All in Flashbacks

All Flashbacks

Flashbacks

Unsafe Passage: The dangers of getting to and from the job

A lawyer who lives in Belmont is explaining to friends why she is reluctant to go back to work after her maternity leave. Child care is not the problem; she's wondering how to get to work and back home safely. She could drive, but what would she do with her car in Boston? One of her clients was brutally gang-raped in the garage under Boston Common. She has parked in the Government Center garage but is disturbed by the gangs of teenagers who drink in cars there. She says that the big banner out in front of the garage that announces "Parking, $4 a day" ought to be amended: "Plus all the gangs can steal." The only garage that appears safe is at Quincy Market (she doesn't know whether it actually is safe; she's never seen security personnel there), but there's just this one little catch: parking costs $14 a day. The parking spaces in the garage of her office building are even more expensive. She can't get one anyway since they're awarded on the basis of seniority and therefore allocated to the men in her firm. So much for driving. Public transportation isn't too promising either. The last train to stop in Belmont leaves North Station at 6:15 in the evening, earlier than she usually gets off work. What's worse, the streets between her office and North Station are often eerily deserted, especially after dark. She has certainly never seen a policeman along the way. She could ride the Red Line to the new Alewife stop, but then she'd have to park her car in the attached garage. Unfortunately, the garage is happens to be located across the street from the Rindge Avenue apartment complex, sometimes referred to as the drug center Cambridge (one no longer has to worry about where the druggies will pick up the cash to support their habits). Although the station sports a well-lit security office, again she's never actually seen a guard patrolling the garage. She could take a bus from Harvard Square, but the only stop within waling distance of her house is dimly unlit. Last time she rode the bus, a young man waiting at the stop refused to board and instead approached all of the off-loaded passengers to ask for the time, giving the distinct impression he was checking to see which watch he liked best. She, grateful for the safety of numbers, did not stick around to volunteer either the time or her watch.

Then there's Margaret, who works as a nurse at Brigham and Women's Hospital. She's having a hard time figuring out why, when the new hospital was built, no parking garage was put in the complex. Such an addition would only make sense: if there's ever a place where women are going to be coming and going in the middle of the night, it's a hospital. The parking garage for the Brigham and Women's workers is a block down from the hospital. And what a block. One night as Margaret was leaving, emergency technicians were carrying into the emergency room someone who'd just been stabbed at the corner. Very reassuring. Of course, the B&W could use a little beefing up of security inside as well: last year a doctor was raped in one of the on-call rooms.