Archives for category: open letters

After seeing that T employees are capable of showing enthusiasm these days – something I hadn’t thought possible after the last few months – I was inspired to make sure the head of my T line (Red) knows that I know that something is seriously wrong. Rather than just complaining about it on my blog (and on many, many, many tweets), why not take advantage of the “Write to the Top” feature on the MBTA website?

I wrote John Hynes, head of the Red Line, this morning. I’ve included the text of that email below. I’ll be letting you know what Mr. Hynes includes in his response. Because there will be a response, right? The T does care about passengers who aren’t Hollywood actors, right?

I’ll keep you posted.

John Hynes
MBTA Red Line Chief
45 High Street, 10th Floor, Boston, MA 02110

Dear Mr. Hynes:

As a Red Line commuter, I have been directly affected by the increasing number of delays in service experienced on the Red Line over the course of the last year–particularly by the now daily disruptions experienced in recent months. I’ve been shuttled, I’ve gotten off Ts to walk, I’ve seen my text message inbox flooded with T alerts, and I’ve come to add at least 20 minutes to my travel time “just in case the Red Line dies again.” I’ve listened to T operators say in a bored, disengaged monotone that they apologize for any inconvenience and that there’s another train directly behind.

There is never another train directly behind, Mr. Hynes. We all know this. And yet they say it anyway.

On Saturday evening, however, I did see exemplary Red Line service. Personalized Red Line service. Service that was so hands on and considerate that I wondered if I’d inadvertently walked into another public transportation system–or the Hollywood-ized take on what Red Line service should be.

Turns out, I was half right. The T is willing to step up and take care of passengers … if that passenger happens to be a movie star.

As I wrote in an entry on my blog–which has been picked up by several Boston websites–I was waiting for an inbound Red Line train at the Davis station on Saturday evening when T workers escorted Anna Faris (movie star) and movie extras over to my waiting area and, when the train arrived, onto my car. While it was remarkable to see the manner in which Ms. Faris was treated by the T–kudos, truly– it is incredibly depressing to realize that someone like me, an individual who buys a T pass every month, who utilizes your services at least twice a day every single day, must endure daily inconvenience and delays without even a sincere apology, while your employees bend over backwards so as to make the experience pleasant for an actor who will be leaving Boston at the end of filming.

Not to mention that, given all the T alerts that are texted to me, you couldn’t bother to send me one letting me know that the T was running with delays that evening. Or that the station would be closed the next day.

The MBTA is in serious trouble. It’s been noted, it’s been reported. You know it and I know it. As budgets and services and details are examined, Mr. Hynes, I ask you to think about directing your employees to show one iota of the care and consideration I saw directed at Ms. Faris on Saturday evening toward your regular passengers. You’d be amazed what a little good will and sincerity will do for passenger morale and MTBA support.

Cordially,
Victoria Welch

Dear Dan Shaughnessy:

I enjoyed your column today. Prepping for the Brady/Manning showdown set for a short time from now, the column was engaging. Amusing. Fun.

I enjoyed it so much that I almost feel badly that I’m knocking down your lede.

You are a Tom Brady Guy or you are a Peyton Manning Guy. There is nothing in between.

Really, Dan? Really? Guy? Really, guy?

Whatever, it’s not that big a deal. I get that. But this whole “a woman who happens to be one of the guys when it comes to sports” thing is so tired. I  know so many women who can out-stat, out-talk and out-care the guys when it comes to sports. We’re not all one of the guys. We’re just fans.

If I may, please let me quote one of my fellow savvy blondes. In the immortal words of January Jones:

“Dear men of America, I like beer, I like football. I’m probably the most interesting girl you’ll ever meet.”

I’m neither a Brady Guy nor a Manning Guy. I am free of pink hats or articles of clothing from the Alyssa Milano Touch Collection. I am a Patriots fan. A Brady fan.

But if you’re going to be specific, Dan, I’m going call shenanigans.

In that case, I’m proud to be a Brady Lady.

Cordially,
Victoria

Dear Earth, Wind & Fire:

I do remember the twenty-first night in September. I mean, it was fun and all – had a few friends over, did some chatting and laughing. There was a little wine consumed here, maybe a bottle of beer there. Good times had by all.

But the hijinks to which you so melodiously refer? Didn’t happen.

What’s up with that, EW&F? I was so looking forward to ringing bells while dancing in the streets.

I was hosed.

Cordially, yet with disappointment,
Victoria

Dear Matt Cassel,

I would not presume that you need additional motivation or encouragement while preparing for tomorrow’s game. You know that it’s a big game. I know it’s a big game. We’re all smart people.

That said, I wish to offer you a reminder. Of what, you ask? Of this. Most notably, this part right here:

I found this today – a recipe for humble huckleberry pie. I’ve bookmarked it. I’m going to save it all regular season long. And if you manage to get the football team I love to the playoffs, I’ll document for you the making, baking and consumption of that humble pie. Hell, you’ll be welcome to join me for a piece.

I am ready to do some baking. I have the time, I have the desire. Make me prepare some humble pie. Have your people talk to my people (by which I mean, um, me). If you get the job done, come on over and enjoy some pie.

And if Welker were to join in, I wouldn’t kick him out of my house. I’m just sayin.

Good luck!

Cordially,
Victoria

Thank you for the best birthday present ever. It came a day late, but worth the wait.

Love,
Victoria