Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority

Wayne Blogged The...MBTA
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There’s a certain callousness in the air of a lengthy train ride. Passengers rarely make eye contact with one another, and if they do, it’s fleeting and accidental. Ticket collectors generally act this way as well. But there’s always an exception, a rebel ticket collector who feels it is his duty to not only rip your ticket, but to make awkward social contact with you in a sea of unsmiling travelers. This is why my amount of disdain for train rides has exponentially grown with each passing year since my first ride on the choo-choo at age two (choo)…
It takes approximately forty-five minutes to get from Boston to my fortress of solitude. I travel home about twice a month, which means four rides a month, totaling an average of forty eight train rides a year. This means I spend 2,160 of the 525,600 minutes available to me per year in a train. Which all in all, is not too bad. My favorite human’s father spends about four times that amount. And for that, he receives my pity.
Today’s ride is quite ridiculous. There’s about 150 people packed into a car that holds 75 seats. Everyone’s tired, and everyone’s annoyed (except for the lucky 75 who sit in their comfy seats of glorification). I pass the time by watching people fall asleep briefly, but not before either drooling or resting their head on their neighbor’s shoulder. Then I noticed an intriguing advertisement.
The ad is for a 1-800 number that gives you directions to the nearest _____. There is a picture of an attractive girl sipping on a root-beer float while listening to a male talk about presumably nothing important. There is a compass to the right of this image- North: Chapel; East: Jazz Club; West: Italian Restaurant; South: Motel.
North: Chapel; South: Motel.
Call me crazy, but this seems a bit too coincidental. Everyone seems to accept the fact that the universal image of heaven is up (north), and that hell is down (south). And more than a few prominent religions also frown upon pre-marital sex. Also, it’s a universal assumption that no one but crack addicts and fornicators go to motels. So why would a motel even be in the equation, unless this root-beer sipping floozy happened to have romping on the mind.
Now, am I saying that this is pro-life propaganda? No. I just find it amusing how this type of thing slips through advertising editors so effortlessly. Now, if it said “North: Chapel; South: Brothel”, I’m sure someone would take exception to this. But since it’s simply ‘motel’, no problem. Who knows what the conditions surrounding this girl’s thoughts are, right? Maybe she just needs a change of scenery and opts for her change to involve “COLOR TV” signs and plastic mattress covers. Maybe she enjoys falling asleep to the sounds of uninhibited sex followed by the regret-filled pillow talk- maybe she misses prom.