Over the years, the MTA has
managed to siphon—no, let's call it what it is—steal money from me through a combination of malfunctioning MetroCards, refunds lost in the ether, fare hikes (nearly 30% in recent years) that have failed to deliver any kind of service improvement. All this would be easier to be bare if they were transparent in their decision-making process and delivered on their promises. Instead, the MTA has been embroiled in various scandals and corruption, with investigations revealing contractor fraud, misuse of funds, and inflated project costs. While there have been cases of accountability, the effectiveness of measures taken to improve the MTA have been disappointing. Systemic issues within the MTA persist. In short: I’m left footing the bill while the MTA continues to evade responsibility for its shady practices.
It’s clear that the MTA operates with a level of bureaucratic ineptitude that’s both amazes and infuriating. I’ve been disillusioned, and my story is not unique; many New Yorkers share my frustration. We’re united in our righteous indignation, and the MTA is overdue for a reckoning from those it has wronged.
It’s clear: The MTA is a greedy, corrupt machine. So…
Payback
Tonight, I took the subway to the riverfront for dinner. The setting: Long Island City, known for its breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline—and its occasionally unattended subway stations. Yes, unattended, a term that whispers possibilities into the ears of the aggrieved.
After dinner, I started to head back home, about to, once again, find myself back in the clutches of the MTA subway system. As I descended the steps of the subway station, a thought crossed my mind: What if I didn’t pay the fare? It wasn’t just about reclaiming a few dollars; it was a stand against what I came to see as the MTA's abuse and greed. The idea of jumping the turnstile felt like a small but significant victory, an act of resistance against the oppressive regime of the MTA. My growing sense of vigilante justice propelled me forward.
As I entered the station, I noticed two older women slowly making their way toward the turnstiles. Just ahead of them, a young girl. Suddenly, my bold plan was met with a sense of social responsibility. Was my intended behavior something I could allow others to witness? What would the young girl think? Would I be the one to corrupt her innocent view of civic responsibility? And the older women—would they see me as just another lawless youth (a relative perspective), a disappointment to the City?
Was I, in my quest for justice, about to become the villain of my own story, right in front of the girl, the woman, and maybe a few others? Disappointing anyone’s faith in law and order, or in humanity itself, wasn’t part of my agenda. The weight of my conscience bore down on me. I decided to be the upright citizen, sacrificing my chance to strike a blow against the evil MTA. I reached the turnstile, MetroCard in hand, ready to pay my unjust toll, knowing that my conscience, at least, would be clear.
But just as I was about to run my card, the young girl in front of me did something unexpected: she ducked under the turnstile with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Shocked, caught between admiration and disbelief, I, still mindful of the older women behind me, was determined to provide a proper example. I swiped my card and proudly passed through the turnstile, considering my toll submission to the MTA a small price to pay. Then, from inside the platform, the girl casually pushed open the emergency gate, allowing the older women to stroll through without paying a cent. The three of them were together and united in their sticking it to the MTA—weather intentionally or unwittingly! I loved it, standing there, MetroCard in hand, realizing that the unexpected ways we can find community and connection.
© copyright 2024 Steven Robert Young. All rights reserved.
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