Shut UP!!!

I’ve been gone a while. I’ve had a bit to deal with and sort out, so sorry. But I have a small rant I must get off my chest.
I get on the bus on Monday to go to my friends house, and the woman who boarded right in front of me struck up a conversation with the driver. A loud conversation. About how great her 30 day CTA pass was. And why the $20 pass would leave her stranded. And that’s why the 30 day pass was so great. And that it expired at 2:44pm that afternoon. And how she was so glad her friend told her about the 30 day pass. And so on. It was riding with a loud, obnoxious and completely socially unaware Miss Daisy.
Okay, great you found some convenience in your sad life lady, but telling the bus driver and everyone else on the bus about it at the top of your lungs is not necessary, nor welcome. For that matter, you are not even supposed to talk to the driver protractedly, as it could risk an accident. On she went, from the moment she boarded at Elmdale all the way down Broadway. The best part: the driver was encouraging the conversation, and kept talking to the lady.
Finally as the bus approached Foster, and after a brief moment when we thought she had nothing more to say, she kicked right back in to the 30 day pass love fest. I had sat silent for 15 minutes, but frustrated and annoyed, I let loose a very loud ‘eeeeNOUGH! SHUT UP!’ And yet, the only acknowledgment I received from this woman was her outstretched hand, as if she was saying ‘oh no, I’m not done, be quiet now’. She gave me the hand. And she finished her ramble to the bus driver! The bitch!
After she finished, the bus driver asked if there was a problem, and Miss Daisy herself turned around and asked the same thing. I simply said that the loud conversation was distracting, inappropriate in volume and I didn’t like that it was interfering with my bus ride. Then the guy sitting one seat behind me, who was also quite annoyed at the woman and her loud talking, chimed in “And you’re not supposed to talk to the driver for safety reasons. So stop talking.”
The woman looks at both of us, and then simply stated, ‘I’m sorry you two are having a bad day, but I can talk to whomever I want.”
At this moment I was losing it. I blurted back, “Not when it’s distracting to the rest of the riders. I don’t care about your 30 day pass, I don’t want to listen to you go on about it anymore!”
“Are you done?” she haughtily remarked back.
“Are YOU done?” was my snappish retort.
“Are you done?” was her reply.
I was. I stood up, as we finally reached Foster and had stopped, spat sharply “Fuck you, I’ve had it, I’ll walk,” and stomped my way off the bus. As I looked to the driver, who seemed completely oblivious about why there may be some angry passengers, I stopped and asked “What is your number?”, pointing to her shoulder where her driver’s number was. She looked at me, turned her shoulder away from me, and pointed to the front of the bus with a curt ‘it’s there.’ All the while, Miss Daisy was now screeching unintelligibly, loud enough I could hear her half a block down as I walked away.
So to miss loud and obnoxious on the 36 Broadway bus on Monday, May 31 at 1:04pm heading southbound, with driver number R285 egging you on, I say shut the hell up. And to the CTA, who after I left a message to voice my complaint about this whole fiasco, and they never called back, I say fuck you. You don’t care that some screeching crazy was distracting one of your drivers, causing a commotion, and annoyed other passengers. The driver didn’t care that she was violating CTA safety guidelines designed to protect the rest of us. And you obviously can’t be bothered to contact a customer who voiced a concern and complaint because it would look too much like you actually cared about what the rider/customer thinks.
Oh yeah, and you owe me $30 for new sandals since I ruined mine having to walk in the rain because of this whole fiasco. I’ll be expecting the check in the mail.

New year, new look, new rants, same old stupid people

For those who haven’t noticed, it’s 2010 (That’s Twenty-ten, not two thousand and ten). So I’m trying a new look for the page. Trendy? Unnecessary? Unsightly? Perhaps. But then again, it’s my page, so why not.

Some things will not change. Like Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh… yep, they are still douche bags, particularly since they blame the people of Haiti for the earthquake devastation that befell them. That’s right, all of those devil worshipers from Haiti two centuries ago made a deal with Satan… to live in an impoverish third world country just so it all can be destroyed by mother nature and plate tectonics today, kill thousands, make people suffer even more and have the rest of the world rush to their aid to help.

Yep, that sounds like a real win/win for the people there, right?

