I tend to be kind of a homebody. My poseurphobia makes me uncomfortable in front of strangers, so I usually opt to just avoid going out altogether. This tendency is somewhat mitigated by the fact that I usually enjoy myself when I do go out, but I think I still stay in far more often than the average person, and certainly more often than my girlfriend would like. All this is to say that it’s kind of unusual for me to go out twice in one week, but after Wednesday’s bobble, I was ready to get back on the horse. (Actually, it was probably more the external force of having been invited to some friends’ housewarming than anything internal, but the point is that we went out.)
We decided to leave a little early so we could walk to a nearby restaurant for a little dessert before we hopped on the train. The night was going great. I was in a high spirits, and the addition of a little sugar only lightened my mood further. Then we got on the train. I knew that I would have to make an effort to not fall into my usual habits, but things didn’t get off to a good start.
A note about public transit in Boston: Pretty much everybody who uses public transit in Boston has some one kind or another of magnetic card that pays their fare. I don’t use the system enough to warrant the kind of expensive monthly pass, so I just have the debit card type. Every train station has machines for loading more money onto your card. This is all pretty standard fare, but what’s neat about Boston is that you can also load money onto your card on any bus or trolley in lieu of the machines at the train stations. Maybe this is common in other cities as well, but it’s entirely new to me. (It’s actually kind of a stupid extra step, since you end up putting money on the card just to have it taken off again. However, it’s made necessary by the MBTA’s batshit pricing scheme of charging 30 cents more for people who don’t have a transit card.) I’m sure it’s a very simple system, but it’s one I have exactly zero experience with.
We were catching the Green Line, a train that runs over-ground like a trolley at the particular stop where we were getting on. This particular is just a platform in the middle of the street–no attendants and no turnstiles–so you pay as you get on the train. We climbed into the second of a two-car train. There’s an attendant who sits at the front of the car like he’s driving, but since we’re being pulled by the car in front of us, all he’s really there to do is make sure everybody pays their fare. I wave my wallet in front of the thing, and the “driver” tells me I’m 20 cents short. I move out of the way to let everybody else pay while I dig around for some change. I find a quarter and drop it in the slot.
“That’s not how you do it.” Said the “driver” with the impatience of a man whose job isn’t just to stare at the trolley car in front of him (and maybe occasionally help people). “Haven’t you ever done this before?”
Normally, I’m terrified of just looking like an idiot, let alone being called out for actually being one, but I honestly hadn’t ever done this before. The expectation that I should know how to use this machine I’ve never used before struck me as completely unreasonable.
“Um. No.” I’m not an idiot, asshole, I’ve just never used this thing before.
“Well, now it wants $1.75.” Put more money into this machine to appease it.
Wait, he was trying to give me a hard time about not knowing how to work this thing, and he’s beholden to it’s desires? There’s no manual override, or even a coin return? In what universe is it unacceptable for me to not know basic information about this system, but unreasonable for me to expect him to know any more than that same info? This project is largely meant to help me overcome these petty judgments, but seriously: fuck that guy.
It’s at this point that my girlfriend stepped in, re-swiped her card, and cured all ills. We sat down and I came out of that situation, which had all the potential to publicly humiliate me, feeling perfectly fine. A few stops along, an older (couple? pair of friends? there’s some debate as to whether this was a first date, or if these were just amusingly awkward people) sat down across from us. They made eye contact with us throughout their conversation, clearly inviting us to join in. I decided that I was game, so we ended up talking about everything from Eco-Friendly Fonts to why I look so familiar. We got of the train to make our transfer, and I felt like I’d made a step in the right direction.
The party was fun. I talked briefly with a lot of people. but spent much of the time talking to two liberal-artsy nerd types that remind me a lot of my friends from school. The time passed too quickly, and it was soon time to rush to catch the last train home.
The last train on a Saturday night is much different from the 10:30 train on a Wednesday night. The train was crowded and rowdy, making me much less wary that anyone might be bothered by, or even listening to our conversation (I’m sure the fact that I had had a couple drinks worked to lower my inhibitions as well). As we got towards the end of the line (we get off at the absolute last stop), things start to quiet down, but I still felt a strange sense of camaraderie with the few remaining passengers. Our eyes would occasionally meet, and we’d share a brief, bemused glance, silently acknowledging that we’re all on this train for the same reason: to get home from a Saturday night out none of us were ready to leave.
I’ve mostly been thinking of my poseurphobia in terms of my own self-consciousness, but I’ve known that that was directly linked to the way I judge others. I know that I won’t be able to overcome feeling like people are judging me until I stop judging people. What hadn’t occurred to me is that the real heart of doing that is accepting that I’m really no different–no better or worse–than the whole of humanity. Kicking my judgement habit won’t work if I have to focus on accepting each wild haircut or taste in literature. I’ve got to start at the much more basic level of remembering that we’re all basically the same. I know it’s going to take a while, because that sounds as hokey to me as I’m sure it does to you.
po•seur•pho•bi•a 
Thinking about going to parties always makes me feel awful. I know for a fact that I will have a good time and by the end of the night, I’ll not want to leave. But the thought of making an effort to talk to someone I don’t know or just being outside my comfort zone makes me just terrified to go. I occasionally feel like a mildly agoraphobic extrovert – and that ain’t easy.
Also, public transportation systems are designed to humiliate people who don’t use them every day. Boston seems to have upped their game by actually installing a person there specifically to mock you.
I’m sure he was at the end of a shitty Saturday night shift, and I’m sure this isn’t what he imagined what he’d be when he grew up, but my patience-ometer goes from sympathy to “fuck you” pretty quick, especially if you’re going to mock me for something so stupid. I was obviously trying to pay for the ride, and really only needed some guidance to do so. I don’t really expect anything in the way of customer service when I take public transit, but this guy made a pretty compelling case for why he should be replaced by an automated turnstile.
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