I've started taking the El when it's either too cold or gross enough to keep me from walking the eight blocks from the train station to my office building or in the afternoon when I want to catch the express train home. One Wednesday Steph and I left the office on time, but the El was late getting to the station. Worried that I'd miss the express and have to sit in the station for an unnecessary half hour, I ran down to the platform....only to be stopped by a cop.
Several other commuters and I were told to go back up the stairs; there was a suspicious package, and they had to wait for a verdict from the bomb squad before letting us any further.
Back up the stairs we all trudged. I met up with a couple other T&F people who ride the same train line as I do, and we stood and joked amidst the ever growing group of angry and confused suburbians. The police officer was forced to explain the situation over and over again; his already unconcerned tone and mannerisms growing more weary and annoyed as the minutes ticked by. Amidst the tropical background music of the steel drum player, we were told to stay in the waiting area at the top of the steps where we'd surely be safe...10 feet away from potential explosives.
Not long after the platform was cleared (though the platform across the tracks still bustled with people and trains), several Philly police officers arrived and calmly consulted with the original officer. No one seemed concerned-not even the bomb-sniffing dog that trotted excitedly down the stairs. I suppose it was probably a good crowd control technique, but I got the distinct feeling that even the police weren't worried and didn't take the mystery box to be a serious threat.
And so we stood until the bomb squad carried off the box (deemed nonthreatening) and the trains filed one by one along the platform once more. Even my friends and I stood unconcerned except for the thought of how we'd be able to get out of the city if they suspended the train for the rest of the evening. Though I can't for the life of me understand why the woman nearest the stairs (and the suspected bomb) just stood there with her two-year-old boy as though nothing was wrong.
And somewhere, someone on the R5 to Paoli smacked their forehead and thought, "Crap! My box!"
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