The MBTA: Push becomes shove becomes brawl

I waited for the T at South Station like I always do when waiting to get on the metal chariot toward my personal Mt. Olympus. That time of day, 5 p.m., is a tough time in Boston: The usually pushy idiots waiting to get on the T become even pushier.

The grand throne at Mt. Olympus,
where pirate pants are always in fashion

I count myself among the idiots, unfortunately: Some of my worse moments are when I try to follow my wife on to the train so we can sit next to one another, only to shove an older lady inadvertently as I fit through the doorway. I then spend the 20-minute ride obsessing over it: "Did my shoulder catch her too hard?" "Should I go over and apologize?" "What if I offer my seat to the next MBTA victim? Will my karma then be restored?"

No matter what social faux pas I've committed on Boston's underground system, I ain't never been this bad:

The train pulls up and I'm standing on the same orange paint strip I do every day: It ensures the right positioning to be the first up the escalators at my destination, Alewife Station, sparing not a moment as I race up to the surface world to catch the bus at 5:28.

As I prepare to board I take my customary step to the left to let the train's existing passengers get off. To my right is a woman with a two-kid carriage: A newborn (8-12 months) sits in the front while a toddler takes the rear seat. The carriage is slightly longer and wider than a shopping cart, making it the ideal choice should you wish to annoy every rider on a packed train.

Behind her is a blind man, and though they don't know each other he somehow knows to wait behind her so he can follow her aboard. He is standing in one place but lazily searching his surroundings with the taps of his cane.

The last of the train's riders scoots by, between the mother and myself. I am slightly left of the doorway, she stands directly in center. To her right, a woman seems to float above the ground - her legs flit so fast they cast a weird, pasty white blur as she rushes onboard. Another Masshole, this time a businessman, cuts off the mother as she struggles to build momentum with her giant kid-filled cart. A third commuter tries to board with the woman, but as her cart takes up most of the entryway he clucks away in disgust because he has to wait two seconds. She finally gets onboard, and the rejected commuter is now forced to cut off the blind man as he cautiously steps forward.

He does so without so much as a glance back, and another commuter follows him, TWICE CUTTING OFF THE BLIND MAN TRYING TO BOARD THE TRAIN. I have, at this point, watched six people (eight if you count the kids) enter the train, and now it's my turn. The blind man is asking someone if he can sit; thankfully a woman offers him her seat and helps him down. But no one offers a seat to the mother, who is forced to stand with her oversized cart and agitated offspring as we rumble out of South Station and away from the heart of Boston.

Yes, Boston: City of History, City of Intelligence, City of Slack-Asses who would cut off a young mother and a blind man just so they can read the next chapter of their Twilight books or answer an e-mail to no one of importance before they lose a signal on their Smartphones.

Starting tomorrow I'm going to offer my seat more.