The last weekend of April is the time for my annual pilgrimage to Philadelphia to visit family and attend the Penn Relays. Back in the late 1960's father took me to my first visit to Penn when I was nine years old. My mother went into labor with my brother that day, and dad had to abruptly leave to be by her side. This was 1967, and I walked back from Franklin Field to 30th Street station.
Getting a ticket back then was easy. You go up to the ticket booth, ask for a ticket, slide them some bills. You get on the train, a conductor punches the ticket and that was that. Simple.
It's not so simple these days. SEPTA must have worked extra hard to make getting a ticket an absolute nightmare. Here I document the multiple travails of getting in and out of Philadelphia from the suburbs.
Now that I live in Massachusetts, I take Amtrak down to 30th Street Station and find my way on SEPTA to get to Bryn Mawr where I stay with my mother for the weekend.
Thursday afternoon, I arrived at 30th St. station from Boston, put my bags up at the storage counter to attend the first day at Penn. When I got back to 30th St., I went up to the SEPTA area and waited for an interminable amount of time in front of the ticket booth. There were only two people ahead of me at the booth, and it seemed inordinately complicated. One man in front of me just wanted a ticket and had the exact change in hand, but the woman behind the counter could not get a ticket to him. She kept pushing buttons on her computer screen, but it was non-responsive. Eventually, she directed him to an automatic ticket machine down the concourse. I was next up, but the woman told me that their computer system was having problems and also directed me to the automatic ticket vending machine.
Now, I had some thought that I could just buy at ticket on the train, but the platforms were protected by automatic turnstiles that require a magnetic ticket swipe to get through. The turnstiles were also guarded by three or four minders to discourage gate jumpers.
So, I got in line for the automatic ticket-vending machine. This took even longer as my hapless fellow travelers tried to negotiate the complexities of the devilish vending device. There was even an employee whose job seemed to be solely devoted to helping people like me get a ticket out of the thing.
When it got to my turn, the automatic-ticket-machine-minder helped me push the buttons. I said that I was going to Bryn Mawr, but the machine asked me what 'zone' I was going to. I had no idea what zone that was, and there was no map or way of figuring out what zone that was, but the employee helpfully told me that it was zone 3. I wanted to get multiple tickets, but this wasn't an option. I could only get a single 'quick trip' ticket. Back in the day, you could get as many tickets as you want from an actual human being. I finally got a ticket after about 20 minutes of fussing about, and missed the train I was hoping to catch, and waited for the next one.
That was the first trip on Thursday afternoon.
The next morning, was going to catch yet another SEPTA train into 30th Street. I went into the train station up to the ticket booth with a man behind the grate. I figured I could some tickets for multiple rides. The man behind the counter informed me that he doesn't sell tickets. He only sells automatic swipes for regular commuters, but nothing for someone like me who was just visiting. He told me that I could buy a ticket on the train.
I later found out that multiple people made the same mistake as I did: that you could buy a ticket at the ticket counter.
I did get a ticket from the conductor on the train, but he couldn't take cash, only a credit card. So, I got a ticket with the magnetic swipe on it and this did allow me to get out through the automatic turnstile. However, as I was going through, some people next to me with luggage struggled to get through the turnstiles with their suitcases, and one of the turnstile minders rushed up to admonish them that they weren't using the turnstiles properly.
Friday at Penn was wet and rainy, but there were some dramatic races. I made my way back to 30th Street Station. Chastened by my previous experience at the ticket booth, I returned to the automatic machine. Again, the automatic ticket-machine minder helped me purchase a ticket, and now I knew that I needed a 'zone 3' ticket. Unfortunately, it took me five tries to get the machine to accept my credit card, and I again missed the train I had hoped for.
That was Friday.
Saturday morning, since I knew I couldn't get a ticket at the ticket booth with a human behind the counter, I boarded the train. The conductor seemed busy and instructed me to get a ticket at the automatic machine at 30th Street. I asked "but isn't that on the wrong side of the turnstile?" He said that no, there is a machine on the inside of the turnstile, and I needed the ticket to swipe my way through.
So, I got off the train, and had to wait in line for the automatic ticket machine, which didn't have a minder this time. I felt somewhat relieved that I wasn't the only person confused by the machine and waited in line. When I finally got to the machine, it wouldn't accept my credit card, and kept turning me down. Somewhat desperate, I then turned to try cash with the machine, and got some Susan B. Anthony dollar coins back, along with the coveted swipe to let me get through the turnstiles.
Saturday afternoon, I returned to 30th St. Station. At this point, I had allocated what I thought was a generous amount of time to catch my train. When I got to the SEPTA platform area, I saw that the human-ticket booth was closed, and again went to the automatic ticket machine.
Taped on the face of the ticket machine was a hand-lettered sign that read "No credit cards, cash only". It was the only working machine in the area. I pushed the buttons. There was not only one, but two minders for the automatic ticket machine. I got to the point where I put in cash, and I tried my twenty dollar bill, which the machine promptly rejected. I tried again. Rejected. The minder said that I wasn't putting in properly, so I said "well, you try it." The second minder suggested he could try for me. As I was about to hand him my twenty, the first minder said, "No, you can't touch money from a customer." But the second minder ignored this and tried to put my twenty dollar bill into the slot. On multiple tries, it kept getting rejected.
The second minder asked if I had another bill, but I only had a two dollar bill and the fare was $5.25. Finally, exasperated, I asked "how on earth am I supposed to catch a train?" So, they directed me to the automatic turnstile minder and asked her to let me through. I promised I would pay the conductor on the train, and she waved a special card to open the turnstile for me. So, at this point, it took three, count-em, THREE human beings to navigate the supposedly automatic system to get a ticket. Although it may be obvious, but back in the day, it only took one person to sell you a ticket.
I just barely made the train to Bryn Mawr. I don't even think I saw a conductor on the train, and basically got a free ride.
I honestly don't know what SEPTA is thinking, but they managed to take what should have been a simple transaction and turned it into a labor intensive time-sink.
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