Riding in Cars with... Carrots?

The other day I was headed home from work when I stepped on the second train of my evening commute... instantly I knew something was wrong with the car, but it took me a second to get over the initial smell to realize that the floor was all wrong.  Instead of the lovely carpeting covered in gum globs and suspicious stains - I stepped on to this:

Yes - I was enthralled enough that I took a picture.  If you were a DC Metro user, you'd be enthralled too. Well. Maybe not. Still - it was 6:30 on a Friday night and I was. So sue me.

There was a noticeable odor, but I attributed it to this new and slightly out-of-this world floor.  

Riding Escalators

I grew up in the middle of nowhere.  No - seriously.  My parents owned 40 acres of woods off of a dirt country road that is off of another dirt road that is off of a paved side road that is off of a main road that leads to a two blinking light blip of a town.  

No public transportation, no city sewer systems and absolutely no escalators.  In fact, I was a teenager by the time I rode my first escalator. Well - riding wouldn’t be the correct term... I have vague memories of acting like a 5 year old and running up the down escalator while shrieking over my shoulder at my very embarrassed mother, “These stairs are MOVING! Mom! Mom! Mom! Moooooommmmmmm!!!!!!  Looooook at meeeeeee!!!”  

I’m surprised I don’t also have vague memories of being escorted off the premises. 

Since then I’ve moved halfway across the country and my daily commute now includes riding no less than 4 escalators and 6 elevators.  But... to tell you the truth? I miss the middle of nowhere.