Inclined to Mount Washington to forget about work

[illusionofjoy]

I had a bad day at work last night. Actually, I've had a bad workweek. Not going into too much detail, I am quite frankly sick of suburbanite co-workers who drive minivans and force their kids to play sports attempting to foist their attitudes of self-importance onto me as if they were superior human beings (and I use the term "human being" loosely) because I do not fit the "status quo of normalcy." Also, I am sick of sexually deviant co-workers whose attractiveness level barely exists to anyone with an IQ above 30 or a desperation level below 100% trying to justify rude behaviour towards me because, as a temp, I am "not a real employee." I am also sick of whiney 40-somethings with an axe to grind about how the world owes them a retribution for the sheer pathetic stature of their existence trying to blame me for problems that I did not create and situations that are not my fault.

Aside from certain co-workers of mine, the machinery at my place of employment was out to get me as well - particularly tonight. I have begun training on a medium-speed sorter, which means nothing to anyone outside of the banking business. Suffice it to say, this is a machine that moves cheques around to different compartments faster than a slow-speed sorter, but not as fast as a high-speed sorter. My particular sort pattern kept giving me an error message all night long, making a restart necessary (think something similar to the Macintosh "bomb" error, where the only clickable button is labelled "restart.") Since these machines require people to log in, so that they may use them, and since I lack my own log in password, I have to use someone else's set-up to run my machine. This means that whenever I got "the bomb," I had to find someone else to log me back onto the machine so that I could keep working. After five crashes in one hour, this became incredibly cumbersome. I was ready to start banging my head against the table.

Thus, I left work this morning in a pretty pissy mood. While I was glad that Friday had finally arrived, I was none too thrilled about the fact that the weekend is only a ratio of 2:5 to the crap I'd have to deal with yet again once Sunday night rolled around. I boarded the trolley and headed home to my apartment in Mt. Lebanon. My intention had been to clean the place up once I got there, and then go to the bank to deposit my paycheque, followed by a trip to the library to bitch about my life via Live Journal.

I was prepared to give my apartment the works, as far as cleaning went. Tub scrubbing, floor mopping - you name it, I was going to get the place spotless and sanitized. This was when I discovered that I have no hot water. It is my hope that my hot water will be back by the time I get home, else I'll be calling my landlord in an attempt to get the steam coming out of the facets once more. Granted, a lack of hot water makes showering not impossible, merely unpleasant. However, I am at a loss as to how I would wash dishes, mop my floors and merrily go fixture scrubbing when the tap is as frigid as a mountain stream after the last winter thaw.

It was about this time that I decided to go out for a walk. I caught the trolley downtown to deposit my paycheque, and then headed to the Monongahela Incline, with the intention of walking around Mt. Washington - for no reason in particular. It was foggy in Pittsburgh this morning. In fact, the National Weather Service had issued a "dense fog warning" for the area until 9:30AM. As I rode the incline up to the top of the mountain, I could see the buildings downtown rising through the mist, a chorus of angular architecture haloed in off-white.

I exited from the incline car, paid my fare and set about walking down the street paralleling the edge of the mountain. I stopped at one of the lookout posts - a concrete cloud hanging by a thread above the treetops. From there, I looked down upon Pittsburgh physically higher than the city in the same way that certain co-workers of mine were trying to place themselves mentally and socially above me. It was with a glint of self-satisfaction and pretentiousness that I imagined the buildings below as my co-workers and myself being the one who was actually above them in metaphor. Below me, they looked up, as if through a fog, trying to comprehend the mental colossus that stood so far above them and could see so far beyond their limited perceptions.

The thought then flew away, and I smiled inwardly at how ridiculous it looked out in the open. To classify myself as better than those who tried to place themselves as my superiors was asinine. There was nothing to gain from this train of thought. Then again, is it not necessary to fight back a flood of derision with at least an equal amount of indignation? True, I could "turn the other cheek," but how many times can I tolerate being slapped?

My walk continued. Mt. Washington seemed like a really nice neighbourhood. It seemed a neighbourhood of cloud-minders, people who just happened to be able to commune more closely with the sky. It also seemed like an isolated neighbourhood - a small town within the city, yet oddly detached from it, as if the city may as well not exist. There are roadways leading down the slope towards downtown Pittsburgh, connecting Mt. Washington to the rest of the city, and the two inclines also provide access, yet it stills seemed oddly detached to me. Perhaps this could be attributed to the fact that I always travel through the tunnels under Mt. Washington when going downtown or home to Mt. Lebanon. If I don't make a concentrated effort to visit the place, I am never there - I never just happen to end up there, not like the other stops on the trolley which afford me easy access to Dormont, Beechview and South Side. Mt. Washington always gets skipped, as if it may as well not exist. Perception as reality?

I ended up walking the length of the neighbourhood to the Duquesne Incline, which is about a mile and a half from it's sibling, the Monongahela. While the Monongahela is fairly modern (by the standards of inclines), the Duquesne wears it's historical landmark tag like a badge of honour. Upon entering, I discovered not a fare booth, but a gift shop. I was a bit confused, and asked one of the workers where I paid to ride the incline. I was told that I paid at the bottom, after I got off the car.

The car itself was a display of another era. While the Monongahela travels one up the mountain via a metal box, the Duquesne cars have wooden interiors with decorations carved into the perimeter. Meanwhile, a metal light fixture hangs from the centre of the car, electrified to be sure, but very much moulded to look like an old oil-burning lantern. Another notable thing about the Duquesne is that it travels faster than the Monongahela, creaking more as it travels down its tracks. Once you reach the end of the line, the car gently bounces back as it nudges the spring-loaded bumpers affixed to each terminus of the track.

I disembarked from the car and was immediately face to face with approximately thirty Amish people wanting to board. They were all trying to pay their fare at once, and seemed a bit confused about whether or not they were allowed to get on at this point. I, on the other hand, just wanted to get to the ticket window so I could pay for my ride and hop to the bus stop right outside the building.

Obviously, I did manage to escape from the incline building and hop a bus to the library. Ergo, this journal entry.

I do feel a bit better, having taken a walk through a part of Pittsburgh I rarely visit and riding one of the city's more known tourist attractions (apparently). Also, the cute brown-haired, slightly chubby librarian who wears the black-framed glasses is working today, which doesn't hurt my mood one bit.

I hate the thought of going back home at the moment though. I don't want to think that my taps should actually be labelled "cold" and "cold" or that I still have much cleaning to do that can't be done. I also don't want to think about how much sleep I'm missing out on, which will catch up to me once the coffee I drank before my incline adventures finally putters its way out of my bloodstream.

For the moment I'm going to enjoy just being in the library. I can check my email, catch up on some web stuff and admire the cute librarian from afar. Perhaps I'll take a quick stroll around Point State Park before puttering back to Mt. Lebanon. I have plans for tonight, but right now my day is wide open.

Who needs sleep when you have monthly bus pass that provides you with unlimited rides and an itch to go exploring. I should get something to eat soon though...