the best part of waking up

A letter that was printed yesterday in the Express, a short version of The Post that people read on the Metro, made me happy. It read:

 

Who's the Smooth Operator?

 

"Can we identify the Orange Line operator whose soothing voice, moderated sense of humor and signature "Let's be careful out there," enhances even the earliest of morning commutes? There's an art to getting those of us who have yet to connect with caffeine to smile. This guy really gets it!"

 

I totally know who she's talking about! I ride the Orange Line to work every morning, beginning at the end of the line in Vienna, Virginia. Sometimes we have inaudible operators, or those who sound tired or bored, but every now and then I will get on this guy's train and you can't help but notice his voice. He always sounds cheerful, but not in an annoying way. He could do voice overs for commercials, I'm sure of it. So, I was excited that I recognized a reference to the daily routine out here. I felt almost like a local.

 

This morning, as I was walking from the Metro to the office, I recognized a man I saw on the Metro line more than a month ago. He seems middle aged and I think he's deaf, and he mismatches his clothes and carries around a fair amount of luggage. I saw him when I was traveling downtown to go to the Smithsonian back in June, and today I saw him standing on a corner in Arlington next to a 7-Eleven. Probably what makes the commute seem so natural and routine after a while is the fact that I see pretty much the same people every day - various businessmen and women, coming with wet hair and leaving looking exhausted.

 

The group that rides the 622 Fairfax Connector to Vienna at 7:26 a.m. and from Vienna at 6:18 p.m. varies slightly, but I generally see the regulars. One guy seems to be from Texas. I've heard him talking on the phone several times and I got the impression. I named him Dewey. He just looks like one. He has a huge ring on his finger that I assume is from college, and I decided it was probably Tech or A&M. I also decided he is the son of an oil tycoon. One time he wore seersucker pants and a pink tie and I thought he was trying too hard. I haven't seen him wear them again. A woman with short brown hair and brown glasses usually sits next to me on the ride home, and the only thing she has ever said to me was "thank you" when I moved to let her out of the seat. The driver home is named Ray and I can't quite place his accent. He finally asked me what my name is about two weeks ago and I don't think he was expecting to learn that I am still in school. When he learned my major, he asked why I wasn't interning at The Post or USA Today or the likes, and I don't think he understood why I laughed at the notion. He calls me sweetheart and said he is sad today is my last day on the bus.

 

One more bus ride and it's back home.