Guilt Trip

Public transportation in less densely populated cities is complicated. It’s complicated because not as many people take it, and the people who do are obviously not as well off because in a city that’s full of suburban sprawl it’s hard to rely on public transit alone. Having lived in the Detroit suburbs and taken the bus, I know there is a stark contrast between those who take the bus and those who have never set foot on one. Now in Dallas, it’s more or less the same. There’s debate whether this system should have been built at all, and there’s debate whether what has already been built is enough to encourage more use. Challenges from those who are tired of people trying to make this city into New York. Challenges from people who are tired of people who don’t care about the environment and tired of people who don’t want to acknowledge the traffic problem.

In most U.S. cities, cars are still king. With that, public transportation isn’t used by the people who have an actual choice. Why would I take the train or the bus if I can drive my Cadillac Escalade or my Ford F-150? Then it becomes this cycle of how can the system develop if people who live in that area aren’t willing to make it work?

The parking lot of the closest DART station to me is empty. I’m weary about leaving my car there as I go on an excursion into downtown, but I see five cars scattered about and they seem ok, so I should be too. It doesn’t calm the unease in my stomach as I walk away from my locked car.

I buy my $5 all day ticket and I question the enforcement of it because there are no turnstiles or anyone watching to see if you paid. It’s all based on the honor policy, so it leads me to wonder how many people are riding for free. It’s not long after I pay that someone asks me for money. I say no, give them a sad face, and make my way.

The platform is empty besides me and one other person, which is different from so many major cities. It’s kind of scary because of this. I try not to think about it and I distract myself by looking at cars driving by in the distance. I made a conscious choice to not be one of them today.

The train comes and I get in the car along with a few other people. I want to sit undisturbed, but a man starts talking to me about his life. I notice the box of assorted items in the seat next to him: a few bottles of wine, books, and newspapers. He points out that he has the same shirt as me. I’m wearing a crop top. I laugh and he laughs. But, it then dawns on me how different I probably look from the average person taking the train. I’m wearing a crop top, semi destroyed high waisted shorts, one inch sandals, and a somewhat recognizable Fitbit on my wrist. There’s something about me that echoes youth and someone who has at least some amount of money. Probably not the typical person who takes the train on an early Saturday afternoon. I’m conscious of this, and it makes me a little uncomfortable how I’m the only Asian woman on this car in the train. The man goes on and says he’s thinking about panhandling, but he’s not sure how people handle it in this heat. I tell him that people do what they have to do to survive.

The train stops again, and a man sits next to me when there are several seats available in the car. This makes me feel a little weird because I want my own seat and my own space. I faintly smell alcohol in his breath. He leaves at the next stop, and I loosen up. The man I was originally talking to said he has my back and that there are some creepy people occasionally. He wonders if he is that creepy person. He asks if I’m visiting the city. I know this question comes out of an assumption of my appearance. Only someone dressed like me would take the train as a tourist because if I had a car, I would drive it right? I’m here to stay for a while, and I feel the real question he wants to ask is why I’m resorting to public transportation in a city where the locals don’t embrace it. This is what his question subtly implies.

All of this comes out of the way I look. I’d be lying if I wasn’t thinking the same thing about him. The box with those random items. I feel like the typical person on a train wouldn’t be carrying these things. With this thought, I’m as guilty as him in passing judgement on someone based on their appearance.

As I approach my destination, I wonder if he’s stopping at the same place too. In the back of my mind, I hope he doesn’t. As friendly as the conversation was, I don’t feel like continuing it. I catch myself in thinking this because of the way he looks with his two front teeth missing. If it wasn’t for this, I probably wouldn’t mind.

He doesn’t follow, but the stop doesn’t feel any better. This one is underground and eerily empty. I can hear the steps from the people who also got off the stop, and I follow closely because I’m scared of being left behind in all of this. There are a few steep, long escalators that seem endless. I find myself praying that I hit sunlight soon because I don’t know if anyone would hear me scream if anything were to happen. On my way up, I see two girls running up and down the stairs, so it makes me feel a little better. I still find myself speeding up on the stairs though, eager to see the sunlight.

You see the stark difference between life in the city and the suburb I live in. Nicer cars are parked along the street and a few “Valet Parking” signs are scattered in front of shops. You see Club Monoco and Lucky Brand and the “Leasing Now” luxury apartments.

I walk to this restaurant a few blocks away and the clientele is dressed in “nice” clothes. Women in dresses and men in polos. The nearby parking lot is reserved for valet parking only. Is that really necessary? Clearly, down here the crowd is more wealthy.

I pay $15 for some mediocre scrambled eggs and potatoes, and I think that for some people in that train, they can’t afford that. It’s not that easy to put that amount on a plastic. I stare at this dish and think this is not worth the price.

As I’m sitting outside enjoying my brunch it bothers me that for most people (an assumption, but maybe not entirely wrong) in this restaurant have never taken the train. And nor do they want to. If they don’t have to see people who don’t look like them, they don’t have to. They don’t exist and they can live in this Saturday brunch $10 mimosa lifestyle. This part of the city is so isolated from everything else.

I’m kind of not looking forward to going back on the train because of that isolated subway station. The ride back down on those escalators seem so long when it’s all silence. I feel more comfortable as I see a white family making their way off the train. Back on the platform, it’s me and a woman and a man waiting for the next train. The monitor says two minutes and it stays on the screen for what feels like twenty. I breathe another sigh of relief as I see a husband and a wife walk up to the platform. It feels safer having a couple around.

We throw around the words “ghetto” and “sketch” when we see something that is deemed unsafe, but what defines it as unsafe? Is it the people who take one look at you and know you have some sort of money and that’s why they ask you for money? Is it the feeling of uncleanliness on the platforms and the train? All I’ve heard is that the public transportation in Dallas is “sketch”, and we need to change this perception because we’re hurting the city that we’re living in. We’re hurting ourselves by confining ourselves to this box. People always preach diversity, but it seems empty. I feel like I’ve lived in so called diverse communities all my life, but then why do I feel uncomfortable at the sight of some people? There was a never supposed to be a point where we all looked the same, but of course there is an inside vs. outside mentality, and the contrast is growing bigger and bigger as the income gap widens.

This whole public transportation venture on my own has led to moments of fear and discomfort. Part of it is, unfortunately, being a woman. There are just things seen as a threat when they shouldn’t be because of sexual violence. But, the other part of it is the class difference. They don’t dress like me or the people that I hang out with, so I feel scared because I don’t quite look like I’m from the lower middle class or lower class. All of the crime in the news has made me hardwired into being careful. It’s wrong, but these thoughts exist and probably part of the reason why those people sitting in that restaurant don’t take the train.

I need to rewire my brain to treat stimuli that I automatically think of as, in some way, threatening into something that’s not. They are people too. It’s not as simple as volunteering to help the less fortunate and crawling back into our McMansion. It’s about coexisting and really being part of the environment, and it starts with something as small as taking the train.