On days that I go to work mid-morning (like yesterday) and take the bus (like yesterday), I've noticed an additional demographic besides your usual midday riders--retail employees going to work, moms with young children, and old people doing their errands. No, round about 10:30 in the morning, your happy MBTA passengers also include a bunch of guys going either to the courthouse or to their probation officers. This leads to some interesting overheard conversations.
A couple weeks ago I heard a spirited discussion of which local jails had the best amenities and most pleasant staff, and therefore were totally worth doing your whole time in, rather than getting probation, which is a big pain in the ass. The guys involved in that particular conversation were about my kid's age, so I was just kind of listening with vague amusement. Guys in their late teens and early twenties are, by and large, immature morons, and these ones seemed not overly bright, but I'm fairly sure that eventually the excess testosterone will peter out and they'll learn to stop doing whatever keeps landing them in jail for a couple months.
Yesterday, though. Two guys on the bus, discussing all the prison fights they've been in. Things I learned, which may be important to me later, though I kind of doubt it: you really can't get a bad beat down in Middleton, because the cells are so small that even if ten of your enemies come after you, only two or three can fit in your cell at one time. South Bay, however, is a different story. And, oh, yeah, if you jump off your top bunk onto someone, it may take three days for all the blood to get cleaned up off all the surfaces it splatters onto.
So, what was disturbing to me about this particular conversation, besides, y'know, the obvious, and the fact that they weren't in the least bit shy about having it in a public place, is that the guys involved were my age. Or older. Um, that's not excess testosterone, that's just...violent fuckedupedness that apparently ain't changing any time soon.
I suggest house arrest. Ankle bracelets. No taking the bus.
xoxo
2 comments:
I think we can stipulate, for the record, that you live in a far more interesting place than most. (Though, next week, look out--the Merrimack Valley Regional Transit Authority runs a route right past the Lowell District courthouse, and I'm thinking it's the same loop that'll run back and forth from my new place to the commuter rail, just in case non-automotive visitors who don't feel much like walking the last mile want to try a comparison). Funny to consider that I'm now going to be living so far out that I'm even beyond the ultimate reach of the T... (There won't be all that many visitors, Virginia, will there).
hahaha
Do we even need to stipulate that? And you people didn't even know me when I *really* used to live in the 'hood. Asian gang home invasions two houses over, inebriated men following me home with invitations to get high, and my little six year old son's Halloween pumpkins being stolen right off my front porch *while he was recovering from eye surgery.* Bastards!
Oh, if only there were such a thing as blogs in those days, the stories I coulda told.
Anyway! I may just take a taxi from the commuter rail when I come to visit. :-)
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