The day of the earthquake, I had the joy of hearing someone complain that the pregnant woman took forever to get down the stairs at work. Today, I have my own pregnant woman complaint.
In the grand tradition of Metro, the middle escalator going to the south entrance of Huntington Metro was out, so they had one escalator heading down (the mini one on the left as you're looking at the escalators) and the other mini escalator was turned off. Yeah, if you couldn't walk up the escalator, you had to wait for the incredibly slow elevator. One person suggested that they should have turned the escalator heading down in the opposite direction, but that wouldn't have worked. Knowing people and their incredible talent for being inconsiderate, if one of the mini escalators had been heading up and the other was turned off, you'd have had people like me on the moving escalator and people on the unmoving escalator who either wanted to walk or were too impatient to wait and people trying to get onto the train would have been out of luck unless they wanted to wait for the elevator, so I really do understand why they did things the way that they did.
So, yes, I waited for the elevator (which is partially why I'm still awake at 2:15 a.m. because my knees are screaming at me). Yes, four extra strength tylenol pm, four aleve, six salonpas patches, and my usual Parkinson's meds and my knees are still screaming at me.
There were too many people in line ahead of me on the first trip for me to make it onto the elevator, which is what I expected, so I had to wait for the second trip. By the way, that elevator redefines slow. Even I could have walked up the escalator in the time it took for that elevator to arrive. But if I hadn't waited, I wouldn't have my rude pregnant woman story.
Standing in line were three metro workers (one of whom ended up walking up the escalator) and their cargo -- a money cart. We got onto the elevator and then they decided to see if they could get the cargo onto the elevator. We crowded onto one side, then one metro worker got on, the money cart was pushed on, the second metro worker got on, and then decided that we had room for the third metro worker, which, honestly we did.
Except, oh wait, we had a pregnant woman on board. And I'm betting you think you know where this story is going, but you're wrong.
The second metro worker on the elevator asked if we could squeeze in a bit so the third metro worker could get onto the elevator so a couple of us scooted where we could so that we would have room.
Except the woman behind me says, "No, don't squeeze me! ! I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In fact, she was so pregnant that if she hadn't pronounced it to the world in a state of "Oh, my god, strange people will touch me," I wouldn't have noticed because she wasn't that pregnant. I'm telling you, I had to look down twice after we got off the elevator to figure out that she did, in fact, have a teensy little pooch. Because, yeah, not big enough to even be called a baby bump. Honestly, you need to play the card when you need to play the card because you will end up with people like me looking at you at some point and informing you that pregnancy is not a disability and you should suck it up. And then you have people like MSB who should have been playing the card and wasn't and is now in the hospital on bed rest waiting for her babies to be born.
No, I didn't say a word; the filter was on.
Oh, and for those who noticed, no, I don't have Parkinson's. I have restless legs, but the meds are the same.
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