Our romance began July 2014. I had just been given my keys to Curling Club 509, and considering I really never walked any further than Garden Street as a freshman, I sought a solution to check out my apartment. I boarded the one, the only, Stevens red line. After taking the gargantuan route around Hoboken, I finally got off the shuttle (well, more like I awkwardly stood up in a moving vehicle because the driver was not slowing down for the stop and then decided to pull over). I hopped onto the pavement and deemed my first date with this Stevens convenience a success.
During the fall and spring semesters, the massive “Tour de Hoboken” splits into the red and gray lines with additional lines in between. With so many options you would think the shuttle would be readily available to serve the students trekking from far parts of town. I wish. To put it short, throughout our first year together, the shuttle was playing hard to get. The stop of 12th and Adams was similar to Tally Ho on a Friday night. Some people were trying to score big, pushing their way through the crowds of people to get their chance with the shuttle. Others were more tame, hanging out until a spot opened up to make their suave move onto the shuttle. Then there was me, who questioned each and every time if the stiff arming and sardine-like squishing experience was worth it. There were tons of things I did to get the shuttle to notice me. I took it at “off-peak” times. I befriended the drivers. I even walked to an entirely different stop just to ensure I got my seat. Similar to driving over the pot holes of Hoboken, our relationship was bumpy to say the least. Even with a new apartment and line to contend with daily, things definitely have not progressed.
The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred this past week. After walking out of Howe and pondering if I wanted to walk or not, the shuttle pulled up. If the vehicle could talk I’m sure it would’ve said something along the lines of “I miss you, let’s hang out” as it majestically opened the doors. I caved and hopped on. Things were pleasant until everyone and their mother decided to hop on as well. I felt trapped and my anxiety skyrocketed as more and more people crammed onto what is supposed to be 15 passenger vehicle. It was in that 10-minute drive back to my apartment that I decided, once and for all, I’m breaking up with the shuttle.
In a failing relationship, it comes to a point that two individuals need to figure out if wants and needs are being met. For me and the shuttle, that’s definitely the case. I don’t necessarily need to rely on the shuttle but I need to know that it is available for me when I have stockpiled my Amazon packages in the mail room and I don’t want to struggle with four humongous boxes as I walk across town (guilty). I want to know that when I have those “caving” moments I don’t need to aggressively push my way onto the vehicle like it’s a roller derby match. Ultimately at a school where I have to prioritize passing a class and shouldn’t be worrying about how to get to said class, I need the shuttle to be there for me. As it currently functions, the shuttle is not satisfying my wants and needs.
I do have to admit, the Stevens shuttle has come a long way. With the additional shuttles en route during popular times and even a full blown research project to optimize the service, I applaud the school for trying to fix the problems myself and many others have. For the time being, however, I’ll give the shuttle a good wave as it drives past me on the way to campus. My Fitbit will thank me later.
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