My daily commute is over. Sadly. There were not tears however. I much prefer a two minute commute over a two hour commute. There aren't as many people to watch though.
I would like to share with you the story of the elderly, angry couple.
A few weeks ago (time flies) an elderly couple boarded the train. The wife immediately began shouting at her husband. "Just sit down! Just sit there!" So obediently, like a puppy, he did. Then when the spot next to her opened up, again she barked "Are you going to stay there or sit here??" The two proceeded to interact as such, while the man called the manufacturer for his electric razor because the cord was broken. They then got into a yelling match about why they hate Best Buy, and why it was necessary for him to call the manufacturer instead of buying another razor.
Life is too short my friends, life is too short.
I was so embarrassed for them, and as I listened, could not help but giggle a little. Childish as they were, they did not seem to notice that others were staring. Then I was laughing ridiculously hard, and everyone on the train stared at me instead of them.
They should thank me. I drew the attention away from their marital problems.
Tom Selleck the conductor was back. Apparently he was on his honeymoon, as he returned wearing a wedding ring. This did nothing to curb his wink and smile habit though, as he resumed normal flirtatious patterns as soon as he saw me and two of the other regular riders.
Sooooo creepy.
As I wrap up my summer of commuting, I hope to never forget the crazy and interesting things I have seen. There was a comfort and familiarity in riding the train. I sat in the same car and began to form a wordless friendship with those whom I saw daily.
Except the conductor. That was not a wordless friendship. That was one thousand words for "Creepy."
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
"I'm a MONSTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
A four year old got on the train this morning and ran up and down the aisle yelling "I'm a monster." It was amazing. Then his brother, who had just rubbed his hands with hand sanitizer followed up and down the aisle, asking strangers to smell his hands.
They were lemon-y fresh.
A four year old got on the train this morning and ran up and down the aisle yelling "I'm a monster." It was amazing. Then his brother, who had just rubbed his hands with hand sanitizer followed up and down the aisle, asking strangers to smell his hands.
They were lemon-y fresh.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Drive-by parenting
"You should be careful. You can feel your knee on the seat in front of you," said the man with the SUPER bad hair piece.
I had just been scolded by a stranger. (cringe).
Really? Really? I apologized. He got off the train at that very stop.
Now, I understand that it is a tight train right, and I also understand that I have very long legs. I noted that my legs were not, in fact, even touching the seat in front of me.
Ladies and gentleman, if someone is bothering you during your ride, say something at the time of the event. Do not wait until there is no possible consequence to your criticism, yell at someone and quickly exit the train.
I don't need someone to parent me on the train. Really.
And don't ever wear a hair piece.
The conductor with the 'stache is back. Only now it's a goatee. Niiiiiiiice. Doesn't take the edge of the creepiness at all.
There's a man that gets on the train at the same station I do every day. He has to be at least 6'5" tall, almost as wide as he is tall. He ALWAYS has some weird banter in the morning, whether it involves how close he is to the the exact spot where the train door opens or some rude or obnoxious comment toward some fellow commuters. Today I even saw him smack another commuter in the belly, obviously intended as a friendly gesture...if you were twelve...but no one on that train was twelve this morning.
Please sir, I beg of you, keep your comments, gestures, and overall extreme friendliness a little lower key, for everyone's sake.
Thankyouverymuch.
Did I mention he enters the train from the left side of the stairs every morning, only to cross in front of everyone and turn right from the far left staircase. Every morning. Maybe he would catch on by now, noting that he had trouble getting to his seat due to high traffic flow (caused by him) but no, he remains oblivious to the amount of cutting others off he does. Let's be courteous. Take the right hand side of the stairs if you intend to enter the car to your right. It just makes sense.
I had just been scolded by a stranger. (cringe).
Really? Really? I apologized. He got off the train at that very stop.
Now, I understand that it is a tight train right, and I also understand that I have very long legs. I noted that my legs were not, in fact, even touching the seat in front of me.
Ladies and gentleman, if someone is bothering you during your ride, say something at the time of the event. Do not wait until there is no possible consequence to your criticism, yell at someone and quickly exit the train.
I don't need someone to parent me on the train. Really.
And don't ever wear a hair piece.
The conductor with the 'stache is back. Only now it's a goatee. Niiiiiiiice. Doesn't take the edge of the creepiness at all.
There's a man that gets on the train at the same station I do every day. He has to be at least 6'5" tall, almost as wide as he is tall. He ALWAYS has some weird banter in the morning, whether it involves how close he is to the the exact spot where the train door opens or some rude or obnoxious comment toward some fellow commuters. Today I even saw him smack another commuter in the belly, obviously intended as a friendly gesture...if you were twelve...but no one on that train was twelve this morning.
