Now that I've been a Chicago resident for ten days, I feel that I have earned the right to complain about the public transportation. I've ridden the bus a couple of times, used Uber to snag a town car, hailed a cab in the rain at Boystown as my hair frizzed, and traveled nearly every color of the rainbow via the train.
The CTA is in the process of implementing a new system, called Ventra. The transitchicago.com website indicates that the new system is easier, more convenient and will slowly phase out prior methods for this reason. Oh, and the website boasts for shorter lines through the turnstiles.
I'll name a few of my joyous experiences as Ventra is put into motion, starting with a longer line in the ever-pleasant Monday morning rush this week. There were close to twice as many bodies on the platforms, so much so that people were unable to get on/off the cars at their desired stop. I feel that it's obvious to state that I, along with anyone else that took the L to work Monday, ended up late. I lightly tapped my Ventra card, as I have been for the ten days I've been living here, only for it to be denied, causing the turnstile to whack me in the uterus. Turnstile: 5, Me: 1. Also, the announcements on the Redline were off by one stop (after the intersection had passed, not before), and had this been my first week here I would have been totally screwed. The doors were opening when they weren't supposed to and didn't open on the Fullerton stop. Awesome start to a chilly week, Ventra!
Yesterday the train home from a long eleven hour day of watching someone else's child that has mommy issues, behavioral problems and no structure, was also a treat. I sat on the train next to a woman that appeared nice and polite (no earbuds even!), smiled at her and acknowledged her sneeze with the common phrase, "bless you," only to be returned with a dead-eyed stare. Seriously? I'm still geographically in the Midwest, but where I'm from, we say either, "thank you," or, "excuse me." That statement makes me sound like a redneck, my apologies.
Has anyone heard of "leg infection guy?" This is a phrase I never imagined myself saying, for the record. There have been very few times in my adult life that the thought crossed my mind that I am naive...leg infection guy is one of them. LIG hobbles around on the Blueline in the same clothes, sweating from his poorly tattooed pores, stating that he was kicked out of the hospital. His schtick is that he has a leg infection but the doctor's released him due to his lack of insurance and he needs eighteen dollars for his antibiotics but only has four. He was leaning against me on Sunday and used me as a crutch. I obviously bathed in bleach that night.
Finally, and the most appalling, was what my roomie, Often Annoyed Designer and I witnessed last night. A beautiful Louis Vuitton bag caught my eye while we were waiting for our train. A British man boarded the Brownline behind the gorgeous leather in a suit jacket that looked like the chair in my 93 year old grandmother's 125 year old farmhouse. My roomie and I exchanged glances, acknowledging both the stunning luggage and the offensively ugly yellow jacket. My smirk was quickly interrupted by someone screaming, I'm not exaggerating, "CUNT!!! You sick, fucking, abomination! You are a cunt!!!!" And the next thing I know the Yellow Chair is squeezing behind me by the door (hopefully it accidentally opens like it did on Monday!), as though LIG had exposed his imaginary wound and exchanged his bodily fluids with the Chair. No, rather, it was that Yellow Chair had sat down on the public seating on this train used for public transportation and that LV that I was talking about earlier? It was attached to the slender arm of a well-dressed woman whose lifestyle he didn't agree with.
Side note: I'm struggling how to refer to this woman. I believe she was born a man and is in the process of transitioning into a woman. She was sweet, well spoken, dressed in cute black leggings and riding boots that I've seen in my dreams. The only giveaways were the very slight facial hair on her otherwise smooth skin, her hands grasping her belongings, and the slight hint at an adam's apple.
Anyway, Yellow Chair was shrieking "You disgusting cunt!!" on the train full of those young, old, religious, student, whatever. Initially, I thought it was a friendly banter between a young student and her professor (who else could justify such a disturbing outfit?). Then I thought that she had said something vulgar to him. Turns out, the reason that his guy was screaming as though he had seen the man that his wife was fucking while he's at work in a library from 1959, was because this woman sat next to him.
His screaming words echoing on the train ran through my head the rest of the night. The funny thing is that the woman on the train didn't. Only that beautiful purse. Ignorant, intolerant, and yellow jackets have no place on public transportation because that it where one will see the most hideous (people and clothing).
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