Foreword
“Unfaithfulness in the keeping of an appointment is an act of clear dishonesty. You may as well borrow a person's money as his time.” –Horace Mann
“Punctuality is the politeness of kings.” –Louis XVIII
Meet Michael Whittle, 26, an actuary who lives in southeastern Pennsylvania with his girlfriend, comic book heroine Destiny Dawn. By day, he's a normal, healthy young everyman. He enjoys watching hockey and professional wrestling, has at least one friend who changed his MySpace display name to "McLovin," and according to his company bio, he's saving himself for marriage.
By nightfall, he has dedicated his life to fighting petty criminals, a cowardly lot in whom he strikes fear by
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Michael Whittle is not a hero by night, but rather a different type of hero by early morning light.
Whittle wakes up at 6:30 every weekday morning, leaves his house at 7, and walks down the street to Warminster Station to catch the 7:13 train to Philadelphia. On a good day, his train ride lasts 53 minutes, arriving at Suburban Station at 8:06. An insane commute time to some, Whittle shrugs it off with a smile. "That's not bad to me," he says. "I'm a morning person anyway."
On a good day. Many familiar with the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority (SEPTA) would quickly tell you that not all days are good ones.
For the last year, Whittle has shared his trip on the R2 line from Warminster with us, the staff and readers of Progressive Boink, on our forums. Like clockwork, he has always been there to report his commute time, becoming a constant in a system riddled with inconsistency.
We are fortunate to have shared the journey with him in spirit. We celebrated the rare blessing of the early arrival and agonized as the wheels of progress screeched to a halt behind downed power lines and faulty signals one fateful July morning.
Now, as we promised we'd do if he faithfully updated us on his daily ride to the office for a full year, we're sharing our journey with you, the general public. This is Whittle's story. May it continue to be passed down through the generations. May he be crowned a modern folk hero.
–Mike
* * * *
Whittle is the only person I know who can be unwaiveringly hilarious while at the same time, unflinchingly normal. The thing about R2 which slays me is that when taken at face value, there's no inherent joke to be found. It's just a guy recording the arrival time of his daily commute, seemingly for no reason other than statistic analysis. He never peppers his updates with anything more than a few details about that day's commute or maybe a brief anecdote regarding something humorous seen on the train. If he's going to miss an update, he'll let us know days in advance. Every week he provides SEPTA with honest feedback via their on-board questionnaire. Though he'll occasionally relay an amusing anecdote regarding his commute, for the most part he's content with letting the statistics speak for themselves.
I know I'll continue to listen. Thanks for the great memories, Mike! Here's looking forward to year-two!
–Justin
* * * *
Every morning, I wake from a night's sleep. I am born into this new day, and I take my first breath.
The air is still here.
I look down at my body.
My arms; my legs. They have not deserted me.
I climb out of my linen womb, stand, and stretch. Rays of orange or grey light dart through the gaps in the blinds.
The sun shines in this life as well.
I don't yet notice or acknowledge anything else. The furniture, the sensation of carpet underneath my feet. And though I sit down at my chair, turn on the monitor, and navigate to Whittle's R2 Local to Warminster thread, I don't notice or acknowledge those things either. Those can wait.
"Left on schedule from Warminster at 7:13 AM, arrived at Suburban Station in Philadelphia at 8:06 AM. No reported delays."
Only then do I take the second breath of my life.
The air, my limbs, the Sun, and R2 Local to Warminster are the four constants of my life. The four legs under the chair upon which I set my understandings, actions, words, and hopes. People are inconsistent. Possessions get lost or stolen. They are all supporting cast in my past lives, some arriving late, others leaving early. These things exist for me to walk, sit, stand, lie, or lean on. They serve to take up space in my line of sight that otherwise would be occupied by a Void with a color impossible to describe, but like a bucket catching drops of water from a leaky roof, they're hastily thrown in front of me in a patchwork fashion. What I make of these supporting characters, animate or otherwise, is up to me. That's what life is, after all. We project our perceptions onto people, places and things, and act accordingly.
But this is why the four constants I mentioned above are all the more important. Without them, everything is an inconsequential, meaningless dream. If I observe these things every new life before I observe anything else, I know that what I do in my newest 17-hour lifespan will have meaning and consequence.
Weekends are but empty, pleasant dreams regardless, but if ever I awake on a weekday and don't see a fresh post in the thread, I'm not sure that anything else will mean anything. One side of the frame of the painting of my life will fall off and shatter, and nothing will keep my Impressionist life from spilling into the drywall behind it, diluting it into a worthless pale.
I don't worry, because in my lives, Whittle is immortal and R2 Local to Warminster will never cease. And every night, I slip into another death without a fight, because I know I will see it in the morning, and my chair will be sturdy.
– Jon
* * * *
A divisive war raged on. A pope infuriated Islamics. Terror gripped the hearts of spinach eaters. A coup d'état rose in Thailand. A Crocodile Hunter fell in Australia. The United States reached 300 million people. Saddam swung. Kramer kracked. The doomsday clock swung closer to midnight. The Mooninites took Boston. Imus was canned. The Virginia Tech tragedy shocked the nation. And a wrestler, and hero for many, became a murderer.
Yet through all the turbulent times, there was one constant. For five days a week, the intrepid Whittle documented the state of mass transportation in Philadelphia. And we are all better for having witnessed it. Thank you, Whittle!
–Matt W.