TrainspottingBy David Fleming
I SMOOSHED into one of Atlanta's MARTA trains yesterday and instantly made a
new Olympic friend. Well, I couldn't really help it, our noses were touching. I
then wanted to shake my new friend's hand, but couldn't wedge my arms away from
my sides. So I offered him a hearty good morning instead. "That must of been
one whopper of a ham and cheese omelet you had for breakfast," I'd like to say to him. "And, by the way you only have a $1.43 in coins in your pocket. You'll need another
seven cents to ride the train home, sir."
To say the Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority has been a bit of a nightmare so far at these Games is like saying the Dream Team has been a bit over-hyped here in Georgia. Atlanta-rapid-transit, how's that for a world class oxymoron? Sure, the stations are clean, well lit and staffed by nearly 1,000 police and helpers. Some of them, however, look a little too eager to stomp on the toes of customers who do not keep behind the prescribed lines while waiting for trains. But the real problem is this underground rail system, designed for a daily push of 450,000 people, is now trying to accommodate as many as 1.5 million passengers. And it's failing miserably. If this column were being delivered by MARTA you might get it in time for Thanksgiving.
In fact, the IOC just sent a rather terse memo to ACOG, suggesting that they come up with immediate solutions to the transportation problems. Hey, here's a rather deep suggestion: TAKE THE DAMN SEATS OUT OF THE TRAINS YOU IDIOTS. It's not just the fans who are bummin'. Athletes and media have also experienced problems in transit. A driver taking British rowers to Lake Lanier on Saturday nearly fell asleep at the wheel and the U.S. baseball team arrived eight minutes before its first game. "I got no idea where I'm going. I'm from Chattanooga," was how our first media bus driver greeted us. But most reports indicate that MARTA ain't much SMARTA. Rides that used to take 30 minutes are now taking up to three hours. Crowds waiting for trains in the sticky and smelly air on the platforms are 20 people deep. Fights are breaking out. There are reports of people cursing riders in wheelchairs and shoving slow movers back out onto the platforms. And a gigantic crowd at the central hub called Five Points nearly rioted a few days ago. "When we invited the world," says ACOG spokesman Bob Brennan. "The whole world decided to come." Actually, I think the whole world decided to get on my train here at the Georgia Dome/Omni station, traditionally the most crowded stop. A quick shout out inside my metal coffin on rails reveals that I am encased in a sort of multi-cultural cocoon. There are some Brits and Aussies in my left pocket, a gaggle of Finns are standing on my right foot, my friend the omelet lover, is directly in front of me while a guy from Canada has his hands, he says, resting on two nice fluffy pillows. THOSE are not pillows, sir! I quickly reply. I guess we're all just doing the best we can to abide by the final rule from a list handed out by MARTA: Gracefully accept the fact that you have to give up personal space.
This tip comes from a sweaty and disheveled, but extremely friendly, MARTA helper Mary J. Walker, who is going hoarse from yelling at people under the Omni to `Please keep smiling, ya'll!' (Walker encourages MARTA riders- AIFF|WAV) Walker, redeployed from her job in the engineers' office, has already been slapped by a passenger and reports that the biggest problem MARTA has is that people haven't figured out yet that riders can't exit and enter the cars simultaneously. "One woman screamed to me, `I'm a New Yorker and we're the rudest people in the world, but we'll at least let you off the train before getting on'," says Mary J., shaking her head and reaching for the emergency bottle of water tied around her neck. As part of her training, Walker was also provided with a list of no-no gestures that might offend our foreign visitors. She was told to never, ever, touch an Asian child on the head (the top of a child's head is considered sacred in some Asian cultures) or to direct an OK sign at a Spanish person. "It means," she says leaning in close and dropping her voice to a whisper, "F-U in Spanish."
Back on my next train, I remember Mary J.'s words when the car comes to a quick halt and I am head butted by, get this, two guys behind me. "You alright buddy?" "Oh yeah, it's just a concussion," I say gesturing to them with my thumb and fore finger closed in a tight circle. "I'm fine, really. I'm A-OK."
Photographs by Peter Kay |
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SI Olympic Dailies
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