Where The Sidewalk Ends... Lies A Rocky Road

3/29/2009 11:40am
Roma Termini Station

I hate Rome. I hate it so much that nothing I am capable of writing is sufficient to express my outrage. The city is hideous, crowded, and dirty. Modern buildings are more dilapidated than the ruins. Every surface is covered in graffiti. The national monuments are unimpressive. And even the people who aren't tourist behave like idiots. Clearly, the Fall of Rome never ended.

Sometime in the night, Rome was subject to a random fluctuation in time, which I'm assuming is a common occurrence, given that it wasn't mentioned in the news. Or else our hostel manager wound our watches back one hour in our sleep. I wouldn't even be surprised if the city just agreed to shift time forward one hour, just so they could get off of work early. I think the eleven to noon/ three to five work schedule is a little stressful on the Italians.

Due to this time rift, we were a little confused as to why the trains didn't start running until 7:20am but easily chalked it up to the laziness of Italians. After correcting our watches to account for this phenomenon, Brent walked to the ticket vending machine, where he struggled and failed twice to purchase tickets, despite the fact that the menus were in English and step-by-step directions on how to purchase tickets to the Airport were posted in plain site for the benefit of American tourists. In disbelief that the machine would simply refuse to sell us tickets, I went over myself to investigate.

The first thing I noticed was a second machine that was out of service. Given the abundance of out-of-service devices in Rome, I have come to surmise that Italan law might mandate that at least 50% of machines must be in disrepair at any given time, a rule strictly enforced in the capital city. Unlike the myth that there are always exactly 13 stigmatics in the world , the dysfunction of Italian machines is easily verified.

Next, I discovered that though clients were offered the choice of first and second class seating, only first class was actually available--a concept so profound Brent could not fathom it. Here I pause to quote Einstein: the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

So close to acquiring the tickets, I eagerly inserted a $20euro bill only to have it spat out over and over. I stepped into the nearby shop to ask for change and was affirmed in my assumption that the machine only accepted change. Of course, when I fed it change,it just gobbled it up without noticing. When I sent a second coin in after the first one and still nothing happened, I have up in frustration, four Euros poorer and with an intractable number of coins in my hand.

We ended up boarding the train without tickets, Brent a little concerned, I perfectly content to tell the conductor where I put my ticket if he dared ask. Given the money I lost, Brent considers his inability to read directions a victory. Given my current blood pressure, I am inclined to agree. Nothing works in this city.