An Open Letter to the MBTA, Part II

Dear MBTA,

Today I left work at my usual time and headed for the Mass Ave T Station, as is my routine at the end of the workday. When I arrived, I noticed a gaggle of security personnel blocking the turnstiles and handing out small cards to random people, before these random folks were ushered to a table manned by even more security personnel. This is the precise moment I knew, like the proverbial light bulb over the noggin, what my blog posting would be about today.

You see, in supposed "random" searches by large men in uniform, I'm always selected. I don't really know why. I guess a shaved head and a messenger bag emblazoned with the word VEGAN isn't the image of peace and harmony I thought it was. I must have given a look of subversion, violence, or even terrorism. Yeah, me. Me and the blue-haired lady with holster hips from South Boston who just wanted to get home to watch the Sox opening day on her black-and-white Philco. Somehow, she and I scared the living shit out of you.

How else can I explain being "randomly selected"? As I made my way to the turnstiles, I saw one uniform lean over and whisper to another uniform, clearly something along the lines of, "That one. His walk has too much sashay and he smells too good." An instant later, the uniform that had been instructed to do so approached me, thrust a card in my hand, and said in a bored monotone, "You have been randomly selected for a bag search as part of the MBTA Transit Watch. Please go to the table." He had clearly just memorized this and was terrified of being off script. But that's OK. I don't expect mouth-breather security guards to emote much.

Well, this bugged me. A lot. My train was just arriving, and now I was in a position where I had to defend my basic civil liberties. I just wanted to go home. And everyone knows that MBTA trains don't wait for anyone, even people who are still boarding the train and may get smooshed in the doors.

So as my train chugged out of the station, I placed my bag onto the table in front of the security guard I will call The Polite One. He was very cordial, addressed me as "Sir", and said please and thank-you. This shocked me, as no one associated with your organization knows of even the existence of these words. Yet I was still not altogether happy. I am a law-abiding, tax-paying, voting American, and the contents of my bag are my business. I have nothing to hide. Search my bag and you will find a Diet Pepsi, a pack of Dunhills, and a neatly-folded reusable Whole Foods bag. Hell, give me a urinalysis, colonoscopy, and a pap smear. You'll find nothing.

But the fact remains that what's inside my bag is my stuff.

I needn't have worried about that. The Polite One did not go through my bag. In fact, he didn't even open it. He just ran a little strip of paper across it, then placed the strip in a large contraption that resembled a fax machine from 1982. A few seconds later, he thanked me for my cooperation and sent me on my way.

Excuse me...but WTF???

If there is some sort security threat to the MBTA -- and since these same uniformed men were doing the same exact maneuvers last week at the Mass Ave station, I find a breach of security highly unlikely -- then how does proving that my bag is 100% vinyl help anyone's cause? Other than, of course, the "This Is Boston And We Hate All Of You And Want To Make You Late" clause, which, I think, is on the books somewhere in City Hall.

Clearly, this is some sort of training. But may I suggest something a little less...structured? For instance, I don't think it's the best idea to undertake these lessons during rush hour at one of the busiest T stops in the city. That's just a recipe for, well, a whole lotta letters like this one. Hold your training at the Museum of Fine Arts T stop. It will be much more manageable, I assure you. However, "randomly selecting" oddball artsy types at that station will surely overload your team of security personnel.

Secondly, if there is some sort of security threat, I want to know about it. Whatever it is. I think I, and my fellow passengers, have the right to know exactly what it is that could happen. Had I been let in on the scoop (if there even was a scoop to be privy to), there's no chance I would've boarded one of your Dumpsters-on-wheels and I would've started hoofin' it the three miles home.

Third, why hand me a little card full of bureaucratic threats if you're not going to hand one to everybody? Am I really that scary?

In closing, I want to make you aware that once I was nearing my apartment, I saw an MBTA bus nearly take out a handicapped man using two metal crutches while crossing the street. Apparently, he's pretty scary too.

Hugs and Kisses,
Donn

P.S. I get the distinct feeling that you "red tape" people are just trying to scare us. And let it be known that whoever that terror comes from -- be it those assigned to "protect" us, actual terrorists themselves, or that scary lady who's had too much plastic surgery -- it ain't gonna work. I refuse to be terrorized.