I haven't missed the train yet...

Not to say that it hasn't been close, but I've always made it, often by the skin of my teeth.

Today was no exception. Wake up at 6am, hit snooze 'till 6:12, shower, shave, wash hair, brush teeth, yearn for the chai tea and cranberry scone I'll be getting in a few minutes because I'm going to get out of the house by 6:48.

Sit down in front of the computer to check on the purity survey, just for a second. Are people submitting questions? Are people linking?

Read the last 10 questions, log into shell to do a query on how many questions have been submitted since the site launched seven hours earlier (83), do a quick 'tail -f access.log' to see the site logs as they happen. See metafilter as a referrer. Hop to metafilter, notice that MinJung posted the link to MeFi at about 1am. check the lone comment in the thread, a guy saying 'Purity test? Never seen that before.' (no sarcasm before seven, please). Quickly log in to MeFi and post a reply, explaining that this isn't a 'I'm a 43% pure weblogger! woohoo!' kind of project, but more of a psychographic look at the blogger community frames in a meme context for your chewing pleasure.

Check email. O sole spam.

Look at the clock: 6:54 and my towel-wearing-but-otherwise-naked-ass realizes it's not going to get its scone today. Run here and there, getting dressed, getting backpack together, slamming powerbook closed, slipping it into backpack.

Contacts? Farg. No time. I grab the lens case and decide to put them in at work, or on the train. I was out of lens-cleaning fluid at home anyhow.

Slap the pockets: Wallet? Check. Comb and pen? Check. Cell? Check. Keys? Oh, yeah. Okay. Check. Lights? Off. Palm? In um... Yes, in the backpack. Lock-and-close, stairs down. Cell out for a timecheck: 6:58. Time to Emeryville Amtrak from home? 7-12 minutes. Time train leaves? 7:11. Cool.

Where did I park? Oh yeah, across from People's Park. Cross street. No, wait. that was last time. This time it was down on Haste across from the UC parking and tennis courts. Two long blocks.

Get in car start car drive car. Glance at car clock: 7:10. That clock's fast, but how fast? If I get there by 7:17 cartime I'll probably be okay.

Every light decides to flex its power today.

7:19 (car-time): From two blocks away I can see a sliver, between the climbing overpass ahead and the building to its right, where a train would be trundling slowly but unstoppably by if I was already moments too late. No vertical flicker of train cars. Okay.

Green light, up a block, right hand turn, lazy stop. See the train out of the corner of my eye.

Moving. Damn. Close.

I look again. Slowing down!

Like transferring momentum from the train to my car via my eyes/brain/foot-to-the-pedal I speed up. Into the lot, find a close space, noticing that the train is stopped and doors are open, thinking vaguely that as little as having to realign in the space could cost me this rendezvous, so get it right the first time.

De-belt, offlights, grabpack, keys, door, out, door. Run while finding lock button on keychain. Press it twice just to be sure.

Bolting through the gate between the parking lot and the train platform I weave around the people who just got off the train, commuters from Sacramento/Vallejo/Martinez who are walking to the busses that will ferry them to San Francisco, a different commuting world I now touch only by tangent. Like a flash I recall Monday (the last time I rode the train), weaving through the same people, racing for the same compassionless beeping train doors. Today, as I heave into the open train door, I see the conductor standing outside the train, talking casually to a station attendant. In an instant I'm inside his POV, wishing that I'd seen him a few seconds earlier, that I might have spared myself the awkward indignity of running to and jumping inside a train that simply sits there quietly for the next 45 seconds as if to say to me sweetly, "What? You thought I wouldn't wait for you?" All the while fully aware of the train's inner bitch, seeing every day the there-but-for-the-grace-of-luck-go-I commuters who reach the door with seconds to want, heaving and pounding on the doors while she pulls out, saying "Talk to the tracks, 'cause the train ain't listenin'."

Weaving slowly through the dining car, back to the empty seats, I'm thankful that I'm a thinking monkey and had the foresight, getting back to Emeryville Monday evening, to buy my monthly pass then, instead of counting on getting there early this morning. Monday morning I had no pass, no money, and no time for an ATM stop. I knew it when I left the house, grabbing the only hard currency in my house, my $10 roll of laundry quarters for the $10 fare. Even that only worked by the conductor's good graces, as she told me to remember for next time that buying a ticket on the train when boarding from a station that sells tickets involves a $7 penalty, but she'd let it slide this time.

Empty seat, overcast day so no worry about glare-side vs. shadow-side (remind me to talk about the origins of the word 'posh' later), sit down, powerbook out, BBEdit on, start writing: "I haven't missed the train yet..."