Leaving the gas station one windy March evening, I was mad as hell. It took $50 to fill up my Ford Mustang, and by all accounts, the price of gas is only going to get higher. Once upon a time, I had disposable income. Now, all my extra money goes straight to the oil companies. Those rich bastards!
As I pulled out of the station and watched the city bus pass me by, a question popped into my mind: "Can I save money by ditching my beloved car and riding the Charlotte Area Transportation System (aka CATS)?"
"I should try it," I thought. For at least one work week (five days), I'm going to only take public transportation; I'm not driving at all. To get from point A to point B, I'm going exclusively by bus or the light rail.
The transit system in Charlotte must work. People who don't have cars or other means to get around the city ride CATS every day. It has to be a money saver and convenient -- right?
I purchased a $13 seven-day pass and even picked up some bus schedules so I could figure out how to navigate my way around the city on public transportation. "This is going to be an adventure," is what I kept telling myself. Now all I had to do was get up early enough to catch the right bus to work.
March 17
OK, today I cheated. My alarm clock went off at 5:30 a.m., but my body wasn't trying to get out of bed. So, I decided to drive to work. But I parked my car and took the bus everywhere else I had to go. Since I didn't have a particular route to take today, I thought it would be fun to just ride the bus around town. At 10 a.m., I left my office and walked about a half a mile to the bus stop at the corner of Graham and 10th streets. But for me, taking the bus isn't that convenient because there isn't a close stop to anywhere I need to go -- not even to my home. Wearing cute shoes this week ain't going to happen. Damn!
Now, as I wait for the No. 21 bus (Double Oaks), I realize that the schedules on the bus-stop poles are kind of crazy. They tell you what time the buses leave the previous stop, not what time they're supposed to arrive at your stop. That makes no sense to me. It's almost as if there's a secret code to riding the bus. Pulling out my cell phone, I call my friend Michelle, who often takes the bus.
"Girl, you aren't going to make it two days on the bus," she says after I tell her my plan.
"Why do you say that?" I ask.
"Because you're impatient and you can't be rude to the bus drivers. And," says Michelle, "you can't drink your coffee on the bus."
"Tell me about it. That's going to suck. But at least I can get some reading done."
"And miss your stop," she says with a laugh.
"Shut up. My bus is here. I'll call you back."
The 21 pulls up to the stop, and I hop on, sticking my pass in and saying hello to a surly driver who basically grunts in return. There are three people on the bus besides me. It's a quiet ride for the most part, until one of the women makes a phone call about her hospital stay. She needs a note for work, but it sounds as if she can't get one. The other two women put their two cents into the conversation.
"They can't do that," says the older lady. "If you need proof for your job, then they have to give you a note."
"The same thing happened to me, but I made sure I got the note before I left the hospital because I wasn't going to work the next day," replies the other lady.
The next stop is going to be the transit center in Uptown. I need a moment to figure out what I'm going to do. Should I hop on another bus or get on the light rail? After all, since I cheated today, I might as well see what transit is all about and figure out how I'm going to get around for the rest of the week.
The bus pulls into the transit center and we all get off. This center is buzzing like a beehive, and everybody, it seems, is smoking something; if it isn't a Newport, then it's a Black and Mild cigar. This is not the place for recovering nicotine addicts. The transit center has a few convenience stores and a Burger King. It's funny that you can buy food and drinks here, but it's forbidden to have food on the bus. The signs even say if you're caught eating on the bus, you will be asked to get off. So what happens if you have to wait on a fresh Whopper and your bus pulls up?
I walk around a bit, trying to figure out how to get upstairs to the rail station. I realize at this moment that even though I rode the train during the CIAA and ACC tournaments, I've never gotten on it at the transit center. And yes, I'm lost. There's that code again. I don't see any signs anywhere pointing people in the right direction. I call Michelle again.
"How do I get on the train?" I ask.
She's laughing, and at this point, I don't like her too much. "You go upstairs. There's a door beside the bank that leads to the elevator or the stairs."
"Thanks," I reply.
"You'll be driving tomorrow."
"Shut up!" I certainly wasn't going to tell her that I drove today.
