To continue in our “Tales of the Metro” series, I thought I would share a story that is personally embarrassing on many levels.

I had just moved to DC, and had been riding the Metro for about 2 weeks. Obviously, this made me a professional Metro rider. Not only did I know the Metro system inside and out, but I could also look down my nose at those “tourists” who always got in the way of real Metro riders. How wrong was I? Let’s just say that “exponentially” doesn’t begin to cover it.

So I’m getting off of work and rushing to make my train home. A little explanation here, I have to take a certain line because it is the only one that services the stop next to my apartment. If I miss it, I could be in for a 10 minute wait. Going to work? Not so big a deal. Coming home? No way was I missing that train. I rush down the escalator, my laptop wildly swinging behind me, threatening to take out all of the elderly people clutching to the railing (it’s a pretty steep escalator). I vault down to the platform where my train comes in. If I had a pommel horse, I’m pretty sure it would have rated at least a 7/10.

My train was just about to shut its doors so I stuck my foot in the door. It was at this point that I learned that the Metro doors are NOT PRESSURE SENSITIVE. They shut like a vise grip on my foot, there was that much pressure on it. I let out a stream of curses that would make the devil blush. The people on the train are staring at me like I was crazy. I could see the exact thought that was running through their mind: “F****** tourist”. It was humiliating. Finally, after much prying and prodding, I wrenched my foot out of the door and the doors shut.

Predictably, this was just in time for a gaggle of other Metro riders to form up behind me, whom I promptly crashed into. My laptop went flying, there were curses, I’m pretty sure I saw a shoe go tumbling somewhere, complete disaster. My own shoe was obviously pretty disgusting at this point, as the Metro doors are not the cleanest pieces of equipment in the world. Disheveled and dirty, I slowly gathered up my shattered possessions (including my dignity) and slunk off to a corner to wait for the next train.

What is the moral of the story?

1. The Metro doors are NOT PRESSURE SENSITIVE. I cannot stress this enough.
2. There’s always something new to learn riding on the Metro.
3. I hate those freaking tourists.