An Open Letter To:

The M1 bus.

I take you, M1 bus, every once in a while, when the mankind morass assembled at the 4-5-6 train escalators in Grand Central seems too foreboding, or these tired legs just don’t have the requisite spring to catapult me down toward lower Park Ave. South.

Frankly, M1, you’re not very prompt, and it’s usually faster to walk than to wait for you. And your driver that rides the horn every block or so–she should chill out a bit. Maybe do some yoga.

Maybe you’re so slow because you stop too much. I mean, you stop on Park Avenue South between 27th and 28th, M1. No problem there–28th is a nexus, with a subway stop, and a Mickey D’s and Duane Reade to boot.

But then you stop between 26th and 27th, M1. That’s a block later!

Don’t you realize, M1, that this is why people make fun of you and your bus brethren? You’re playing right into your stereotype: too many stops, too many folks who are advanced in age, weight or, typically, both, climbing on and off. Those minutes add up!

With all the proposed cuts in the MTA beckoning–entire subway and bus routes wiped off the map, token clerks banished to unemployment–can we really justify stopping between 27th and 28th, and again between 26th and 27th?

I think not.

By the way, I work right on 26th, so thank you for stopping right in front of my office. Some days the legs just don’t feel like walking all the way from 27th.

Ambivalently,

Trainjotting

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