I took BART today.
You're rolling your eyes, you're saying, "Wow, Beth. That's...not a big deal at all."
I know, I know. But public transportation and I have a complicated yet sparse history. I'd never been on BART by myself before, and this morning I needed it to function in it's official capacity: getting me to work on time.
Here are my observations as a first time flier, as it were:
1. It's not the train ride that ruins your hair and your make-up and your clean, crisp suit. It's the walking to the 24th and Mission BART station and the walking from Embarcadero to work, a lovely stroll up Battery Street wherein one's hair becomes dislodged and stuck to one's face.
2. There were no crazy people on my train. I was shocked.
3. That being said, I had no reason to bring my book. I still had a ton to look at. Just looking out the window at blackness wooshing by was interesting to me this morning.
4. Everyone gets off at the Powell and Montgomery stops, so my final leg of the trip to Embarcadero was breezy and involved an actual seat. But my coat bunched up around my shoulders and neck, and my over-stuffed purse collapsed on my lap, making me look less like the glamorous FiDi vixen I'd hoped and more like an exasperated admin, with her dress shoes in her KQED totebag and her Reebok high-tops strapped against her pantyhose.
But I made it, and I'm early. A quick swing by the ladies to pat down my flyaways and powder my nose should fix the major aesthetic problems I'm suffering.
I'd like to thank Melissa for explaining to me how to take BART, without using any kind of sarcasm or disdain. And I'd like to thank Tara for trying to talk me out of it with, "Are you nuts? It'll ruin your hair. I never take the train and I don't care what people think."