I survived Compton (do I get a T-shirt?)

So things got interesting today.

I left for work at 6:15 and arrived at the train station on time. The train was already at the platform, so I booked it across the street, running on the train just in the nick of time. Or so I thought. As we waited. and waited. And they made an announcement off in the distance about some elusive delays, but I wasn't too worried about it as the train driver (conductor?) didn't seem to be saying anything about it.

Word to the wise: "Delays" on Metro equals "return to your car immediately."

We finally left the station and INCHED to the next stop. I knew I was going to be late, but I was committed at this point. Or I should have been committed... to an asylum. I emailed my boss and told him the train was running behind. No biggie, he's understanding about LA traffic nonsense.

About five looong stops later, I was sitting on the train at Compton station, where the waiting continued. I sat. and sat. And then I heard: "This train is stopping at Slauson station."

WHAT?! Is this not information that they should make abundantly clear BEFORE people get on the train? This little tidbit of news meant my train was getting me only about halfway to downtown, without so much as an explanation as to why.

I practically knocked over some guy blocking the soon-to-be closing door and hurled myself from the train onto the platform. There I was. Compton. I called one of the girls that works with me/lives close to me to ask her how to drive to work (I've only done it once) so that when I eventually made it back to my car, I could turn around and drive myself. She was BEYOND nice and came to Compton to rescue my nappy ass weave from the side of the road, going several miles out of her way to do so. Thanks to carpool (it's a verb here), we were only a wee bit late.

Ahh, Mondays.... EEEK!

I can't say it enough. Go Metro.