If this was really a deal with the devil, Pat, maybe I’m dense but I don’t see where Haiti ever got the advantage in all of this. Oh, wait, maybe because that line of thinking is completely insane? Needless to say, Rush and Pat are heartless morons that need to die. And bonus to Keith Olbermann for telling them where to go and how far.

And in Chicago… we still have Todd Stroger, Cook County Board President, who vows to thank himself if he wins reelection to the board. For what, managing to stay alive and not get his ass beaten down for being a crook? Or for hypnotizing the poor of Chicago into believing that raising taxes and paying his family six figures to do nothing is good for the city? And Blago… when did being a crooked governor with the worst hair this side of Trump permit him celebrity status? The hair…aha… that’s how he managed a spot on Celebrity Apprentice. At least we have the Olympics… oooh, too soon? Whatever. But we still have great reliable public transit…just kidding again, it’s still the CTA. And they are cutting back yet again. Pay more for less service, that sounds reasonable to me. And if you have to travel after midnight, good luck after February 7. And be glad I don’t have a car to park at one of those $4.25 an hour meters.

Ooh, let’s go back to celebrities for a moment. Jay Leno and NBC… yeah, that’s a big old mess. Yeah to Conan for escaping with $45 million and his dignity, it’s way past time to escape that sinking ship. And way to go Law & Order: SVU’s Mariska Hargitay for calling out Leno and his prime time foray for bringing everyone else down. Don’t mess with Olivia Benson, Jay you half moon chinny chin chin wonder-mess, she’ll cut a bitch! And speaking of cutting bitches, who told MTV that NY trash was worth watching? That’s why they send it all to the Jersey Shore. I mean, come on, Snooki? She’s the Pillsbury doughgirl with Princess Leia’s cinnabun on top of her head. This is not entertainment. If I wanted to watch that kind of train-wreck, I’ll just ride the 36 Broadway bus on a given day.

Yep, out with the old, in with the same old. And smile like you mean it.

Random bits at 2 am

It’s late and I’m bored, and I haven’t blogged in a while. Just wanted to warn you in advance.

A strange blurb from the Chicago Sun Times (suntimes.com):

‘The family of a Chicago woman sued The Loreal Group Tuesday, claiming chemicals in the company’s Soft Sheen Carson hair dye killed her.

While coloring her hair with a Dark and Lovely product in July 2006, Cornelia Morris suffered shortness of breath and later died at Jackson Park Hospital. An autopsy found that Morris died from “an anaphylactic reaction to hair dye,” according to the lawsuit. The 10-count wrongful-death suit seeks at least $500,000 in damages.

“We adhere to the most rigorous standards for product safety, so that our consumers can purchase and use our products with complete confidence,” said Jennifer S. James, a spokeswoman for L’Oreal USA, who added she had not yet seen the lawsuit and had no further comment.’

Okay, very random, and I feel for the family, but really: these things come with a warning. Like cigarettes and alcohol, and hell even peanuts, in extreme cases people can have an adverse reaction. What if the woman was at a professional hairdresser, and this happened. Would the stylist be liable? It’s not like they knew this would happen. She wasn’t wearing a Med Alert bracelet saying, allergic to red #5 or anything of the sort.

If the woman had tried on a sweater and died, would the family sue the manufacturer like Polo or Gap, or even the cotton industry? No, because shit happens. It’s too bad she had such an anaphylactic reaction.

On the flip side: if the woman was on a bike, and was hit by a car, I can see the driver of said car being sued. The driver was in control, and was liable. But if they were to sue the car manufacturer, and were to insinuate that the manufacturer was liable… yeah, it just doesn’t flow.

This is what the economic climate has driven us to. We are now a law suit happy nation.

Meanwhile, my lawsuit versus stupid people is till hung up in the courts…

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The CTA… another gripe I have.

The big deal right now is that the city is racing to make itself ready to be a serious contender for the 2016 Olympics. Yeah we are in the two four (I believe against Rio, Tokoyo and someone else), and seriously one of the top two in contention.

Yet the public transit system will continue to be our undoing.

Take my stop, Thorndale… one more good thunderstorm and it looks like the ceiling of the vestibule may collapse:

How safe does THIS look to you? Especially around the lights?

Yeah, makes me want to ride the train as well. Never mind the third rail, look out for the pools of water formed from the water dripping from the electrical system…

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Finally, proof that crack is indeed whack, as Whitney so proclaims. This one is courtesy of Tobin after some chicken and beer, Pride weekend…

Oh come on, don’t be a prude. If they can show Britney’s va jay jay online…

Promoted!

