The running of the lemmings

Every now and then I have occasion to the take the Frontrunner commuter train home. This requires that I catch the 5:10 Trax at the Gallivan Center, which arrives at SL Central at 5:22. The Frontrunner leaves at 5:25. The narrow window between the two gives birth to a daily ritual which, I believe, is underappreciated by almost all, even those who witness it and especially by those who participate.

The ceremony actually begins when leaving Old Greek Town. Commuters of various shapes and sizes start to reach for their bags. Laptops are closed and put away and phone conversations are ended. In the shuffle, people start to measure each other with furtive glances so that, by the time the recorded voice chimes, “The end of the line; as far as we go,” an informal hierarchy has been established.

The door opens and the fun begins. The commuters, pecking order established, pour out of the Trax train and onto the plaza, only to sprint full speed across the intervening 40 yards to the Frontrunner. So frantic is their desperate race that they abandon the latest thinking in physics (namely, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line) and run this direction and then that, bouncing off park benches, lamp posts, and concrete planter boxes placed cleverly by UTA personnel to inflict the most damage. Those who stop to catch their breath are mercilessly run down and trodden upon. The casualty count resulting from UTA’s obstacles, bursting cardiovascular systems, and rampaging fat people in tight golf shirts and ill-fitting slacks is horrific each evening.

It is one of the most ridiculous things I see during the work week. I’m thinking about coming early one afternoon and stringing wire among the lamp posts, about one foot off the ground. No reason.

On my last trip, I had occasion to share the moment with one unaccustomed to the ways of the commuters.

Rookie: “Why are they running?”
Me: “To catch the train. It’s leaving presently.”
Rookie: “Don’t they wait for us?”
Me: “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
Rookie: “They actually close the doors on people?”
Me: “No. That would make quite a mess down the line. They shove you to the ground first to make sure you’re clear.”

To his credit, he didn’t want to take me seriously, and yet everyone around him was running frantically. Conscious that I was watching him, but not wanting to be left behind, he quickened his pace. Then hesitantly began jogging. With only fifteen yards to go he broke down and started running. I sighed. He had become one of them.

I wound up sitting near him on the Frontrunner and he had trouble looking me in the eye. Too late, he realized that in a moment of excitement and irrationality he had cheapened the experience. I am sure that moment will be with him every time he looks in the mirror, forcing him to question what kind of man he is.

mw