the wonderful chemicals contained therein, than it does to make some fruit juice, or better yet, run some water from the faucet.

When you hear an environmentalist going on about “simplify, simplify, simplify,” this is what is meant. Simpler is always going to be better for the environment. Fewer processed foods. Local business. Less kitsch on your shelf. There’s no need to simplify to the point of nothing, but take a good look around. Life got pretty complicated for Americans in the last century or so. ‘Bout time to consider if they’re complications worth having.