I make it up to the light rail station and notice a big difference in riding the train today as opposed to when a basketball tournament is in town: I got a seat! Hot damn!
The CATS employees and the passengers aren't as nice as they were during the tournaments either. Everyone is in his or her own little world. It's an interesting juxtaposition. On the bus, people talk to each other so much it's damn near painful to listen to some of their conversations. But on the train, people listen to music and read. The people are different, too. For the most part, there are a lot of blacks and Latinos riding the bus. The train, however, has a few more white people on it. It's appears to be cool for bankers and Uptown workers to take the train while clutching their briefcases and listening to iPods.
Another thing I notice today is that someone is checking tickets. Wow! I've never seen this happen. At the Carson Station, a tall CATS employee hops on the train and asks random passengers to see their passes. No one gets kicked off. I guess everyone is paying to ride these days.
I ride the train all the way to I-485, and parts of this trip remind me of a rollercoaster at Carowinds. It's kind of fun and fast. Man, it would be great if the light rail went all over the city. But, I digress.
On the way back to Uptown, the train is nearly empty. Hell, it's the middle of the day and most of the light rail's core riders are in their offices waiting for 5 p.m. I'm able to stretch out on two seats and watch the scenery fly by and read my Ann Rule book, Bitter Harvest.
Or so I thought.
A dude steps on the train and sits near me. With all these empty seats around, this guy wants to sit beside me. That would've been fine if he would've allowed me to just read my book.
"What are you reading?" he asks.
"Bitter Harvest," I say, trying not to be rude.
"Oh, OK." When he pulls out his headphones, I was thinking the conversation would end there. It didn't.
"Are you married?" he asks.
"No."
"Do you have any children?"
"No."
He tells me that his name is Robert, and he's a minister who moved to Charlotte from New York. Great, I think. Robert is single and thinks I'm cute. He wants to exchange numbers. I'm thinking, "Shit. All I wanted to do was read a book."
I take Robert's number and say I'll call, but I know I'm not going to call. Since I don't want to continue talking to him, I get off at the Bland Street station and walk to a bus stop on South Boulevard. The No. 10 bus is coming in three minutes (I hope). I stand there waiting, then I realize that I haven't had lunch yet. Good thing the bus stop is across from Quizno's.
So far, I'm having fun on my journey. And it doesn't hurt that the weather is nice. This might work out after all.
After lunch, I head back to the stop. I have about five minutes to wait for the bus. The No. 10 arrives, and it's quite full. I take an empty seat across from three people who are lamenting the fact that a bus route in their neighborhood has been discontinued because of the light rail.
An older lady sitting in the middle with dark shades on says, "Why do I have to ride three things to get down one street? It makes no sense."
"It takes forever to get to the mall now," her traveling companion says.
"That's crazy," a man interjects.
"Yeah," the older lady says. "You have to get on the No. 10, then get on the light rail and then take a bus to get to Pineville."
"So, the other bus doesn't come in to the neighborhood anymore?"
"Nah. They want everybody to get on the train," she rails.
The bus finally makes it through the NASCAR museum construction zone and back to the transit center. The No. 13 is waiting in Bay A and I think this is going to be a pretty good ride back to work. I just wish I hadn't worn these silver boots; my feet are killing me!
March 18
I'm not cheating today. Well, not really. I've decided to do the park-and-ride thing. That's because once again, I didn't get up early enough to walk to the bus stop. My bad.
It's a few minutes after 8 a.m. when I dash to my car and realize that if I were driving to work, I'd be there in 15 minutes.
But I'm taking the bus. I park my car at the park-and-ride location and walk up to the bus stop. I just missed the damned bus. The next one won't be along for another 30 minutes. The wind is cold this morning, ripping through me like a pickpocket. Damn, I wish I had some hot coffee. I see a bus; it's the 23 Grier Heights one. I ask the driver, "Are you going downtown?"
"No," he replies nicely. "The No. 9 should be behind me."
"Thanks."