Please sir, I beg of you, keep your comments, gestures, and overall extreme friendliness a little lower key, for everyone's sake.
Thankyouverymuch.
Did I mention he enters the train from the left side of the stairs every morning, only to cross in front of everyone and turn right from the far left staircase. Every morning. Maybe he would catch on by now, noting that he had trouble getting to his seat due to high traffic flow (caused by him) but no, he remains oblivious to the amount of cutting others off he does. Let's be courteous. Take the right hand side of the stairs if you intend to enter the car to your right. It just makes sense.
Friday, July 11, 2008
I am not a wide person.
I can still sit comfortably between my two grown siblings in the back of the car (I call the middle! With my feet on the hump!). Some people need to buy two seats on a plane, or take up the entire bench on the train. I do not. I'm quite average. A little tall, but not a little wide.
That said, picture the following:
I'm sitting near the window on the right side of a bench seat of the train (these benches can comfortably seat two without infringing on elbow room even.) Halfway through the ride, the train fills up thus making it necessary to move my bag off the seat next to me to make it available for another passenger. I sit with my bag in my lap and continue to mind my own business and look out the window. A gentleman sits down next to me. Every time I shift my weight or unzip my bag, he stares at me almost in horror. He then proceeds to sit as far to the left as he can, pulling himself even farther over by holding onto the seat in front of us. I don't know if I give off this "Don't come near me or I'll freeze you with my icy stare" vibe, but I feel I seem quite harmless. He was very determined not to take up anymore than a quarter of the seat, and to watch me in shock and horror any time I unzipped or zipped my bag. Then I took my sweater off just before exiting the train. I think that scared him even more.
This morning started with me being invisible, though, but that must have worn off before the end of the train ride (weird standoffish anti seat sharing man proved that). I got out of the car to board the train, and, seeing as how it was a torrential downpour that had lasted almost 12 hours, everyone had an umbrella.
I walked toward the train stairs, and someone closes their umbrella and shakes it off AT me. Thanks. So glad I was there to catch your EXTRA rain. Way to go recycling! As if it weren't wet enough, now rain is coming at me from someone ELSE'S rain gear. That's a great way to start.
The same man, I noticed, has what I've decided to label as "Bayonet Umbrella Syndrome" (BUS). Walking out of the train station downtown, the same umbrella shaker man was walking in front of me. I'm pretty sure if I didn't have good reflexes and survival skills to survive the jungle of wild commuters in their habitat I would have lost a limb.
Okay, maybe not a limb, but at least have had a bruise shaped like the end of the umbrella.
BUS occurs when one walks with their umbrella as a weapon. It is angled anywhere from 45 degrees to the ground to being completely parallel. In the natural arm swing that accompanies the momentum from walking, the umbrella begins to swing dangerously fast in a Norman Bates knife like action. Avoid commuters with BUS. If we lived in Arizona, this problem would not have developed, but alas, this is Chicago after all. We get bad storms. T-storms.
The phrase "T-storm" bothers me. Just say "Thunderstorm." It doesn't take that much more effort.
There was a lady sitting in one of the awkward seats at the front of the train. You know, the ones that always have to face the opposite direction because they're attached to the wall? Well, when you sit there, you KNOW that towards the end of the ride someone will sit directly across from you sharing your legroom. You have no right to be annoyed, as you have set yourself up for this.
Well, this lady was annoyed. Two or three times I caught her rolling her eyes at the lady who sat across from her. Her glare grew increasingly stern and hateful. I found myself judging her for judging the lady in front of her. Then she bumped her head when she stood up. A small, vindictive part of me felt she deserved it.
The man next to me continued to scoot almost completely off the seat. I didn't realize I was so intimidating. I'm a hygienic person, but he definitely wasn't. So, maybe in the end it was a blessing.
I've joined the ranks of the creatures of habit. I sat in a different train car yesterday and felt SO out of place, as I no longer recognized anyone in the train car, or their habits. The familiarity of the commute was gone, so much so that I had to fight the impulse to run back into the other train car. I made it through, but today returned to my normal spot. Sigh. I'm sorry to say, but I've grown attached to that train car.
Even when people don't want to sit by me.
I can still sit comfortably between my two grown siblings in the back of the car (I call the middle! With my feet on the hump!). Some people need to buy two seats on a plane, or take up the entire bench on the train. I do not. I'm quite average. A little tall, but not a little wide.
