I’ve been utilizing the ACE Bus quite a bit lately. This is especially true during off-peak times when I find it to be fast and efficient.
There are, however, some rough edges that still need to be smoothed out.
For instance, on Saturday, I walked over to the Stratosphere ACE Station, tried to put my fare into the machine, and … nothing. It would not accept my money. The bill feeder was completely dead.
This was a problem.
The ACE has something called a “proof of payment” system where transit cops randomly roam the bus, fining people who do not have a ticket. In a way, the fare system is like speeding enforcement. It provides a mechanism by which people can flout the law by playing the odds, and only be forced to pay up when they get caught.
Personally, I am not a fan of fare systems which rely 100% on law enforcement. This kind of system assumes guilt, and forces one to prove their innocence lest they be punished. It does not take into account lost tickets, or situations such as the very one in which I found myself … a situation in which I did not have a ticket, yet was still 100% innocent.
“Don’t be silly, Rex. Cops are good guys and common sense would prevail if you just explained the situation to them.”
Once upon a time, I would have thought the same. But this is Las Vegas. A town in which you are stopped and ticketed while driving to the emergency room. There is no common-sense here. None. We’re all just prey in this town, waiting to be eaten.
As I was standing at the stop, trying to figure out what to do, a lady sitting on a bench beside the machine said “just get on and don’t worry about it. I ride this bus every day and they never ask to see my ticket, and if they try to give you a ticket, just give them a fake name”.
Eh?
The lady giving me this advice was someone from whom I did not expect it. She was probably 55-60 years old, and she had on a flowered hat. She looked like an old lady that you see leaving the neighborhood church on Sunday. She was a black lady who looked like the family matriarch. Someone in charge of imparting morals and wisdom to the younger generation.
Yet, here she was, giving me detailed instructions on fare evasion.
I thought about her advice, though, and given the circumstances, it seemed to be the right thing to do.
Now, fare evasion is something that I would not usually consider. Believe it or not, I have never engaged in overt theft. We can argue ad-nasueum about whether downloading an authorized song here or there meets the “theft” definition, but much to the ridicule of my peers in elementary and high school, I’ve never in my life engaged in the act of shoplifting. Not even when I was dirt-poor. It’s just not something that I do. I’m one of those idiots who actually turns in lost wallets … with all of the cash still inside. Unlike Christians, I actually live by the teachings of HeyZeus.
In this situation, however, after much consideration, I decided that I would take my chances with not paying the fare.
I had the $3 in my hand, ready, willing, and able to pay the bus fare, but the RTC was denying me the ability to give them the money. And, since RTC is a publicly-funded entity, I absolutely felt entitled to the ride.
Not leaving everything to chance, however, I took photographs of the broken machine, made a video recording of my trying to feed the bills into it, and even twittered the RTC informing them that the machine was broken. I felt that this would serve as sufficient evidence of my intent to pay should I have to fight the ticket in court.
When the ACE came, I got on, sat back in my office, and rode to The Strip without event. Of course, I was paranoid the whole time. Much like the ER visit, I was technically breaking the law, and I was probably giving law enforcement a reason to sodomize me with a baton before shooting me in the head. Fortunately, this did not happen.
Once I reached The Bellagio station and got off, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I was also a little heartened.
For once, “the man” had not beaten me … I had beaten him.
This was a good feeling.
I felt like a modern-day Che Guevara. A white Chuck D. A tall Nelson Mandela. My actions represented a tectonic shift of power from pompous self-imposed authority to the working class. It was a shot heard around the world that the citizens are mad as hell, and we aren’t going to take it anymore.
Emboldened by my new revolutionary status, I decided to strike more blows for the common man.
As I walked toward the Bellagio crosswalk, head held high, chest puffed out, with a heretofore unearned swagger, I realized that the pedestrian light had changed to a solid red hand. Here was the man again, telling me what I could and couldn’t do.
Clik here to view.
Do Not Cross at Crosswalk
The old Rex would not have jaywalked, but the new Rex … champion of the people … well, I immediately thought of crossing the road, middle-fingers extended from both hands, shouting “Fuck Tha Poe Lease!”.
But instead, I stopped and waited.
Baby steps.
Revolution is not accomplished overnight.