I’ve been busy, and it’s finally paid off.

After two months of hard work, I was offered the store manager position for my company’s Evanston location. It’s a sweet little store and a great starting point for me. Of course I accepted!

I start next Monday in manager capacity, although I’ve been working there now and then for the past week. I had to revamp next week’s schedule so I was added in, although the current manager, who has chosen to step down, is unsure of where he will be. For coverage sake, I’m kind of counting on him being there in some capacity, but if not I’ll be making some phone calls to see if I can get some help. In the meantime, i’ve already set up 4 interviews for new staff for next week.

The commute is a piece of cake. Every time I’ve worked up there, I’ve been able to make it to work in about 30 minutes, door to door. It’s surprising to me, and I’m not counting on CTA reliability always… and I cannot believe I just used ‘CTA’ and ‘reliability’ in relationship to one another.

And my schedule… that’s the only downer. Managers are expected to work 45 hours at a minimum. That pretty much means 5 days of open to close at the store each week. I do hate long days, but I need at least a day and a half off each week to function correctly, so I think I can handle it.

I just can’t wait for the paycheck to pump up. Working for so little the past few weeks has hurt, and while we’ve managed at home, it’s been tight for Rick and I. It doesn’t help that for the second paycheck in a row I’m missing hours!

Anywho, off to the office…

Like, OMG, how annoying!

I swear I’ve never been so close to committing homicide as I was Thursday evening on the CTA.

First off, Rick and I enjoyed part two of his birthday gift by taking in Avenue Q down at the Cadillac Palace, and wow it was so un-PC, I LOVED it! I mean, how many places can one get away with singing that ‘everyone is little bit racist’ or that “the internet is for porn’ and make it funny? I didn’t know whether to laugh or be appalled, so I was a bit of both. The most ridiculous part was watching puppets fuck on stage! So irreverant, you must see this show.

Afterwards, our plan was to try and take in a 12:01am showing of Sex and the City. I’ve been dying to see this movie. Go figure, all showings were sold out… at 10pm. So, we proceeded home instead.

After having to navigate the twists and turns that is Chicago transit under construction, we boarded a north bound Red Line, and just our luck, two chatty Cathys sit down behind us. Now, remember when mom always taught you to use your inside voice? Well, these two missed that lesson, because they were yapping up a storm at the top of their lungs from Lake Street all the way north.

Granted, I wouldn’t normally care about people talking on the train. Public place, talk all you want. But this one chick had a voice that could grate Parmesan 10 miles away. Not only that, her and her friend were the most vapid, soul sucking bimbos this side of the Mississippi. Here’s an example, and no, this is not exaggeration:

‘Like, Morgan, I can’t believe, like, she is so sad.’

‘I know, like, wow, she totally screwed that up.’

‘But you so cannot tell anyone. Like, she’s not like my real good friend, but I am the only one who knows. And a couple of guys know. So you can’t tell anyone.’

‘Lame, ok.’

‘Whateve. And my environmental science class blows.’

‘eww, no fuckin’ way!’

‘So sucks’

‘Like, so, err, it’s so, umm, omygod, like ridiculous that, oh wow, too bad there weren’t animals, that would of been so, like, awesome.’

Really, I can’t even make this up.

And this went on for 20 minutes. God, Rick and I wanted to move so badly, but the train was jammed with theater goers and Cubs fans (and they didn’t look happy either), so we sat trapped, gritting our teeth and clenching our fists. I now know the sensation of having nails driven under my fingernails, because this was it. I wanted to turn around and just shove my fist down the one girl’s throat so we could have at least a moment of silence, but I held back.

Then I just lost it, and started to laugh hysterically at the insanity of their incoherent rambles. The future of America, right behind us, needing some serious hooked on Phonics help. The worst part was they go to Northwestern in Evanston. Lord knows who they had to suck off to get there. It was absurd, annoying, and completely maddening all at once, and even though Rick looked horrified at my laughter, I knew it had to burst out somehow so the bloodshed would be minimal.

It was finally around Belmont that we saw an open seat 10 feet away and bolted for the silence. As we got up, I had to mumble under my breathe, but clearly, loud enough for them to hear, a venomous ‘Stupid fucking vapid twits.’ I know they heard me, because as we sat down, both girls were glaring in our general direction. I didn’t give a shit. Rick and I then spent the next few minutes laughing at their clear lack of social… anything.

