You may not know this, but Los Angeles has a subway. It doesn’t go anywhere, so I’ve never been on it even though the stop is three avenues over and three streets up from my house. However, when my boss invited me to a fundraiser downtown at an Irish pub, I knew I should look into riding the subway in order to avoid parking fees. In addition, I could enjoy a couple extra Guinness.
My coworkers congratulated me on my maiden voyage and told me my Union Station transfer would be easy – nothing compared to a Times Square transfer tunnel maze. I was excited. I was doing my thing for the environment and I could get hammered in an Irish bar. Win-win.
I had my Black and Tans and my flirting and made my way back to the Pershing Square station without conflict (e.g. panhandlers, pimps). After transferring, I stood on the Union Station platform and looked at my watch. Nobody was around and it was only midnight.
In New York, this happens and you assume trains are running slow. But when no one is around, you suspect you missed a notice. One time I fell asleep in the Spring Street C station waiting for a train that had been diverted on the F tracks. In LA, I didn’t know what to expect, so I checked the schedule.
The last train north left the station at 11:52 p.m. on a Saturday night. It’s hard for me to stand by the MTA when they can’t even offer drunk service on a Saturday night. I left the platform and walked to the front of Union station where I caught a cab home for $30. My cab rides home to Brooklyn were cheaper.
And you wonder why people in LA like to drive.