Every morning, I force myself out of bed, scarf down some toast, and make my way down to the subway station for the 16-minute rush-hour commute into the city on Stockholm Public Transit. Once on the train at rush hour, my fellow passengers and I keep a close eye on the occupied seats as we approach the bustling hub station. At the smallest sign that a person may vacate their seat, we swoop in like a flock of seagulls fighting over a stale french fry, desperate to grab a place to sit.
Of course, after scoring a coveted place to rest my legs, it’s only a few stops until I arrive at my destination, which also happens to be a hub station. Now I am in the benevolent position of granting another drained passenger the dignity of relaxing in the comfort of a thinly cushioned bench, while I escape to the platform.
The Ghost in the Turnstile
As usual, the turnstile gates work flawlessly until I decide to approach the closest one, so that I can catch the train leaving in 1 minute. Suddenly, that particular gate does not respond to my car. I tap my card again, wait, tap again, nothing. Then, just as I give up and head toward the turnstile next to me, the original gate magically starts working again. And for those of you in the know, this also means it counted my card and now I won’t be able to enter the next turnstile for a number of minutes. Good-bye train that left on time!
Stairs, Broken Escalators and Mystery Odors
From here, the real fun begins. I trudge up the stairs (because naturally, the escalator is always broken and the elevator has an overwhelming odor of urine), and look for the quickest and most convenient way to exit the station.
At the top of the stairs, a long hallway with two exit doors awaits. One door faces forward; the other opens to the left. My office is to the right, so I usually take the forward-facing door to exit quickly. But not today.
Temperatures are currently below freezing, and because of bad construction, the forward facing door I normally take has a flimsy paper sign attached with cheap tape beginning to peel off with the cold. It reads, “Please use other door to minimize cold air in the station.”
Like many commuters, I think, “This is not my problem.” Taking the door on the left means walking 5 extra steps around the corner. That’s 5 extra steps in the cold, slippery outdoors.
This is not happening.
For the past two weeks, the sign has been ignored by all commuters through the station, and rightly so, in my opinion. But today, things have changed.
The Pestilence
When I reach the top of the stairs, I swerve through the crowd and make my way to the hallway that leads outside. There stands a grey-haired man in a faded green coat, covered in what I hope is ketchup, leaning on the wall beside the forward facing door. As I get closer, he begins to cough disturbingly, hacking and grunting, then follows this by expelling a large glob of mucus onto the floor.
I turn swiftly to my left and steer clear of the door guarded by this personification of Pestilence. Those five extra steps through the biting cold now seem like a small price to pay compared to risking exposure to a mystery illness.
Genius move, Stockholm Public Transit Forced to choose between running the gauntlet of germs or taking the longer exit, I begrudgingly concede and bow to your superior psychological strategy.
Master of (Commuter) Puppets
So here I am, dancing to the invisible strings of Stockholm’s public transit puppeteers. Malfunctioning doors, oddly-timed escalator breakdowns, or mysterious Greek Gods of old blocking the most convenient exit, it’s a masterclass in manipulation. But resistance is futile. Tomorrow, I’ll still show up, shuffle through the station, and unknowingly follow their grand design. Stockholm Public Transit, you win. Again.