The Metro and I go way back. I used to spend a good 90 minutes a day commuting via Metrorail before I got wise and moved closer to the city. I saw all sorts of crazy things: drug deals, a flasher or two, a drunk guy peeing in the corner, a fist fight, but never, ever did someone push the red button on the emergency intercom.

It’s as if there was a decency force-field attached to the little box that says “I don’t care if you’ve been drinking, I don’t care if you’re convinced hemadrones ^[1] are coming for you, don’t fucking touch this thing unless the train is on fire, some is very near to death, or this train is beneath another train ^[2].

Apparently, however, it is just a portal to a car dealership disguised as a train driver ^[3]. So, next time you’re on a train, and you need a Benz Truck, you go right ahead and push that button to get one from the driver.