Stay Away from Harvard: The Design Center

Like many, I had nothing to do on the most recent observed birthday of Washington, the black fellow from “Welcome Back Karter,” so I decided this was a good time to visit the Design Center, located at the end of the Silver Line. Some background on the Design Center is what would be in this paragraph usually, but I don't have any. It's just south of the main city with glorious views of the airport and a glimpse of Eastie to the, ah, east and there are a lot of converted warehouses so I guess this is where goods came in once upon a time? Like furniture and stuff. As a result, they converted one of the larger warehouses into a multilevel display arcade for various providers of furniture, interior design materiel, carpeting and the like to show off their wares to, well, I don't know that either. I'm guessing, as well as interior designers, it's for the benefit of people who buy in bulk for such as hotels or executive apartments or for model units. This is pure speculation. It was a bright, warm, if windy day. It took me about 45 minutes to get from Forest Hills to the Design Center stop. There were surprisingly few vagrants on the Orange Line that day and almost none in South Station. I've taken the Silver Line many times, as when I was a concierge one of my appointments was best reached taking that route. It is an unpredictable, slow, bus route of four separate lines that go to places no one wants to go. The SL3-5 skirt by nice South End sections before ending up in Dudley Square, the SL2 terminates in the Design Center after going past Boston's World Trade Center. The only line of value on the Silver Line is the SL1, fittingly, the line that takes you to the airport, giving you opportunity to get as far away from the MBTA as possible.

Former Infrastructure

After waiting 20 minutes on the platform and another ten once actually on the SL2 (posted schedule states a bus is available every 15 minutes or less) we were on our way through distinctly Soviet Bloc-styled tunnels that took us under the Fort Point canal to the Boston City Courthouse. In my concierge days, I was often accompanied by an apparently homeless man who smelled distinctively of sweat socks but I was not met with that gentleman today. Almost everyone got off at the Courthouse stop (a walking distance half the time from South Station as we'd waited for the bus) and we continued on our way, with one older gentleman remaining behind despite it being the last stop on the line. I'd been to the Design Center once before to pick up my company's race team information and t-shirts so, after the bus wandered around the Design Center in a wide circle, I prepped my backstory to get past the front desk guy and gain entry, and stepped out.

The Design Center is kind of perched out in the harbor, so it was even windier than it was deeper in the city. I had a thought to wander around about as I saw a footbridge that led to parts of South Boston that are actually occupied, but I figured it was too distracting from my primary objective: on to the Design Center. Which was hilariously completely closed. I had no idea this country so revered that quirky 70's show about an inner-city high school teacher. Must have been the words of wisdom the main character always gave at the end. Undeterred, I decided to check out what else the area had to offer. As it turns out, not much. I learned by reading a map at a much later date that there was a former dry dock in the area, the basin of which must have turned into the berth where cruise ships park when picking up people trying to get away from Boston, true to the spirit of being on the Silver Line. Were there happy cruise goers and well-wishers galore? No, of course there wasn't. The entire place looked completely abandoned.

But it did have a dead bird by a trashcan on the second floor!

I did find a few unlocked doors, though. They mostly led to inner hallways, particularly well-designed bathrooms for what by all outward appearances seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. At the end of one hall was a locked door for what looked like a machinists shop. I imagined that some
quirky designers completed interesting feats of metallurgy before foisting them on the moneyed classes but that was probably bullshit. There were a few unlocked doors that led to loading docks protected from the open air by thick translucent vinyl strips. What protected whatever was not bolted down from whoever happened to be by with a van or truck was not exactly clear. But hey, Southie's known for its trustworthiness and lack of crime, so it's probably all good.

These guys seemed pretty on the level.

Not wanting to fill up my phone's camera – but mostly because I saw the SL2 approaching a stop, and at 3PM on a holiday schedule, that may be the last time it would come – I dashed off to the bustop, hailing the driver so that he wouldn't strand me in a glorified business park. I thanked him for stopping, but he barely registered my existence and we sat at the stop for another five minutes despite no one else being in sight. I noticed that the old man who had remained when I initially departed was still on the bus, sitting in a different seat. I obliged by sitting far away from him as I could while retaining a window seat.

It did have the loneliest Au Bon Pain on the planet, though!