What I really wanted to do, though, was take a picture of them so I could post here for all to see. I’m kicking myself for not doing it.

As we left the train and walked home, Rick’s closing comment was the best:’One thing I learned in life as I did so much traveling. Never talk about work, about school, or about other people in public. You never know who may be listening and how you may sound to them.’

I couldn’t agree more.

The CTA/Crazy Person Road Show

The #22 Clark bus is easily one of my least favorite bus lines with a schedule that’s about as regular as a constipated dog and just as miserable, but when heading down to Ginger’s Ale House for a soccer match it’s cheaper than a cab. So this past Tuesday afternoon I stood in the sleet and blustery cold waiting for my ride like the April fool I am, looking forward to joining Alan for the Man United match against Roma.

The bus arrives typically packed, and I decide to make my way to an opening towards the back. The first thing I notice in route is a middle aged woman, dressed in complete mismatching clothing, gnawing on a breadstick or pretzel or something equally chewy, with a mound of boxes piled higher than a standing person on the seat next to her. It’s an obnoxious amount of crap, stuffed in white Hefty bags and a milk crate or two, covered in a tattered red tarp. To assume she’s a transient or homeless person is of course presumptuous of me, and to insinuate that only someone with serious mental issues would dare bring that much crap onto the public transit with them is borderline profiling, but come on. Would any rational human being dare board a bus in mid day, or for that matter, any time of day with what could most likely be half of their worldly goods? Yeah, didn’t think so. I was perturbed at the bus driver for allowing this woman to take the time to board and de-board the bus with all of this crap, and then take up more than one seat, effectively blocking the ability for a handicapped person to be able to board and sit. It was obnoxious.

It reminded me of a much more grevious offense I witnessed on the #147 bus about two months back. I boarded, and where there was supposed to be the senior reserved seating/ handicap spot was the little old woman who lived in the alley… with her entire life’s goods with her. And I’m talking about a mound of crates, boxes and laundry bags buried under (again!) a tattered red tarp (I actually can’t recall if this lady is actually the same person with less stuff on from Clark bus, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit). The junk took up at least three seats, which shocked the hell out of me that the driver would even remotely permit such a thing.

What drove me to the brink was that when we approached Berwyn, the lady proceeded to leave the bus, and had to unload all of her possessions as well. Mind you, I was on my way to work at the time, so I was a bit antsy to get moving. I took her, and I’m not exaggerating, 10 minutes to unload her junk from the bus. 10 minutes. and the driver barely even blinked at the inconvenience she was causing to the rest of us. Hell, another 147 passed us while we sat and waited. I was, how do you say, livid.

The ultimate fault of these incidents lies with the CTA driver who allowed such ridiculousness to occur. These drivers are paid, and quite well contrary to what some may think, to ensure their bus gets from A to B in a timely and scheduled manner, and the passengers riding on it arrive safely and without great inconvenience. Especially since we pay $2.25 a ride, right?

But time and again I have witnessed such idiocracy as, say, the bus driver who allowed a bicyclist onto the 147… with his bike. And I don’t mean with the bike on the rack at the front, I mean in the middle of the aisle. Hello! The bus driver who allowed this then conveniently switches with another bus driver at Foster Avenue, and as the bus starts onto Lake Shore the back door alarm is buzzing wildly. The bike ended up causing the back door to jam open and break, and forced the driver to pull over on Drive, and of course everyone on the bus then had to exit the bus, walk on LSD at 10am in the morning in traffic, to board a new bus. That bicyclist was not very popular with the rest of us, let me tell you. I was thisclose to beating the shit out of him, especially since I am a bicyclist myself, and WE KNOW BETTER!

The scariest moment I ever had on the bus was a Wednesday about 2 weeks ago, as I took the #151 down to Big Chicks for Euchre. These two ghetto as idiots barge onto the bus screaming and throwing attitude at each other, supposedly because one guy cut in front of the other boarding the bus. Okay, this pisses me off as well, and I’ve gotten into my verbal sparring with an asshole or two who have done that to me as well. Granted it’s not like their is a line to get on the bus, but to be pushed aside as you try to board, well that’s just asinine. However, this argument was heated and escalated to the point that the guy at the front of the bus shouted to the other, ‘what, you gonna call da police? Fine, do it fucka, I’ll show you mine then,’ and at this proceeded to REACH INTO HIS COAT.

