Friday was a spectacular day for me. I’d finally got out from under a huge pile at work. The sun was out. We had some great views of Mt Hood and Mt St Helens from the office. And to top it all off, they gave me an hour of PTO at the end of the day, so I got out early!
The Blazers were playing the Celtics that night and I decided to go check the scene at Buffalo Wild Wings downtown. So I hopped the MAX at Lloyd Center for the short trip to the bus mall.
The train, as you would expect, was pretty crowded, it being Friday afternoon and all. I took a spot in the rear car, near the doors. I stood. It’s no big deal. Happens all the time.
So we get across the river and into Old Town. As we pull away from the Old Town station, this guy starts charging down the aisle screaming that he wants to get off the train. He’s yelling and stomping. He comes down to the rear of the train where I’m at, climbs the stairs and starts pounding on the unoccupied driver compartment, demanding to be let off RIGHT NOW.
Of course, there’s no one in there. So he comes back down the stairs and starts kicking at the door right next to me. I don’t think too much of it. He’ll be off soon enough.
The guy keeps making his scene though. Finally a gentleman at the other door speaks up and tells the guy to knock it off. Clearly the guy is drunk or high. My guess is drunk.
We pulled in to the Burnside station and our guy starts to get off, only he doesn’t. He stands in the open door, facing the gentleman who told him to calm down.
Great. Now he’s not leaving. And what’s worse, he’s pissed. I have zero desire to share the train with this guy, especially if he’s going to be standing next to me. If he stays on, things are only going to get worse and when they do, there will be no where to go. It’s going to get messy.
So sizing up the situation, I figured I would give the guy a little help off the train. I grabbed him by the lapels (or where his lapels would have been) and gave him a shove. Hard. So hard, in fact, that he went flying out of the train and landed on his butt with his feet flying.
Figuring that was that, I returned to texting my brother about whatever it was we were talking about. Somehow though, the guy rallied. As the doors started to close, he came charging back at me. He pulled the doors back open and asked me if I wanted to fight.
No, in fact, I didn’t. I just wanted him off the train.
So he starts kicking me in the shin. Hard. With a boot. I’m not gonna lie, it hurt. I probably should have punched him in the mouth, but I didn’t want this thing to drag on. So I stood there and took it. The doors went to close again, and again he peeled them open.
“Did you hit me?” he asked as he kicked me again.
Good Lord. Is this going to end?
Finally the conductor gets in the intercom and announces she’ll call the police if we don’t end whatever it is we’re up to.
“Fine,” I think. Bring ‘em!
Finally the conductor turns off the safety on the doors, meaning they’ll be closing no matter what. The guy tries his best to keep them open and force himself back on to the train, but to no avail. The gentleman and I peel his fingers away, the doors close, and we’re on our way.
Where are the fare inspectors when you need them? Where’s security? I guess it’s situations like this when you need to hit the little red button for the intercom and get someone dispatched immediately. That way we could have maybe had someone meet us at the Burnside stop. It’s not like there aren’t cops right in that area who could be there in a matter of minutes. But God, I didn’t want to be in a fight. Not on Friday night.