Trimet Love

Kali Simmons:

Between the vomiting homeless guy, the stench and the cramped sweaty atmosphere, it is obvious that men find the Portland Streetcar to be a perfect place for a romantic rendezvous. Here’s a tip: it’s not.

One of my many personal experiences with “love” on TriMet seemed straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. A ravishing man, clad in his finest layers of rags, perspiration and excrement, approached me and began to discuss my “wonderful smile” and my “charms.” In my humbled state, I was unable to respond to such flattery from such a well-presented individual, and instead exited the streetcar with my companions.

Afterwards, my friends informed me that prior to my joining the group, this same upstanding gentleman had been discussing his multiple felony convictions and his urge to get arrested so he “had somewhere warm to sleep.”

I came away from this interaction with a new outlook on romance—that TriMet is definitely not the place to find it. Regardless of whether you are a clean-cut businessman or a dirty sweaty hobo, women aren’t going to be seduced by you when they’re someplace where they can’t tell whether the urine smell is just the streetcar, or whether it’s you. ?

Meaghan Daniels:

Just this past week, standing on the MAX and heading back to campus with my friend, I was texting and therefore looking down at my phone. When I looked up, four inches from my face was a man making a kissy face. I walked away.

Two minutes later, the same guy was now two inches from my face doing the same thing. This time I vocally protested, and again walked away.

Looking like you are 16 and smelling of alcohol is not attractive. When you throw in a not-so-subtle pick-up attempt, that is even worse.

Hitting on a girl riding the MAX, or at a MAX station, is not okay. Maybe girls are just different, and dim fluorescent lighting with the faint smell of urine and vomit do not put us the mood the same way it does for guys.

What’s worse about getting hit on while riding the MAX is that there is no escape. The best defense is pretending the next stop is ours, and hope that it’s not yours. If we are trying to get away from you, that means we do not like you. If we have to take a detour to do so, then we really do not like you. ?

Janieve Schnabel:

I fondly remember the last time I rode the bus without mace. It had been a long, rainy day, and I was eager to get to a party at a friend’s house. I scored a seat for the 30-minute ride, which I considered a victory. I was warm, dry and comfortable.

Promptly, this lovely bus ride was ruined. A rather hairy fellow in a letterman jacket took the seat next to me, effectively trapping me between him and the wall. He reached over and plucked at one of my curls. “Is this a perm, or is your hair naturally curly?” he asked. I shot him my most bewildered look, batted his hand away, and plugged into my mp3 player.

I thought that was that.

Nope. The man spent the next 20 minutes hitting on me. I lied about my stop and got off the bus. Walking the rest of the way in the rain was better than dealing with him.

Men, take my advice: Don’t hit on girls on the bus, especially if you’ve strategically blocked their escape. You wouldn’t trap a girl for 20 minutes to hit on her in a café, would you? Don’t do it on the bus, either. ?