The first thing that flashed into my head was, oh fuck, I’m going to be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper: Edgewater man and 9 others killed in CTA shootout. At that moment, me and the other passengers suddenly feared for our lives, scrambled for the exit faster than you can say run, and never looked back.

Again, I ask, where in the hell was the driver during all of this, hmm? Yeah, taking a coffee break probably.

Not everyone of my CTA rides are this scary. More so, I end up trapped near the crazy people and simply annoyed; like the wild/tangled hair bespectacled schizo bitch who rides the Broadway bus, whom I have had the displeasure of riding within a few seats of twice this week. Like many schizophrenics who don’t take their meds, she rants and raves to the unseen, arguing and swearing up a storm. Sometimes I just want to shove a towel in her mouth, but I’m afraid she may try to kill me. Rick was riding to the paint store with me when she boarded for my most recent encounter, and finally got to see up close this particular specimen I’ve told him about in the past. It only took 10 minutes and two blocks from our stop for him to suddenly push me towards the exit. ‘If I had to ride one more block with crazy, I would have snapped,’ he commented as the bus rolled away. I could only smile.

But back to the Clark bus on Tuesday, and our wonderful transient with the red tarp. The woman stared blankly forward as the bus churned it’s way down North Clark, until we arrived at Lawrence Avenue. Here, she proceeded to disembark with all of her goods, a process that mercifully took only two minutes. I could only gawk at the absurdity of it all. I wasn’t overly annoyed, as it didn’t cut extraordinarily into my commute time, and she wasn’t in my way at all. I manged to get to the match only a few minutes late, and Alan and I got to enjoy United’s 2-0 victory over Roma. Overall, it was a lucky day today.

Then again, who knows what the next CTA episode may bring.

Riding with scissors and recollection of time gone by

Ok, so this is really not going to turn into another one of those blame the CTA blogs. I have to mention this overheard-on-the-train bit from this morning, as it reminded me of a bygone era and a friend I miss terribly.

A typical transit to downtown, the El was jam-packed this drizzly morning. At Addison, as the transients pushed and shoved to make their way onto the train, some guy yelled out, ‘Hey! Can you move in a bit?’ The college aged guy standing in front of me, trendy beard and his bespectacled girlfriend next to him, crowed back my exact thoughts with a slight roll of the eyes and a glance over his shoulder: ‘We can’t move. Wait for the next train like the announcement says.’ he turned and whispered to his lady friend with a sigh,’God, what fucking morons. ‘

The transit situation in Chicago is, as usual, in dire need of an overhaul. Trains massively overcrowded. Buses failing to make stops due to beyond- maximum capacity. Stupid people taking up more room (both in transit and in life) than absolutely necessary. These are the days of our lives in CTA hell.

Saturday, for example, there was a power outage on the train line, and as a result, at 8am, there were no southbound trains. I made my way to the lakefront to catch a 147 express bus to work, only to watch it sail by without stopping southbound,bulging past capacity. ‘No really, I don’t need to be at work on time,’ I shouted after the bullet as it cruised past, to no one in particular. yet behind me I heard the saddest reply to my outburst:’ Don’t be so shocked, that was the third one.’

Needless to say, I cabbed it to work. With a lovely young lady named Ellen, whom I believe is an actress, as she was on her way to an audition of some kind. She had walked north to try to catch a bus that wasn’t at capacity and then some, only to be rebuffed as well. She asked, I shared, she was low on funds, I gladly footed the cab fare down, she was grateful. I smiled and contributed to my karma. Break a leg, Ellen… I hope you did well at the audition.

But back to today and my story…. as we approached North and Clybourn, I overheard a passenger turn to another and ask, with desperate hope for a bit more room in our sweatbox of a passenger car, ‘would you mind taking off your backpack please?’ Perhaps it was the comment, or maybe the steaminess of the rail car, who knows. But whatever it was, the comment grabbed me and yanked me back to 1996 and my early days in Chicago, when Micah ( a college friend and my first love) and I used to ride the train downtown together.

