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So I was looking to go out and enjoy the night. See some ladies, get a few drinks—you know, just have a good time. [This was the weekend before the train derailment] Of course my decision making must not have been too good to think that on a weekend, I could do this via the Washinton Metropolitan Area Transit Authority.

I had gotten on the train earlier today and what takes 50 minutes to get to my destination (20 on good day) took 75 minutes. Of course I thought nothing about it because now it just happens so often.

I got on the rail system at my usual starting point and waited…and waited…and (WTF) waited some more. I waited for a train to be built, sent, and put on the damn rail is what it seemed like. Of course when the train came, it was as if it ran through every hood which made me think “I’M SO HOOD” and I don’t even like that song. I swear I could’ve read every newspaper there, soda cans, smelly urine in the air, yadda yadda yadda…

…it was just too gross!

Then I get to the metrorail hub, L’Enfant Plaza and it was like the Pope had pooped in someone’s hat there were so many people. People were angry and hot and ugly.

After being there for like 30 minutes watching the opposite platform’s light blink me into a headache, I decided to leave. I went downstairs and what did I find? A crowd larger than the crowd I had just left.

“Why God?” I thought to myself, “Why me? Why on a Saturday night?” It was hot, and muggy, and the air was funked up with body odors and colorfully profound curse words. It was everything a Metro experience has come to be.

I had no choice. After having watched the display board on the upper platform tell me every elevator outtage while slipping in the train times, the display board on the lower level said the orange line train would be arriving in 1 minute—-the problem with that was I had been down there at that point for more than three minutes and it said the same thing for those three minutes. Damn it!

So, the train finally came. What a relief, although the train was hotter than the station (which only got worse when everyone and their mommas got on), and stayed on the L’Enfant platform for about five additional minutes. Eventually I got home. How happy could I have ever been to have not made it to my inital destination only to have had to turn right back around to go home.

My question is “Is this where all my Metro fair is going? Is this really what I’m paying for?”

Disregarding the most pleasantly sarcastic and uncaring attitudes of the employees, is this really where my two week $70 are going? I suppose the slogan “Thank you for riding metro as we continue to improve the metrorail system” is compensation for all those dollars. Yeah, right.