The Rant & Rage: Maximum annoyance

The Portland MAX: a marvel of the modern resurgence of rail and mass transit efficiency that not only advances the ingenuity of the city, but also serves the people of Portland with essential and valuable commuting options.

It is the perfect way to travel about the city, if not for one aspect—the people.

Yes, Portland is an eclectic mass of characters that adds to its vibrant culture. But such a vibrant culture can be a bit of a double-edged sword when crammed onto the MAX.

You will always encounter the one guy rapping to the beat of his own life and whatever song he has thumping through his headphones, writing down rhymes in a notebook, swaying and bobbing—playing out his own personal version of “8 Mile.” Here’s a hint for the 8 Milers out there: Eventually you can switch up those rhymes. Finding every word in the English lexicon that rhymes with “thug” or “gangsta” kind of sounds ridiculous and comes off more like “Cat in the Hat” than an urban poet. Your notebook probably looks more like a rhyming dictionary than a lyrical diary.

It seems no matter where you sit, chatty Cathy will be sitting right next to you. Maybe it’s just me, but I am always confronted with some old gentleman or woman, who frankly seems a bit off, talking me up about everything from World War II conspiracies to whether or not I’ve met Jesus. Here’s a tip to save you all some time and trouble: Just tell them you have met him; they usually move on after that.

Of course there are the gutter punks—you can’t miss them wherever you are in Portland. And to be clear, I’m not talking about homeless people, I’m talking about gutter punks—the pan handling yet can afford pyramid studded belts and Misfits T-shirts, say they can’t afford a meal yet have a dog and force them to share that predicament with them and, openly use park trees as urinals gutter-punks.

En masse, they will take over a corner of the MAX, while one guy tries to sell me discount candy that came from God knows where and the others spread out asking for spare change and cigarettes.

Then there is the guilt parade of special interest petitioners, all out to get your signature on an issue you really don’t have time to fully comprehend. Or, more likely, they want our money. They all pretty much tell me the same thing, “If you just give up one latte a day, you can support such and such…” You know, I have a question: If I am giving up a latte for this cause and then giving up a cappuccino for another and then another—when the hell do I actually get to have my coffee?

I know it’s not PC to say, but we are all thinking it—why the hell is that one lady a mother? Her kid is screaming and crying, yet she is more interested in texting on her phone. The kid is not yet old enough to put two sentences together, and she argues with it as if it could carry on an adult conversation. “Cry all you want, I don’t care,” she says. Well, we sure as hell do. Get a clue, lady, kids wet themselves, they get sick or they have a number of other issues that will cause them to cry. Put down the phone and take care of your baby. Unless the kid is crying because it suddenly became aware you are its mother, I am sure you can do something other than sit there.

Let’s not forget the smelly guy. He is always there, yet many times no one knows which guy he is. But whoever he is, he smells like he fell asleep under the tree that the gutter punks use for a urinal, and then ran a marathon before driving around in Seinfeld’s car. Where does that guy come from? Where does he go? No one knows, but we can all be certain that he will show up on the MAX.

What about the tourist? I know the MAX has become a bit of a popular attraction unto itself, but these folks come into town thinking they are going to get a taste of a New York-style trip. But, let’s face it—the MAX is great, but it all really goes to the same place: downtown. It either goes to your left, or to your right, and that’s pretty much it. Oh, I know, we have the Yellow and Green lines that stretch out north and south, but in general, within the tourist hot spot of downtown, it’s pretty basic. Yet they still ask us where it is going, and what is near which stop, or where the most obscure things are, as if we all know every nook and cranny of the city. And they inevitably just face disappointment as they realize that most of the best spots in Portland are on the east side, anyway.

But still, the MAX beats hopping in your car and hitting the roads filled with Oregonians behind the wheel, which is a whole other issue.?