Most of the time we commuters behave ourselves. We move orderly from one conveyance to the other. But every so often something rials us up. It might be the sound of an oncoming train as we alight from our connecting line. We need to make this next train. We will be late otherwise. So what begins as a brisk walk becomes a trot and then finally a full-tilt run.

We dash down the stairs at Metro Center (the escalator is usually under construction), racing for what we think is the Orange Line to Vienna. Turns out, it’s the Orange Line to New Carrolton, the wrong direction. But at least we’re down here waiting, standing at our appointed spots. We are ready.

The funny thing about this behavior is how contagious it is. All it takes is one eager commuter to set us all off. It reminds me of a herd of cattle I once saw outside of Cody, Wyoming. We were driving back from our big trip west with the girls, and on the way out of this wonderful town we were caught up in a swirl of cattle, cowboys and dust. It was like being part of a great roundup — even though we were driving a minivan. But it gave me the feeling of being caught up in a great sweep of animal energy, moving forward just for the sake of moving forward.

Pity the suburban commuter, dashing from car to car, startling at the sound of an approaching train, all to save a minute or two. We are creatures of habit, members of the commuting herd. Our great brains are idling; we operate on instinct only.

W.H.D. Koerner, Cattle Stampede