The No. 9 (Central Avenue) is about 10 minutes behind the Grier Heights bus. The wind has picked up, and it's colder than a witch's tit. When the bus arrives, it's half full, and the people waiting at the stop with me pretty much fill it up. Despite the fact that it's almost 9 a.m. there are a lot of young people who look as if they should be in school instead of riding the bus. Hell, I should be at work.
Taking a seat on the bus, I look around at the people on the bus. The mornings on the bus are filled with a cross section of the Charlotte community: mothers with young babies heading to the doctor, blue collar workers holding their hard hats, men with court cases and a couple of Midwood High School students. We all have one thing in common this morning: We're all late.
And for whatever reason, the lady driving this bus is not very nice. Then again, neither are many of the passengers.
A group of guys step on the bus, and one of them recognizes a friend sitting near the front.
"What's up, man," he says, slapping palms with his buddy.
"Where you headed?"
"To court man. This is some bullshit. If I get locked up, I'm going to fucking go off."
"Sir," the driver says, annoyed and not trying to hide it, "can you watch your language? If I can hear you, you are entirely too loud."
"What?" Mr. On-My-Way-To-Court snaps. "Anyway." He continues his profanity-laced conversation about his court case. Two older women sitting next to the young men blanch every time he drops an "F" bomb. Even my ears are ringing.
"I asked you nicely the first time," the driver bellows. I guess she's not that bad after all.
I look up at the clock on the bus after it makes another stop. I've been riding this thing for 26 minutes and haven't made it into Uptown yet. I really could've made it to work on time if I had been driving. But at least I'm saving money, right?
Finally, we're at the transit center. Mr. On-My-Way-To-Court gets off the back of the bus, not walking by the driver. One of the older women who had been cringing at his conversation, thanks the bus driver for trying to calm the situation.
The driver simply nods in response. While I'm all for this little exchange, I need these people to get out of my way so I can catch the Graham Street bus. At least, I think that's the right bus.
The No. 22 (Graham Street) is right there waiting. It's fate. I'm only going to be a few more minutes then I'll be at work. It's nearly 9:30 a.m., and I'm beyond late. This bus is nearly empty and the seat choices are prime. I take a spot near the window and notice that people in the cars kind of sneer at bus riders. Maybe when you're looking down in the cars, the huge, streaked windows give you a forlorn look, but do drivers have to be so nasty? I'm also trying to understand why Charlotte's transit system isn't like other cities, where many people take public transportation because they want to. Then again, the way the buses run around this city, I see why people don't want to get on them. For instance, I'm on the Graham Street bus. I work off Graham Street, but why is this bus passing where I need to go. What the fuck is going on?
Not only that, but the couple sitting behind me is waxing philosophically about Jesus. The driver is stopping at every yellow light as if we're being monitored by cameras. And is that Mallard Creek Church Road we just passed?
CATS doesn't make it easy for riders to know where the hell they're going. And sure, I could've asked the driver, but she had a scowl on her face that made me just want to get on the bus and get the hell out of dodge. Who knew the Graham Street bus actually meant North Graham Street? What's even worse about this hellish trip is that I could've driven to work five times for as long as I've been on this bus. People must get fired every day fucking with CATS.
When the clock reads 11 a.m., I send a text to my boss. "Don't laugh, I'm lost on the bus."
His response, "Ha, ha."
Finally, I get back to the transit center and instead of taking another bus ride, I call my friend Michelle.
"Can you come get me?" I ask.
"Where are you?"
"At the Arena in Dunkin Doughnuts getting coffee." Then I tell her about my long tour around North Charlotte. After she finishes laughing, she says she's on her way.
Well, the coffee was good!
I get to work about 11:45 a.m., and the whole staff is laughing at me.
If I'm going to keep riding this bus, I'm going to need to figure out the right routes and the like. So, I log on to www.ridetransit.org; this Web site allows you to plan your trip. And it also shows you just how long it takes to get a few miles on the bus.
I'm wondering, "Is it possible to take a lunch break on the bus?"
How about no.
Just to get downtown to Fuel Pizza, it's going to take 45 minutes. And you can best believe it takes another 45 minutes to an hour to get back. Fuck it. I'm walking to Subway.