That said, picture the following:
I'm sitting near the window on the right side of a bench seat of the train (these benches can comfortably seat two without infringing on elbow room even.) Halfway through the ride, the train fills up thus making it necessary to move my bag off the seat next to me to make it available for another passenger. I sit with my bag in my lap and continue to mind my own business and look out the window. A gentleman sits down next to me. Every time I shift my weight or unzip my bag, he stares at me almost in horror. He then proceeds to sit as far to the left as he can, pulling himself even farther over by holding onto the seat in front of us. I don't know if I give off this "Don't come near me or I'll freeze you with my icy stare" vibe, but I feel I seem quite harmless. He was very determined not to take up anymore than a quarter of the seat, and to watch me in shock and horror any time I unzipped or zipped my bag. Then I took my sweater off just before exiting the train. I think that scared him even more.
This morning started with me being invisible, though, but that must have worn off before the end of the train ride (weird standoffish anti seat sharing man proved that). I got out of the car to board the train, and, seeing as how it was a torrential downpour that had lasted almost 12 hours, everyone had an umbrella.
I walked toward the train stairs, and someone closes their umbrella and shakes it off AT me. Thanks. So glad I was there to catch your EXTRA rain. Way to go recycling! As if it weren't wet enough, now rain is coming at me from someone ELSE'S rain gear. That's a great way to start.
The same man, I noticed, has what I've decided to label as "Bayonet Umbrella Syndrome" (BUS). Walking out of the train station downtown, the same umbrella shaker man was walking in front of me. I'm pretty sure if I didn't have good reflexes and survival skills to survive the jungle of wild commuters in their habitat I would have lost a limb.
Okay, maybe not a limb, but at least have had a bruise shaped like the end of the umbrella.
BUS occurs when one walks with their umbrella as a weapon. It is angled anywhere from 45 degrees to the ground to being completely parallel. In the natural arm swing that accompanies the momentum from walking, the umbrella begins to swing dangerously fast in a Norman Bates knife like action. Avoid commuters with BUS. If we lived in Arizona, this problem would not have developed, but alas, this is Chicago after all. We get bad storms. T-storms.
The phrase "T-storm" bothers me. Just say "Thunderstorm." It doesn't take that much more effort.
There was a lady sitting in one of the awkward seats at the front of the train. You know, the ones that always have to face the opposite direction because they're attached to the wall? Well, when you sit there, you KNOW that towards the end of the ride someone will sit directly across from you sharing your legroom. You have no right to be annoyed, as you have set yourself up for this.
Well, this lady was annoyed. Two or three times I caught her rolling her eyes at the lady who sat across from her. Her glare grew increasingly stern and hateful. I found myself judging her for judging the lady in front of her. Then she bumped her head when she stood up. A small, vindictive part of me felt she deserved it.
The man next to me continued to scoot almost completely off the seat. I didn't realize I was so intimidating. I'm a hygienic person, but he definitely wasn't. So, maybe in the end it was a blessing.
I've joined the ranks of the creatures of habit. I sat in a different train car yesterday and felt SO out of place, as I no longer recognized anyone in the train car, or their habits. The familiarity of the commute was gone, so much so that I had to fight the impulse to run back into the other train car. I made it through, but today returned to my normal spot. Sigh. I'm sorry to say, but I've grown attached to that train car.
Even when people don't want to sit by me.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
"I'm actually very gregarious by nature," he said just as we pulled into the station. "New York City is where I was raised, and it's a lot colder than Chicago in terms of strangers walking near each other."
Gregarious. At 7:30 in the morning. Kudos to the SAT word.
The train was late this morning. The conductor kept saying, nay, pleading with the passengers, "Please come sit in the back of the train. I have 300 seats open. 300 empty seats!" The person next to me turned to me and said, "Do you think he's lonely? Someone should go give him a hug."
Side note: If you are more than 200 lbs, please do not dress like Matthew McConaughey. White linen collared shirts halfway unbuttoned with a pair of tan linen shorts is not okay at 7 in the morning, especially if you have more hair on your chest than on your head. Really. Please take note for everyone's best interest.
Again, it rings over the intercom, "I've got some good news for those of you who want a seat. There are three hundred empty seats in the back."
The man next to me had cuff links on. With coffee cups engraved on them. He was my new hero for the morning.
I've talked a lot about Commuterology being it's own cultural study. Commuters have their own food and beverage staples, their own migratory patterns, their own habitual customs and unspoken rules. They also have their own values, specific to the commuter culture. The key one being impatience. Impatience is the virtue amongst commuters. If you can't fix it, complain about it a little bit more, because that's going to cause the Union Pacific Rail Road management to hear your outcry of horror at being 7 minutes late to the station and completely reroute the train to meet your need.