Micah is truly my teacher in the art of wit and sarcasm, as I followed his lead in so many moments. We graduated college together, were (and are) members of the same fraternity, and shared a time in our lives that no other person can take away: he was the first man I even slept with. I credit him with so many thing… my bravery, my brashness, my bitchiness, and above all, giving me the chance to really become who I am. I actually took the time to share our experience as part of a short story collective a few years back, and can proudly say I am a published author. Sadly, we rarely see one another anymore, as we live far apart. Well, I live in Chicago, he lives in Moundsville IL… er, Joliet.

In days past, as is today, we found the CTA over packed and under serviced, and complained loudly at the crime that called itself Chicago Transit. One morning in particular, we found ourselves bummed and thrusted between the suits destined for the Loop, and the college crowd we had just stepped beyond in recent months, and upon being hit with the fifth or sixth backpack, Micah turned to me with blood in his eyes, lifted his hand next to the nearest pack, and pantomimed the snipping of scissors to the strap. ‘What every passenger needs,’ he crowed with glee. I threw my head back in laughter, and while those around us remained oblivious, from there on out we were able to survive the dreaded commute with joyous thoughts of slicing our fellow passengers bag straps to shreds to make room for us during these painful commutes. Snip snip snip. It made the ride from Thorndale to Chicago Avenue so much less painful.

I took a step back to this moment this morning, and reveled in the experience in two ways. First of all, I agreed with my fellow traveler, and wanted to stand up and shout out too, ‘Yes, take off your fucking bag, make room for the rest of us!’ Fer Christ sake man, the El is tragic enough; to have to endure it with your Janssen pack thrust in my midsection is beyond tolerable. The fact that some travelers are completely oblivious to our plight shows how ignorant we are in kind to one another. Not to say we should all stand up and take on the fight for everyone’s rights, but stop being so fucking self centered and pick up the clue phone before it rings off the hook into oblivion.

Secondly and more retrospectively, though, I thought of Micah. I missed those days, sitting with Micah whether it was on the train or at the bar, and finding pleasure in the absurdity of human existence. I must note he was among the colleagues of mine from college days past that held true to the misanthropic statement from which this blog was born (see the inagural entry). We would sit at Roscoe’s in the late 90’s, and observe the mess of drunkards and twinks struggling to get laid as they move about us. After a few moments of people watching, he’d turn to me, nod his head directionally toward some tragic waste of space, and snark, ‘God what a mess. Drunken lush. That trash is here every night.’ My sarcastic yet obligatory reply was always, ‘And you know that how?’ We’d smirk at the irony, laugh at the absurdity, and indulge in another drink, all the while mocking our own tepid life yet feeling secure in the fact that we, the educated, mature and superior to the less fortunate around us, would rise above and escape unscathed. Eventually. And we did.

Yes, our get-togethers are few and far between. Frank, his ex and my good friend, has since taken his place in spades. As Frank rarely got the chance to share and revel in Micah and my attack on the boobs of years past, he has since had plenty of time to catch up and make our own special moments of mockery. Yet we both miss Micah. We all went through a lot together, and nostalgia gets the best of all of us at times, so sometimes it’s hard not to reflect back and remember the times one has with a good friend.

So take a moment, and when you are stressed out on that packed Red Line aching to be home, seek out that guy who refuses to remove the backpack. Now imagine the glee of removing those imaginary scissors from your bag, and smiting off the offensive bag so you have a bit more space. It will make the commute so much better, trust me. I’ll be the one sitting to your left nodding with approval.

Finger lickin' foul

Alan and I spent the day hanging out downtown on Wednesday. We enjoyed lunch at Perry’s Deli on N. Franklin, and oh my were the sandwiches HUGE! Very fantastic. Afterwards, we dodged the snow bullets to hit Rock Records on West Washington for all of five minutes, as I searched in vain for the new Bob Mould and realized in Technicolor why the indie CD shop was a dying breed. Blah, a dreadful selection. I guess the three rows of Jack Johnson’s new disc should have been my first indicator.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent at Elephant & Castle on Adams, where we watched the England national soccer team, under the guidance of new coach Fabio Capello, take on Switzerland and win 2-1 at Wembley. It was a slightly boring match, as the first half showed the players not making as strong of an effort as they could have. The second half more than made up for it. I guess Capello gave them what for at the half, as it was his first match as their coach. Frankly, we prefer watching United and the Premiership matches.