Around 5 p.m., while I'm waiting for a ride to the transit center, my friend Joe calls. He wants the details on my bus riding experience.
"It sucks." I say.
"I told you that. You can say you want to save gas all you want. But even if gas was $5 a gallon, you're not going to stop driving a Mustang to ride the city bus. Not here," he says.
I'm getting on the 9 (Central Avenue) bus again. It's time to go home. The bus is pretty empty for now. But that doesn't stop people from violating my personal space. There have to be eight empty seats around me, but I'm trapped between an "onion man" (someone who smells so bad it makes you cry) and some dude I've hit with my bag twice hoping he would ease back. When I get home tonight, I will be staying there because riding the bus is worse than driving though traffic. It's tiring. It's time consuming. And I've wasted more time than money. Money you can get back. Time is lost forever.
March 19
This morning, I'm determined to learn from yesterday's mistake. That means I won't be getting on the Graham Street bus when I make it to the transit center. I'm even going to ask the bus driver questions.
It's about 9:26 a.m. when I get on the 9 (Central Avenue) bus. When I make it to the park-and-ride lot, the bus is there. But despite my best efforts to run up the stairs and make it, the bus took off as I reached the second step from the top. Just evil!
I hope she gets a flat tire in the middle of her route. Some bus drivers will wait for you ... if you have a stroller or you're in a wheel chair. I guess that's commendable, but what about the rest of us who are just running late? Can I get some consideration? I guess not. But, I digress.
This bus driver is really nice. A little too nice if you ask me. He's holding up the bus because the guy who just got on doesn't have correct change. Umm, dude, some of us are late for work (again). Can you move it along?
My phone rings after I find a seat. It's my friend Beverly, who also can't believe I'm on the bus.
"You're still riding the bus?" she asks.
"Yes. Hello? Hello?" My call drops as the bus pulls off from the stop. That's some mess. Well, this gives me a chance to check out my surroundings. The riders are quiet this morning, so maybe it's a good thing I'm not talking on the phone. The bus pulls up to its first of many stops. As the passengers get off, the driver says, "Have a blessed day."
That's so nice. He's much nicer than the asshole who left me! Finally, we make it to the transit center and the driver tells everyone: "Be safe and have a blessed and prosperous day."
"He must be new," I think. While I would love to go and get a cup of coffee, I can't because my bus, the 21 (Double Oaks), is in the bay. I'm already super late for work, so I'm going to be forced to go without my jolt of caffeine this morning. Climbing aboard, I notice that this city bus feels a lot like a Greyhound bus. The seats are wider and a bit more padded. But the bus smells like piss. I don't know if it's a baby that went wee-wee or what. But at least I know I'm on the right bus today. As the bus heads down Graham Street, I'm looking for the right stop. I see it, and I pull the stop request string.
The driver, however, keeps going. What in the blue hell is going on? Finally the bus comes to a stop somewhere off Statesville Avenue. Now, I'm really pissed. Because instead of walking a few blocks to the office. I've got a mile to go. Looking down at my feet, I realize that I was smart enough to wear the right kind of shoes today. But it's cloudy, and it looks as if it's going to rain. All I can do is pray I make it to the office before the clouds open up.
I do! Yes! One thing I know for sure, I'm not taking the bus to see Barack Obama for his loacal visit today. Thank goodness for driving co-workers!
By the end of the day, it's raining cats, dogs and lizards. This is when I realize just how lucky I am -- because I have the option of not waiting outside at the bus stop. My dear friend Erica, who was also at the Obama rally, is taking me home. But for the people who do have to wait for the bus in this weather, it sucks. There aren't many covered stops around the city. You have old people, babies and some people in wheelchairs getting battered by the rain while they wait for the bus. Not a good look, CATS.
Again, another night that I'm spending in my house and going to bed early.
March 20
The week is almost over! I've almost got this bus thing down now. I arrive at the stop this morning about two minutes before the bus does. I look down at my cell phone clock and see that this bus is actually early. I've never in my life heard of an early bus. Luckily, it's the same "have-a-blessed-day" driver from yesterday.
