Today was my first ride on the Mexico City metro since the start of the new year. From the moment I stepped on something felt out of sync. It was the quiet — all the vendors (at least on my line) are gone.
And then I remembered. A few weeks back, around the middle of December, government workers started handing out fliers about an online survey they were doing to gather public opinion about raising the cost of the metro to five pesos. With this increase, boasted the flier, 105 trains cars would be repaired, 42 new cars added, X amount of security officers would be hired and way down far at the bottom in tiny print it said they would enforce a policy of no selling on the trains.
I should have gone online and filled out a questionnaire — done my civic duty — but I didn’t. And not that my singular voice would have mattered but at least I could have stuck up for something I cherish about riding the Mexico City metro — the vendors.
I know there are people that HATE them and I’ll admit, there have been moments during rush hour traffic with a backpack boombox in my face that I was tempted to buy every cd they had in order to keep my ears from bleeding. But I can’t tell you how many times they’ve made my day with Sinatra’s My Way or a particularly lively cumbia mix. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been inspired to buy 350 Son Jarocho songs (on one single disc!) or a Tres Rios love songs album. And although most of the time I don’t need a wordsearch book or a stone that cleans the fabric fuzz off my shirt, I know if my earphones happen to go out or a nail breaks on the metro door that someone’s got me covered.
I’ll give it to the mayor’s office — they must have made some deal with the mafia that everyone knows runs the selling on the metro in order to get to them to leave. It’s definitely not the security guards instilling fear — they look all of 20 years old and highly nervous of the crowds. If you can’t rid local politics of graft and nepotism you might as well get rid it of toothbrush vendors.
Maybe the extra revenue (the monthly cost for someone riding 6 days a week has now gone from 144 pesos to 240) will convert the metro into the height of modernity but I’m hesitant to count my chickens before they hatch. The pee smell was still there in the one section of the Tacubaya station today and the vent that always drips on my head if I don’t pay attention was still there too. I did see a man wiping the banisters on the stairs and both sets of escalators were working which is equivalent to an act of god. Our train still stopped between stations at least three times and we sat with the door open at the Polanco stop for at least 7 minutes.
They sure were quick to kick out the vendors but how quick will they be in actually improving the system (which admittedly works pretty well for what it is in a city of 28 million).
Whatever happens I will miss the noise and selling, it was always one of my favorite parts of Mexico City and although I’m pretty sure those vendors will find other black market places to sell — the situation is begging for a debate about the importance of the informal sector in this country to begin with.
I’ll miss them and I’ll miss Frank and so in honor of the metro hawkers I have this to say “At least you did it your way…”
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I was overwhelmed with the vendors it was just too much too crowded already! I think in a few years every rider will be thankful– there are already too many vendors everywhere else now the Metro is a refuge!
Update: This just happened when the police tried to kick the vendors off the trains at the Hidalgo station. http://www.sdpnoticias.com/local/ciudad-de-mexico/2014/01/24/reporta-sspdf-dos-policias-heridos-y-siete-detenidos-por-enfrentamiento-en-metro-hidalgo
I didn’t mind the vendors. It gave the metro some extra character. The metro is a city within in city in its own right. But I did hate having random crap being put on my lap, especially if I’d already clearly indicated that I wasn’t interested.
The closest I came to a physical confrontation in DF was with a vendor who, after I’d already said ‘no thanks’, stared me in the eyes and deliberately put something on my knee. I put it on the vacant seat next to me, and crossed my legs. When he returned, he stared at me again and grabbed my foot to uncross my legs. I stood up. The eighteen inch height difference made him think twice and he hurried away.
For all the reputation Mexico City has for violence and danger, it says something that in six years that lame tale is the best story I have got to tell!