…Of which there are two. Sweating and non-sweating. At first I thought it might just be me, but after conferring with some fellow commuters, I realized something. IT’S NOT JUST ME. It’s a commuter thing, an elite group at Emerson that I officially joined on September 6th at approximately 1:00 pm as I boarded the B line. We are nomads, you see. We are the lost souls you see floating around the Em café, huddling in the Piano Row lounge, savoring mini buffalo burritos (all that we can afford) at Boloco, walking up and down Boylston all hours of the day with our heavy hearts, and even heavier backpacks.
All right, so it’s not quite that dramatic but seriously…the sweating thing. It’s only September so I really haven’t even seen the worst of it yet, but I can only imagine what’s to come when by the time I finish peeling off the three scarves I have on, I’m at the Boylston stop and I have put to them on again. In the mornings, I step out of the apartment and am often greeted by a glorious scene- sunshine, a slight breeze, the subtle stench of nuggets coming from the McDonalds down the street. I am a little hot by the time I get to the T stop, sure, but no matter. Once on the T, I realize that the air definitely isn’t on and I begin to look around the car for fellow faces of panic.
By the Kenmore stop I am feeling weak and think seriously about reaching for my water bottle until I realize it is buried beneath my laptop, my laptop charger, my umbrella, two textbooks, and numerous crushed Kashi bars. Later, after I walk up five flights of stairs to class, my face is nice and pink (cutie) and I am attempting to fan myself with my laptop case, which is no easy feat. Four minutes later, I am absolutely freezing, and fantasizing about a steaming mug of hot chocolate, thanks to Emerson’s over-enthusiastic air conditioning. Sweating and non-sweating, kids. It’s the only two over powering emotions I’ll allow myself this semester.
Have any of your own commuting horror stories to share? Email them to me at regina_mogilevskaya@emerson.