I have been riding the Metro system for nine years now. Despite the blaring headlines created by the 2003 arrest of a girl eating french fries in a Metro Station, I am essentially resolved to the slovenly nature of my fellow passengers. Many people eat and drink on the trains and no one is afraid of the consequences.
But lo and behold, as I entered the gates of Rosslyn today alongside some dip sipping on a just-poured triple dorka wankachino, a station manager took the law in his own hands. Despite the caffeinator’s protests, the manager instructed the man that he could not enter the station until he finished his drink. Since it looked like the coffee drinker had just dropped a Hamilton on his bevvie, the rules were followed and back out the gates he went.
We are better than New York in perhaps this one instance: Yes, some people eat and drink on the Metro, but it is more covert and less common than the 24-hour dining cars that run in New York City. But there are still enough sunflower seed spitters and jumbo slice chewers to thoroughly disgust me. Given that, I just had to tell the manager that I appreciated what he was doing.
He sort of grunted at me, then stopped. “They know what they’re doing,” he said of the offenders, before returning to his post, possibly to turn away the next joker sipping on a Starbucks.
Attention station managers: The eaters and drinkers might indeed know that they are breaking the rules. But why don’t you remind them anyway?