Charlie on the MTA

 

As I make my way around the city, I am relieved and grateful to have three colleagues with me. Tim, Cindy and Michael have been superb travel companions and provide untold hilarity as we find our way around the city and experience new circumstances. Today, was the day we learned how to use the bus system. Up to this point, we have traveled by way of taxi or the occasional private car owned by a friend. However, on Sunday, our new school week begins and we must be in our new work environment (school) by 7AM. Since we live quite a distance from our school, and the taxis are beginning to get a tad expensive, the bus seemed like it might be a good alternative. 

We caught the Number 52 bus at the Marina Mall, where we had gone to sit around at the Caribou Café and check our e-mail and Facebook. I had messages from two of my children, so I was eager to respond to each of them. Sitting in the Caribou Café is exactly like sitting in any café in America, except for one thing…people do smoke inside of restaurants in Abu Dhabi. Today, was one of those days. My three friends sat near one of the smokers, an Emirati gentleman, so I took a seat in the corner further from the smoke.  I soon realized that the Emirati gent had taken a liking to Tim and they were carrying on a grand conversation. As their conversation came to an end, it was apparent that the wireless signal had as well and it was time to go check out the bus situation. Getting the bus was no problem. It picked us up right outside the mall. The best part about the bus was that it only cost 1 Dirham…or about 36 cents, American. This was the deal of the day, let me tell you. We are used to paying up to 13 Dirhams for a taxi ride to the Marina Mall depending on how convoluted a ride the driver takes us on. As we settled into our bus ride, we remarked that we could see much more through the large bus windows than we could from the taxi.  I remarked that I was “Through with taxis.” We knew that a taxi ride to school took about 20 minutes and by the time we got to Khalifa University, with all the stops the bus took, it was close to a            45-minute ride. I didn’t consider that too bad, considering the money we saved on taxi rides. We got out of the bus, crossed the highway and went to the bus stop on the other side of the road to make our way back. After what was exactly a 20-minute wait (the bus runs every 20 minutes) a bus pulled up. In Abu Dhabi, women sit on the front of the bus and men sit in the back. As Cindy and I entered the front of the bus, we were stopped by a crush of women jammed into the front seats and aisles of the bus. The men’s area was even worse, and Michael and Tim had no recourse but to stand in the aisle in the women’s section. We rocked back and forth as the bus moved. At the next stop, even more folks got on, with the men pushing their way through the rear door. I wasn’t sure how many people this bus could carry, but at one point, I’m sure I felt the wheels of the bus start to teeter.

Michael had decided to meet with a friend, but he was unable to make his way off the bus through the crowd. I asked him whether he knew the song, “Charlie on the MTA” and he responded “No.” The song describes the fate or rather the non-fate of poor Charlie who got on one of the MTA subways in Boston and then couldn’t figure out how or where to get off…

       And he never returned, no he never returned,

       And his fate is still unlearned

       He must ride forever ‘neath the streets of Boston

       He’s the man who never returned.

                             ~Irish Rovers, Kingston Trio, et al...melody by Henry Clay Work 
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As we continued to stop and press more passengers into whatever small spaces were left, people did get understandably peeved. The Muslim woman sitting next to me suddenly felt a whoosh of cool air as the fan began to turn and pushed her naked foot between the two Indian women sitting across from me. Had they been friends, this would have been a somewhat intimate gesture; akin to draping your arms across someone’s shoulder, or pressing your cheek against another’s. These three women didn’t know each other, and spoke different languages. The elder of the two Indian women tried to explain to the Muslim woman that she needed to take her foot out. The Muslim woman did not remove her foot, however. The ride passed uncomfortably as the Indian woman decided graciously to not press the issue. The Muslim woman came to her stop and got off and Michael saw his moment at this point and escaped the bus as Tim, Cindy and I bounced our way toward our stop. Suddenly, our stop came into view and we all dropped off the bus, like lice off of fresh-washed hair. As we trudged home through the heat, we began to question the decision to use the bus as our main mode of transportation.