The conversations this morning are a little subdued. I'm sitting across from an Iraq war veteran, who is 30 minutes late for work. The woman he's talking to just told him she lost her grandmother to cancer. He tells her that he's into holistic medicine and has been in Charlotte for 18 months. It's amazing to me the things that people tell strangers.
I glance out the window as we pass a gas station on Central Avenue. The price of regular gas is now $3.29 a gallon. That should make this week on transit seem sweeter, but it doesn't. In six minutes, this bus has made five stops, and the lady sitting behind me is cursing out someone from Sprint because of her phone service. At least in my car, the only cursing I hear is my own when some asshole cuts me off.
The veteran and his companion are now talking about hard work. He looks at her six-inch nails and says, "Well, I can tell you're not working that hard. You haven't broke a nail."
She laughs, and as the bus pulls up to the transit center, they exchange names and shake hands.
Now it's time to get on another bus to make it to work. And despite the fact that it's the first day of spring, it's cold out here. I've got to make sure this bus puts me off at the right stop today. I made the mistake of pulling the stop request cord too soon this time. But I got off the bus anyway because this stop was a lot closer than the one from yesterday. And yes, I'm wearing sensible shoes today.
I have an appointment Uptown today as well. Since I'm not driving and I feel like a leach asking co-workers to take me some place, I'm going back to www.ridetransit.org.
I'm beginning to feel as if this Web site is fucking useless, though. Every trip seems to be an hour or more. "Forget it," I think. I'm just going to go Uptown and ask the people who work for CATS what I need to do.
While this seemed like a logical idea at the time (to ask people who work for the transit system what bus I needed to take to get to Third Street), I realize when I start talking to the people down at the transit center that they don't know shit either. And if they do know, they talk to you as if you should know as well. Part of me wanted to tell that rude-ass lady behind the glass at the center that I don't ride the bus every day nor do I work here -- so can you fucking point me in the direction of Bay X? But I wandered around the smoke-filled transit center until I found the bay and the Gold Rush that was taking me where I needed to go. The free trolleys that CATS runs are worse than the buses. The ride is a jerky and bumpy one. Do they ever change the shocks on these things? I make it to my appointed destination with an hour to spare before my meeting. It's a beautiful day, so I grab some lunch and sit outside watching the sheriff's deputies, lawyers, plaintiffs and defendants shuffle back and forth. Uptown Charlotte is kind of nice today.
After my meeting, I head back to the transit center instead of getting back on the Gold Rush because the whole route of that thing is confusing. I walk a few blocks up to a bus stop. It's the No. 9, and it is full. It's 3:30 p.m., and school's out. That's when I realized that the transit center is the "meet market" for teenagers. Standing on the bus, a group of teenagers are leering out the window at a group of girls dressed in tight jeans and shirts.
One of the boys says to his friends, "It's always females here this time of day!" Then he pops a stick of gum in his mouth. Guess he's on the prowl.
Another plentiful thing at the transit center in the afternoon is the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police. I don't know if I feel safe or if this is part of the reason why I haven't used CATS since I was a freshman in college some 14 years ago. Seeing all of the police officers at the transit center makes you think that CATS isn't safe. It doesn't give me a lot of confidence about riding the bus. And what happens if I have to ride this thing at night?
When I get back to work some 30 minutes later, the day is over, and I'm drained. I check a few e-mails and dream about going outside and getting into my car -- but it's not here!
I hate to admit it, but Joe was right. I'm not giving up my Mustang to ride the city bus -- especially not in this city!
Epilogue: March 21
Here's what I learned about CATS after using it as my sole mode of transportation for five days:
• If you love to drive, you're probably going to hate it.
• If you value being on time, you're probably going to hate it.
• If you want to sit on a bus and be left the hell alone, you're probably going to hate it.
I can't wait to get in my car and zoom past the transit center without having to stop and wait for another bus. I can't wait to get in my car and pass the park-and-ride location without parking and riding.
I thought that maybe after this experience, I'd be able to take the bus on the weekends, but as far as I'm concerned, the weekend schedule is even more fucked up than the weekday one.
So as gas prices rise, I'm going to keep driving.