But it was the ride home that was full of great amusement for the two of us, and was, for me, one of the highlights of the afternoon. We sat in judgement of those around us, giddy and a bit toasted from the beers we imbibed at Elephant & Castle. As we glanced around at the train full of commuters cramming their way onto the Brown Line as rush hour was just starting up, I got Alan to do a bit of people watching. I think he saw the humor I find in it.

One guy immediately caught our interest and immediately became the target of our disdain, so much that I commented to Alan, ‘I think that guy is writing my blog for me”. My guess was he was a student, most likely from Roosevelt University by the way he dressed, because no one from the Art School of Doom, er, the Art Institute, would EVER be caught dead in public with what he was wearing: sweatpants. But not just any color, a lovely shade of turquoise sweatpants. Alan scoffed at the look, and nearly burst out laughing at this guy’s choice fashions. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t as ‘supported’ as he could have been… not that there was much to speak of, in front or behind. Sweats reveal all, which is why they are for lounging around the house, not for riding the subway.

The true error of sweats guy ways, however, was that he chose the train to munch on McDonald’s fries. He licked his greasy fingers hungrily with every bite, and even had the ignorance to smack his lips as he ate. I thought Alan and I were going to choke, we tried so hard not to laugh. Instead, we commented aloud at how cool it was to eat with one’s mouth open on the train, and how hungry he was making us.

Sweats/Fry Guy’s eating habit was a crude, ignorant yet all too common display of peoples manners on our public transit system. So many times I’ve had to hold back from gagging as I enter a train to the rancid smell of decaying chicken bones that some asshole left behind on his or her commute from Howard Street to the Loop. Then there are the high school delinquents who proceed to munch loudly on hot fries and cheese curls, wiping their psuedo-cheese encrusted fingers on the same seats that the rest of us have to sit in. It’s foul, messy, and illegal. Yet no one who works for the CTA makes an effort to put a stop to this gross flouting of etiquette and decency. Hell, they even encourage it, with Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts and convenience stores in the El stations. Yuck.

As Alan departed with a smile at Armitage, karma, or maybe just dumb luck, struck me, as Sweats/Fry Guy suddenly sat next to me where Alan had been just moments before. Luckily, I jumped up and off the train at Fullerton, so I didn’t allow him the chance to wipe his greasy fry hand on me. Ick. Needless to say, while that’s hopefully the last I’ll ever see of Fry Guy, I’m sure Chicken Man or Burrito Boy will be replacing him on another train commute in the near future.

Shut it in Public!

As a person working in the mobile phone industry, you think I would be tolerant to people using their mobile phones in public situations.

Think again.

As I rode the 147 bus to work yesterday morning, this middle aged woman kept pacing the bus while on her phone. Her hair was a tangle of bad blond color jobs thrown into a bun, spilling everywhere. Thick, Euro style glasses framed her not-going-gently-into-the-goodnight face. And she seemed intent on letting everyone on the bus hear all about her business:”…Yeah, I know… we can discuss over lunch… That sounds great, I love that place… oh shit, I’m almost to the office, but wait until I tell you…”, on and on, blah blah blah, and you pretty much get the gist from there. What made it worse was that she danced about, couldn’t decide whether to exit the front or the back of the bus, and if you got up to exit, she immediately ran the opposite direction as if she feared someone might, I don’t know, touch her.

It borders between amusement and annoyance for me, these people on the CTA. Annoying, when trapped on the Red Line with the Senn High School Teenager and her three girlfriends, who incidentally reeked of BO and were not wearing any underwear (and before you ask, you could not help BUT notice), as they are jawing away at top volume about wanting “to kick tha’ bitches ass, ya knaw?”. On the other hand, priceless when you overhear (and I swear this is true) “Yeah, I just got paroled… no, no computers , at least for 5 years… I don’t know, I may need to move, too… I need a fix, can you hook me up?”.

I do have to say while the bus babblers are bad, the talk-as-you-shop-girls are worse. Nothing pissed me off more when I worked at the Gap, you were trying to finish ringing up a customer, and North Shore Nancy was jawing on the phone with her Soccer Mom gal pal, ignoring everything around her. God forbid if something rang up incorrectly; Nancy would give you the glare, then the eye roll, and then snap into her Motorola, “Sheila, I gotta call you back, these Gap idiots don’t know what they’re doing,” and in a huff flip the phone close and start in on the rant. Nails on the chalk board. But North Shore Nancys are a whole ‘nother rant… trust me.

