May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013

To Be Fair, the Signs Just Say "No Eating or Drinking"

(Brace yourself, because today we’re going to talk about poop. And the Metro. Two different things, though sometimes the DC commute feels like being crapped on by the universe.)

Recently, someone spotted poop sitting at the bottom of a Metro escalator. The, um, feces were trapped between the moving stairs and the comb, rolling around with the motion of the escalator. Perhaps a crude diagram will help, since there’s no freaking way I’m posting the photograph:


Now, you have to understand that the escalators of DC’s Metro system are many and varied. Some are long; in fact, the longest escalator in North America is at Wheaton. If you stand instead of walk up that thing, it takes almost three minutes. Which, I think we can probably agree, is sufficient time to drop a somewhat-rushed duce.

But many of the escalators in the system, including the one apparently in question, are short mezzanine escalators. They go from one level of platform to another level of platform. You’re talking maybe a 20-second ride. So unless the poop was stored and ready for dumping (no pun intended), this person has some mad bathroom skills. It’s impressive in a really, really gross way. I’m not saying that speed pooping should become an Olympic event or something, but it’s not like NBC has much further to fall.

Also, a red line train apparently started on fire last week. Just out of nowhere. No reason has been reported, probably because Metro is such a giant flustercluck. I’m a little worried, since it hasn’t even been that hot yet. When it’s hot, I expect this sort of thing. The tracks melt (seriously), the trains turn into ovens, and it all gets a little Slaughterhouse Five.* But May is a little early for things to be spontaneously combusting. Global warming, I guess.

In other news, that thing I mentioned the other day that I couldn’t talk about yet is probably happening. It’s really good, you guys. For realsies.

* At which point your best bet is to get the tourists off the train. Get them anxious by whispering urgently into your fist. It works best if you’re wearing a suit and sunglasses. Not that I would know or anything.

0 Fish in a Sea of Diet Coke: