Communal Chagrin

At 12:30 all the subways in Vienna turn back into pumpkins. I suppose if Cinderella had that extra half-hour maybe she wouldn't have lost her slipper but I generally like to stay out longer than fairy tale princesses so even that extra half-hour isn't enough. The fact that the u-bahn stops running so early usually just means we go out a little earlier than usual and try to make it back a little earlier. The alternative is the night bus, which has recently become less annoying for me, but generally when one is going to have to take the night bus its a conscious decision to stay out longer. That means that I've only attempted one form of transportation on any given return trip...until last night.

John Matt Jack and I had set out last night to find a place called B72. It was billed by many as sort of an "indie-club/lounge" whatever the hell that means. It actually turned out to be pretty cool and I'll most likely end up back there before the end of my stay here, but the place itself is sort of irrelevant for this particular cultural musing.

None of us seemed like we were looking to "go out hard" so the whole night we were thinking about taking the ubahn back. 12:15 hit and we made for the door only to be slowed by a girl looking for a cigarette and then by the guy working the door who wouldn't let john out with a drink. Little did we know those fateful delays would actually make a difference. Glad to have made the U-6 train, we started towards out transfer at Westbahnhof to the U-3. But when we got to Westbahnhof my happiness that came from making the train turned into utter confusion as people starting running off the trains and down the steps. Next thing I know Jack has broken into a run, hindered slightly by the fact that he was wearing sandals, and thats when it occurred to me: people were running for the transfer hoping to make the last train, just making it into the u-bahn system wasn't enough. I took off after Jack down the steps while Matt and John started booking it down the escalator. It was this odd stampede towards the U-3 platform and just as I approached the last 10 steps I couldn't help but laugh at what I knew was going to happen. Whether or not the train was coming or not all of us running down those steps would experience some simultaneous communal emotion. In this case, it was communal chagrin as signs flashed informing us all we missed the train. Some woman to my right doubled over, two guys behind me threw up their hands, I shook my fists. I can only imagine that last night was not out of the ordinary and I feel like I've experienced a necessary cultural moment.

We took the night bus home, but not before we all visited a kabab/hotdog/falafel/pizza stand and John and I successfully cheated the dreaded Opera Toilet out of the money it never deserved.

Also very notable was that days earlier trip to the famed Gasometer's where we "Hung with the 'Hoff." A story I will defer to Matt's blog, complete with a phenomenal picture taken by yours truly. Unfortunately, there were no Pontiac Trans Ams.