Granted, I’ve talked on my phone too when in public, and sometimes, I’ve actually have exclaimed interesting tidbits of randomness out just for pure shock value. It can be fun, watching the horrified expressions of those evil eavesdroppers who have nothing better to do than to stick their nose into your business. But I have never intentionally had an intimate or personal conversation with someone while in public, spilling all of my deep and dark secrets to the unwitting listeners around me at the top of my lungs. My friend Erin noted over lunch today that sometimes the loud ones can’t help be but overheard, so eavesdropping in these cases are legal and justified. No arguement there. But if you have to engage in a call, and you are trying to keep it on the DL yet some nosy bitch has nothing better to do than her soduko and cock one ear to the side for juicy gossip, then by all means call her out and give her some BS so to make an ass of herself with.

It’s easy to keep your conversations private, whether you are on the bus or in a store. Just say, ‘I’ll call you back’. Or don’t answer unless it’s work or an emergency. Or text it for goodness sake. If you still want to shout, TYPE IN CAPITAL LETTERS.

But please, when I have my music headset on and I still know what you did last night at Krem, it’s time for you to shut it. Or I will be standing up and doing it for you. Seriously.

Chicago Doomsday 3 averted

Well the threats of a mass transit shut down here in Chicago will finally stop… for now.

The Ill-annoyed Senate and House voted Thursday, after months of flailing and haggling, to pass a $530 million bail out bill to help fund Chicago’s poorly managed mass transit system. Basically, Chicago sales tax will increase again, now to 9.25% (fuck, at this point might as well take it to 10% to keep it even), real estate transfer will increase as well, and there will no longer be threats of canceling 81 bus routes and no fare increase to $3.25. All things considered, I’m just glad it’s resolved.
But the hysteria that was leading up to Doomsday- which was going to be Sunday the 20th, mind you- was ridiculous and unnecessarily fueled by politicians and the CTA itself.

First of all, the CTA is poorly run, although they got rid of that idiot Frank Kruesi who was running it into the ground. But the system needs modified and maintained better than it is now. Schedules are never kept by buses, some bus routes are repetitive. For example, I have walked 2 miles trying to get from point A to point B before a bus shows up, and then there are three more right behind the first one. It’s senseless. They waste more money by having people sit in booths at the train stations all day long, and they do… nothing. Not even clean the damn stink holes that they are, or get up to assist a traveler in need.

Then, the whole legislative mess that kept this Doomsday scenarios looming was stupid too… and in election year? Smart move idiots. For months, they have been sitting on this issue, and piddling around trying to decide what to do. Here’s a thought… cut your fat paychecks in half and give that to the transit system. It would be a start. It didn’t help that our Governor, Rod Blagojevich, kept saying no deal to their moves. And when they finally had a solution, he ups and makes an amendatory veto… he’ll approve or the bail out, but only if seniors 65 and over get to ride for free. And he came up with this, oh, last week, 10 days before the fees would go up and the buses and jobs were cut. Great timing genius. And nice try to buy votes, but sorry, you’re as transparent as saran wrap.

Needless to say, 11th hour and the damn thing passes, so no bus routes are going away, no jobs will be lost, and whoopee seniors get to ride for free. And wait, aren’t we trying to make up lost funds, and you take away more money by doing that? Yeah doesn’t make sense to me either. Don’t get me wrong, okay so old people ride for free, yeah no big deal. Even though they can probably afford it more than me and some of my friends. But some people are crying, what about handicap passengers? Hell, three seniors get bumped from their seats for a wheelchair rider, and all buses are handicap accessible, let’s not give the farm away. People, where does it stop? How about people with bicycles, or expectant mothers? Or students? Jeez, how about everyone who rides the bus to work get on for free? Stupid, stupid, no common sense.

Which brings me to the whole idea of cutting the bus routes down, from 150 or so to 76 routes. I mean, they were going to eliminate every single express bus route to downtown, so all of us would have then had to cram on to the already slow and over crowded trains. Hell, all of the buses that take Rick to work were about to be eliminated too. Seriously, he would have had to take a cab every day to work. There would have been riots if this had all gone down. And with as cold as it is this weekend, if that had happened? I think Blago’s house would have been torched by the mob. Or even worse, someone could have frozen to death waiting for a bus that never came.

One of my coworkers insisted it was a publicity stunt, that there was no way Doomsday was ever going to happen. Maybe he was right, but it sure got too close for my comfort.