ON THE ESCALATORS AT THE NEW LIGHT RAIL STATIONS

We saw you—dozens of you, actually—standing two abreast on the escalators going up and down at the Capitol Hill and University of Washington light rail stations on Saturday morning and afternoon, the first day the stations were open to the public. There you were, immobile, smugly blocking the path of anyone who wanted to ascend or descend levels at a reasonable pace. You were too numerous and oblivious for us to say "Excuse me," so we were left tearing out our goddamn type-A hair with our goddamn type-A hands and swearing our goddamn type-A insults at your lazy asses as we ascended and descended at a snail's tempo. We get it: This was the opening day, and there were some pretty things to gaze at. But henceforth, if you continue this maddening custom, you will feel the wrath of our goddamn type-A scorn and we will brusquely squeeze by you while barking "EXCUSE ME."

STARING INTO THE TUNNEL, STRADDLING THE BRAID

We saw you straddling that gray stripe of concrete (or is it granite?) that runs between the tiles in Sound Transit stations and is a different texture than the other flooring. That gray stripe is called "the braid" by officials, and it's a tactile paver strip that guides blind people, walking with canes, to the ticket vending machine, and from there down to the platform, and tells them where to stand to wait for the train. You were obviously not blind, as you were craning your neck to see if you could spot the northbound train coming around the bend in the tunnel. Something you didn't even know you needed for two whole decades had suddenly become very, very important. It seemed to be making you impatient.

SOUND TRANSIT MASCOT MAKES SEXUAL PASS AT BIG BIRD

Also on opening day, at the station right next to Husky Stadium, we saw you, the guy dressed as the Zap Gridlock gladiator, lift the costume tail of the person who was dressed like Big Bird while a mellow jazz trio played nearby. We didn't expect such naughty mascot-on-mascot action on U Link launch day.

WOMAN IN FLIP-FLOPS DISEMBARKS AT WESTLAKE

On a rainy, wet, totally gross Monday afternoon, you stepped off of a northbound light rail train at Westlake, wearing only a gray V-neck T-shirt, floral print shorts, and black flip-flops. Outside, the wind swept chilly air off Puget Sound and blew it into downtown. You didn't even have a raincoat. Girl, were you intentionally taunting the Seattle Gods of Moody Weather? Or were you a millennial Mary Poppins who could stash an umbrella inside your tiny cross-body purse?

BURNING QUESTIONS ON THE NORTHBOUND LINE

During our new Monday morning commute to Capitol Hill via light rail, we shared a train car with you, a 6-year-old boy with an adorable, near toothless grin, for five stops. You were sitting on your uncle's lap, an endless series of questions and demands coming out of your mouth as the murals of Sodo whizzed by. "Tell me again about the toilet place!" you demanded. (Turns out you were talking about sewers.) "What is a fu manchu?" you then asked. We had planned to spend our ride marveling at Seattle's new era of transportation, but instead we found ourselves wanting to know everything that was going on in your magnificent little brain.

WE'RE SMELLING WHAT YOU'RE SMOKING

We saw you, a whole light rail car of strangers, headed from the University of Washington Station—going south—on a weekday afternoon. One of you smelled very, very strongly of weed. Maybe you didn't notice. Everyone else in the car noticed. Trust us.

ALREADY PACKED IN THE INTERNATIONAL DISTRICT

We saw so many of you entering the already-packed train at International District Station. It was Monday, the first business day for the extended Link. It was just before noon. There were no open seats left in the car. All of you stood in the area between the doors. When they opened at Pioneer Square Station, even more people boarded the car. And the same was true for the next two stops. As we shot through the tunnel between Westlake Station to Capitol Hill Station, as the train swayed and screeched, there was such a din of excited conversation. Indeed, we could not make sense of these exchanges. They were impossible to untangle and discriminate. Too many of you were talking too loudly. This was the joy of the city.

BUSKER ON BEACON HILL

On Saturday night at 8 p.m, we saw you—a vocalist singing an aria and a pianist seated at a baby grand piano—performing in front of the Beacon Hill light rail station, just to the right of the ticket vending machines. It was unclear if you were out there celebrating the newly expanded transit system, but the sounds you made on an otherwise warm night gave us the chills.

AND THEN THEY WERE UPON HER

Sound Transit's new stations have two-sided platforms. Because of this, the Capitol Hill Station allows a person to mill around in a crowd, chat with a group, and do small laps. It also provides increased opportunity for book voyeurism. We saw you reading Shirley Jackson's The Lottery while waiting for the northbound train on a Monday afternoon. You had pink hair and headphones on. Was it your first time reading it? Was it for a class? Were the headphones actually playing anything, or were they just there to make sure no one bothered you? How about that ending?