30th Street Station

Matalai Lee

Ms.Pahomov

English 2

September 21st 2018

30th Street Station

At the end of the school day, after being let out, there’s only one thing on my brain, making the train. My headphones are already in my ears and playing music. I press the home button on my phone to check the time. 3:51

I shove it back in my jacket pocket and jaywalk across the street to avoid having to deal with the light at the corner. As I am walking down 22nd street, I pass the construction workers on my right, and attempt to dodge the falling condensation and puddles. I hear a faint bloop when one of the droplets lands in a pool of murky water. With less than ten minutes before my train pulls into the track, I put the other strap of my bookbag on my shoulder and begin walking to 30th Street.

30th Street Station, the home of three Philly Pretzel Factories and countless SEPTA Regional Rail lines. It is always so full of people and bursting with life. Some are racing to make their trains while others are seated patiently on one of the numerous benches. There are businessmen and women in fancy suits and pencil skirts. Wearing heels and dress shoes that click and clack against the linoleum floors. As well as homeless people that use the station as shelter from the heat and cold, and occasionally ask you for a dollar or two.

I began taking the Regional Rail at the beginning of freshman year. Although I do not remember my first time doing so, I am sure that I got on the wrong train once or twice. After the first few months of school passed I started to establish a routine of getting a breakfast sandwich and hot chocolate from Dunkin Donuts in the morning. I also got used to the sound of suitcases rolling as the wheels overturned and weaving in and out of the slow moving people in an effort to make the train. In addition to having to change my transpass into a Regional Rail pass every week, one of many inconveniences about taking the Regional Rail. Along with the hour wait time between my train. There are some days when the Ticket Sales line is short and sweet. Other days it overflows the tape stanchion posts that are used to manage it. The latter usually coincides with the days where I am racing to make my train. I find myself impatiently tapping my foot on the ground and rolling my eyes at the people who do not already have their money out. I start fiddling with the $20 bill that is pressed into my hand and checking the time every few seconds. When I finally step up to the window, I say “Can I upgrade my pass please?”. While quickly sliding my transpass and money into the little divot in the counter before the worker even tells me how much it is. I always seem to manage to make it up to the platform before my train comes. There is no better feeling than stepping off the escalator and hearing that prerecorded monotone voice announce that “The scheduled 3:57 local to Chestnut Hill West next to arrive on Track 3” over the loudspeaker.

Despite the constant sea of people, inconvenient trains schedules, and unnecessary upgrading of my transpass, the daily routine of taking the train provides me with an unusual sense of familiarity. The ride is almost always twenty minutes, and every train car is packed like a can of sardines. I can depend on the middle school kids on my train to be loud and obnoxious. They force me to turn my music all the way up to drown them out. Even sitting on the repulsive green benches on the platform and seeing the swarm of birds that fly away when you walk towards them are things that I do everyday.

30th Street Station and the Regional Rail have become necessary parts of my life and me getting to and from school. I can overlook the general loudness and congestion of the station and the train, because I am grateful for them as modes of transportation and parts of my day to day.