Commentary on Public transit

yeah I know, blah blah blah boring. I'm going to talk anyway.

My public transportation journey today began with a BNSF train ride from Westmont to Chicago's very own Union Station. My mother dropped me off and I was then on my merry way back to the city of destiny. As I snuggled down in my very own leather bench, I had barely gotten past the "Celebrities: They're Just Like Us!" section of the latest US Weekly when a group of raucous middle aged men clamored aboard my once peaceful train car.

I was then treated to an hour long play by play about one of the current divorce proceedings of one of the men.

Main guy: "Yeah, I switched divorce attorneys because that one in Naperville was so expensive. Plus all of my arrests and convictions were in DuPage County, and that's where I did my time too. Now I'm in Cook County and my divorce attorney is way cheaper. Oh yeah did I tell you? She put a restraining order against me. Now I can't come within however many feet from her and I'm not allowed to contact her. Get how awesome this is: I just have to put an ad in the paper three separate times announcing our divorce and the court dates, and if she fails to show up, everything will then work in my favor. The kids are with her too so I have no idea how that's going. *Gut busting laughter* So what would you guys do in this situation?"

Another guy: "Man you are asking the wrong guy. I've been divorced twice."

Hilarity then ensued. I restrained the urge to turn around and stare at these guys, but at the same time I kept feeling like some crazy prison inmate was burning a hole into my back. I sunk down a little bit lower in my seat. I stole a glance across the train car. The bifocals of the man across the aisle from me rose on the bridge of his nose as he momentarily looked up from his Tribune, paper rustling and looking slightly perturbed, before settling back in to his news.

Which brings me to my point: why do some people have no shame while in public in terms of both their behavior and audible conversation? I do not understand why some individuals take it upon themselves to grace everyone within earshot with the embarrassing details of their personal lives. To an extent this can be forgiven, but in many cases not. I understand meeting up over coffee or in some other public place to discuss personal things such as a breakup (I met someone over coffee for this very reason on Tuesday) or other delicate matters. In these cases people use common courtesy to others around them and do not spell out their personal issues to strangers. Or if these strangers hear, it's because they are rather unnaturally close to the conversationalists and cannot help themselves.

My journey to Lincoln Park continued on the CTA brown line during peak rush hour. I snagged this great empty aisle seat near the back of my car. My seat was attached like a conjoined twin to an identical window seat which was peppered in crumbs and what resembled an oil slick of spilt juice. I wasn't about to take any chances, so I plunked myself down in the safe aisle seat and edged away from the mess next to me.

Soon the car began to fill up. First, a guy got into my car and he looked extremely familiar. Where have I seen that face? He chatted on the phone and caught my eye, held my gaze for a few seconds more than normal, as if he was searching his memory banks on if he should recognize my face. It then came to me (because I always remember everything and anything that is random) that he is a graduate business student at Loyola who chatted to me for quite some time at an Open House 6 months ago. I'm weird to even remember something like that.

By the time we hit Clark and Lake the train was at full capacity except for the wet crumbly window seat to my right. I made it a point to stare vacantly out the window as if lost in some sort of dream everytime we came to a stop, just in case someone decided to make eye contact with me and request that I sit in the muck next to me. Someone did approach shortly after, and took one look at the mess and mumbled "Never mind." Even so, I still felt bad.

Then the inevitable event that occurs in close quarters began: intense bouts of what I dare to call whooping cough. There's nothing that will send shivers dancing up my spine faster than someone five feet from me coughing violently on repeat for minutes on end. Just when I thought this cougher was contained, someone else started expelling their germs on the other end of the car. All of this intermittent coughing combined with people yelling and chatting on the phone, and the train groaning and shifting on the tracks, I began to think I was being subjected to a cacophonous urban opera.

The belly of the car was filled with a Motley Crew of individuals. There were the usual eye shifters, checking out everyone on board while pretending to be disinterested; the group of loud talkers chatting about "Oh no he DI-DN'T dare do that to you girl!" "Oh uh-huh he SURE DID!" etc.; the cell phone chatters, the standing room only people who don't know where to look and therefore read the system map and ads until their eyes glaze over; the shifty looking people who you make you instinctively clutch your belongings a little tighter; the businessmen in crisp suits looking somewhat out of place in the dingy metal car; the student who is reading a classic Architecture textbook while holding onto the silver pole and performing a mini-balancing act as the car twists it's way around the elevated tracks; and...well...me.

When I got up to exit at Armitage, a pack of college vultures descended on my conjoined seats faster than I could say "Beer".

I then went to dinner at a little place next to the El stop called Twisted Lizard, which has some delish comida Mexicana. It was here that it was suggested I be a flamingo for Halloween. Now before you clutch your tummy and have a gut-busting laugh, give it a chance. I like the idea a lot. Ever since dinner I've been scheming away how this could indeed work out. I'm just not sure however if I'll have enough time before Saturday to find all of the necessary items. I have a feeling I might though.

So if any of you readers know where to find some sparkly or striking high heels, some pink long feathers (or feather boa if I'm desperate), a pink dress or a fun pink top and a white skirt, let me know. This costume is going to rock. Jenny Mack's roomie is going to do my hair, and I'll probably let Jenny go to town on applying some crazy exotic looking makeup on me. My sorority sisters and I are going to be stalking around Wrigleyville going to various costume bar parties, which will make week #2 of me gracing said neighborhood with my presence. Of course we have already made a group decision to visit the Cubby Bear...

Sick or not, I'm going to celebrate the end of Rocktober and Halloween in true Delta Zeta/DPU/Chicago fashion. If you are aware of what constitutes any of these things then I'm sure you are smiling and nodding "yes, yes I do agree" and if you aren't aware then maybe you should come along and find out.