{“data”:[{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”Like any Bostonian, most of my commute happens by way of the most miserable transportation system known to our beautiful metropolis: the T.\n”}},{“type”:”html”,”data”:{“text”:”“}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”The ride to work is the worst part of my day. I’ll admit it, I’ve frowned at babies on a D Line car in rush hour. I’ve placed curses on anonymous commuting techno fanatics, the kind of passengers you can’t see but certainly know are there, as you shudderingly monitor early ’90s acid house beats while the aluminum box you’re stuffed into snakes through darkened tunnels.\n\nThe T is a magnet for all things unfortunate. Be they intentional or otherwise, Boston’s subway system stands as a message that bad things happen to good people. It seems an astounding few acknowledge the standard of etiquette that comes with riding the T. And for a long time I’ve tried to let their ignorance slide. Everyone slips up now and again, especially in a place so common to our everyday routine. But enough is enough. I’ve had it with the earsplitting phone calls, the drunken Red Sox fans and the cattiness only an open seat can provoke. Here’s a few MBTA rules to take to heart, to memorize like the message from a green line driver, “Please ring the bell for all street level stops.” \n\n**1. To Each Their Own**\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”We’ve all seen the guy sitting on the T like it’s his living room couch. And we hate him for it. Legs spread, arms out, completely unaware of his monopoly on personal space. Sure, it’s collective tax dollars that fund this depressing caravan of dislike for the common stranger, but that doesn’t mean a row of seats can be colonized like Otto von Bismark on Park Street. Which brings me to my first rule. To each his \\(or her\\) own. Own seat, that is. I should probably mention the golden rule of giving your seat to adorable senior citizens, pregnant women and the handicapped. If you’re a saint, you could even consider forfeiting these accommodations to anyone appearing to be having an absolutely terrible day. But I’m not looking to start a revolution. Use your best judgment.\n\n**2. Raising the Bar**\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”Like the seat rule, the same can be said for railings. Earlier this week I watched a grown man knot his perplexingly serpentine body around a crowded car’s railing to play Nintendo DS. Absorbed in pixilated fun, he failed to notice as passengers around him balanced themselves like surfers on the subway floor to ride the waves of Cleveland Circle. With railings, passengers should allow themselves a handful of bacteria\\-coated aluminum to grip on their way into town. Allowing yourself two hands during rush hour is up there with walking in groups of three on the sidewalk. You just shouldn’t. \n\n**3. Leave Your Baggage at Home**\n\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”Living in the educational hub of this great nation, we see a lot of backpacks, Book\\-bags, knapsacks, call them what you may, these bags stand as a tangible encapsulation of the forty grand a year students fork over for self\\-realization and alcohol poisoning. OK, so there’s books inside those backpacks. Lots of books, which makes them so cumbersome, and such a burden to stand next to on the B Line. Which brings me to my next rule. Backpacks, purses or even a suitcase, if you’re carrying anything larger than a single gallon of passive\\-aggressive milk, put it in the place least likely to bother another passenger. Countless times I have been shoved against T windows, walls and worse of all, other humans by heavily occupied baggage. It’s almost as if these knapsacks and satchels have minds of their own, becoming detached from their owners like twisted versions of that goofy backpack from Dora the Explorer. So please, leave the briefcase by your feet and make this hellish ride the tiniest bit more bearable. \n\n4. Breakfast, Lunch and You Gotta Be F\\*cking Kidding Me: Acceptable T Foods\\*\\*\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”Tuna sandwiches, burrito bowls, entire pepperoni pizzas with ranch on the side, we’ve all seen strangers eating completely unacceptable things on the T. Or better yet, we’ve smelled them while making our way towards an empty seat, repulsed by simpletons’ audacity to stuff their faces with greasy, delicious looking trash\\-food as we battle our own growling stomaches. The first rule of eating on public transportation is to not do it. The average commute for most is roughly forty\\-five minutes. Can’t you wait? Of course, for some travelers, the ride into Boston is their only time to get in a bite or two. I have two suggestions for these folks. For those truly unable to muster the slightest ounce of self\\-control, I’d suggest inoffensive snack foods. Think apples, pretzels, and if you’re really feeling crazy, a granola bar or two. My second suggestion is to wake up five minutes earlier than your usual time and make yourself a bowl of oatmeal. Eat dirt for all I care. Whatever it is, just don’t eat it in front of me as we pass through Hynes at 8 a.m. on a Monday. \n\n**5. What’s That Noise?**\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”Living in the city, we’re constantly surrounded by noise. While we should be able to tune out the creeping drone of whatever god awful music our upstairs neighbors are playing, it seems that with our species, the more annoying a sound becomes, the more we focus on it. We hear all sorts of disturbing rackets on the T, why add one half of your phone call? That being said, it’s also essential that passengers consider how loud their music is. Hearing the beat of some crummy rap song is almost worse than hearing the song in its entirety. The same goes for Taylor Swift, Beyonce, or whatever underground punk band you happen to be into this week. Movies and games should be approached in the same manner. Please, just turn it down. \n\n**6. Help! I’m Drunk on the B Line!**\n\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”What came first, the B Line or public intoxication? Get on the T in Allston past 9 p.m. and it’s impossible to avoid a wasted BU freshman shouting to his or her comrades in a series of clicks and hashtags. Not that age confines this drunken demographic by any means. Every weekend the B Line is an unbearable mess of tipsy bar hoppers, impaired sports fans and the miscellaneous few you know were doomed long before that last shot of Jäger. Because of this, I’d say avoid the B line entirely. If you can’t, brace yourself for an abrasiv— “BROOOOOOO!”\n\n**7. \\(Literally\\) Paying Your Dues** \n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”If you happen to find yourself at an above\\-ground T stop with money in your hand, it’s common courtesy to allow any passengers with prepaid cards or passes ahead of you to board. This rule is best observed during harsher conditions, like summer thundershowers and Boston’s seemingly ten month long winter season. Nobody wants to watch you load up your T pass with quarters as they stand in the pouring rain. Allowing others the privilege of scooting in front of you makes the transition from street to godawful T slightly more bearable. And sometimes, if you’re really lucky, the T driver will see the cash in your hand and wave you on. Sure, it’s likely this happens because their machine is broken, but let’s just call it karma. \n\n**8. The MBTA Tango**\n”}},{“type”:”image”,”data”:{“file”:{“url”:”×466.jpg”,”full”:””},”text”:””}},{“type”:”text”,”data”:{“text”:”The MBTA Tango impacts many commuters before the T even gets moving. It’s safe to say this hostile dance is the biggest strife of human interaction on any line in the city. And it doesn’t know specifics. We’ve all experienced the panic of being trapped in a crowded car at our stop, being barred from the exit by a flood of miserable humans rampaging the doors like Greeks on Troy. And we’ve all been on the other side, when the T doors open and we think attempting to board is the right idea, only to have a passengers fly at us in an unending stream of contempt. Though no specific group is to blame for this troubling phenomenon, general inattentiveness certainly plays a part. So here it is. When the T stops and the doors open, look around. If the person to your right is trying, and failing, to make his or her way towards the outside world, do what you can to accommodate them. If you’re standing near the doors, this may even mean stepping off the T for a second or two. You won’t lose your place, and on the plus side, you may even get a breath of fresh air. What’s that? This train is running express to Washington Street? At this point we’re better off walking. \n\n”}}]}