I’m a simple fellow. I get up, tend to the goats, and stagger back to my bed to write columns and stuff. I don’t get out much. That’s why I don’t have one of those cool pre-paid card things, so that you can take the T without actually sticking dollars in the automated slot thing next to the driver.

But, I had business to conduct along the Boston-Brookline border in the region known as Boston University, so I got my passport renewed so I could get into Brookline – and I rode up and down Commonwealth Avenue, engaging in commerce and networking and the stuff that makes America great.

I am haunted by my experience. I think I caused a problem. I’m very sorry.

Barely was my experience with the T completed when the Transit police announced a vigorous crackdown on fare jumpers, including the possible loss of driver’s licenses and life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Why now, you might ask? And why such an aggressive stance on transportation thieves? I think I’m the reason. Four trips on the T. And I only paid once.

But it’s not my fault. Really.

The first time, I’m standing around with about 60,000 BU summer students and conference attendees and neighborhood bag ladies, when the T arrives and we surge into the back door. I’ve got my $2 in my little paw, but I’m only on for a stop or two and my chances of getting up to the robot slot that accepts the money is about zero. I am ejected at my stop and wave goodbye, solemn in my commitment to do better about the fare thing the next time I’m on the T.

So, the next time, I carefully place myself in such a way so that I can sprint on to the front door, near the driver, and the welcoming robot slot machine, eager to accept my two dollars. The T comes, and the Great Unwashed Masses jump on board and I’m immediately pushed toward the back, with no chance at all to put in my money. I think the rude, aggressive people behind me must have been from New York City or they were newspaper editors or something. Anyway, once again, I am unable to pay.

Staggering Debt

I’m really upset. That’s a lot of money for the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority and Collection Agency to lose in less than a week. I vowed to do better the next time.

The next time, I’m standing there in the rain (have you noticed that it’s been raining a lot in Boston lately?), with my two dollars in my hand, when the T arrives and I jump right on and proudly begin to slide my money into the robot’s welcoming slot. But, George Washington was not wearing a raincoat. My dollar bills are soggy and wrinkled. The robot refuses my money. The people behind me at the door (probably residents of Brookline) are impatient, so the T driver waves me on through and says, “we’ll get you next time.”

If he only knew.

The fourth time was better. It was late at night. Just me, a few drug dealers, and a couple of cleaning ladies. I got right on, put in my money, and secured my place in Heaven, where the honest people go when they die. But I think it was too late. The accountants had noticed the dip in revenue. The MBTA’s $8 billion debt is known unofficially as “The Cohen Thing.”

And now, because of me, grumpy, aggressive transit cops will be arbitrarily and capriciously arresting suspected fare jumpers.

I am, of course, somewhat conflicted. While I do feel bad, on the other hand, I have saved $6, which is about three weeks compensation at Banker & Tradesman.

I suppose I should be happy. But I’m from New England. As Edith Wharton (who sort of lived in the Berkshires) once put it: “If only we’d stop trying to be happy, we could have a pretty good time.”

By the way, the next time you want to invite me over to discuss bankers and tradesmen and stuff, send a limo. I’m done with the T for a while.