A large majority of people on that train take it every morning. In the past month and a half, it has only been slightly late twice. By slightly I mean three minutes late to the station. That's consistency people, and we should just sit back. Our complaints on board do nothing more than annoy the conductors.
Impatience is the unifying virtue among commuters.
And yes, please, ma'am in the back of the car, I would LOVE to hear about how horrible your job is. In fact, please talk about it SO loud that everyone is captivated by anecdotes of your horrible boss, terrible management and unbearable coworkers. We'll be so enthralled that we'll board the same car tomorrow morning to hear the next installment. (Okay, so that was a little more scathing than I meant it to be, but you'll forgive me someday when you feel the same way. )
Friends, let's remember, the front seats on the bottom deck of the train are always the most awkward. You have no choice but to face someone else and usually feel ridiculous because there's no leg room that isn't intruding upon someone else's.
Gregarious. At 7:30 in the morning. Kudos to the SAT word.
The train was late this morning. The conductor kept saying, nay, pleading with the passengers, "Please come sit in the back of the train. I have 300 seats open. 300 empty seats!" The person next to me turned to me and said, "Do you think he's lonely? Someone should go give him a hug."
Side note: If you are more than 200 lbs, please do not dress like Matthew McConaughey. White linen collared shirts halfway unbuttoned with a pair of tan linen shorts is not okay at 7 in the morning, especially if you have more hair on your chest than on your head. Really. Please take note for everyone's best interest.
Again, it rings over the intercom, "I've got some good news for those of you who want a seat. There are three hundred empty seats in the back."
The man next to me had cuff links on. With coffee cups engraved on them. He was my new hero for the morning.
I've talked a lot about Commuterology being it's own cultural study. Commuters have their own food and beverage staples, their own migratory patterns, their own habitual customs and unspoken rules. They also have their own values, specific to the commuter culture. The key one being impatience. Impatience is the virtue amongst commuters. If you can't fix it, complain about it a little bit more, because that's going to cause the Union Pacific Rail Road management to hear your outcry of horror at being 7 minutes late to the station and completely reroute the train to meet your need.
A large majority of people on that train take it every morning. In the past month and a half, it has only been slightly late twice. By slightly I mean three minutes late to the station. That's consistency people, and we should just sit back. Our complaints on board do nothing more than annoy the conductors.
Impatience is the unifying virtue among commuters.
And yes, please, ma'am in the back of the car, I would LOVE to hear about how horrible your job is. In fact, please talk about it SO loud that everyone is captivated by anecdotes of your horrible boss, terrible management and unbearable coworkers. We'll be so enthralled that we'll board the same car tomorrow morning to hear the next installment. (Okay, so that was a little more scathing than I meant it to be, but you'll forgive me someday when you feel the same way. )
Friends, let's remember, the front seats on the bottom deck of the train are always the most awkward. You have no choice but to face someone else and usually feel ridiculous because there's no leg room that isn't intruding upon someone else's.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Good Morning...
Well, Stache man said "Good morning" to me today. I can't decide if it brings his stalker vibe down or up a notch. I'll have to give it some time.
The man who sat next to me also said "Good morning." He was the first very polite person I've found on the train. He let me go before him. This was a polite morning. Someone else held the door for me out of the station--that hardly ever happens, and the person who held the door was my age, which is even rarer. My generation seems to have lost the idea of general manners. But today was the rare occasion I ran into someone whose mother taught them well.
The man that sits outside of the Starbucks I pass every day said "Good morning" to me. He says good morning to me every morning. He's nice.
Then a couple of random weirdies said "Good morning" as I walked past them on the last block before work.
I did not say "Good morning" back. I wasn't "good morning-ed" out, it's just that the greeting was completely unwarranted.
Say "Good Morning" to someone on your commute. It might make their day, or at least give them something to blog about.
The man who sat next to me also said "Good morning." He was the first very polite person I've found on the train. He let me go before him. This was a polite morning. Someone else held the door for me out of the station--that hardly ever happens, and the person who held the door was my age, which is even rarer. My generation seems to have lost the idea of general manners. But today was the rare occasion I ran into someone whose mother taught them well.
The man that sits outside of the Starbucks I pass every day said "Good morning" to me. He says good morning to me every morning. He's nice.
Then a couple of random weirdies said "Good morning" as I walked past them on the last block before work.
I did not say "Good morning" back. I wasn't "good morning-ed" out, it's just that the greeting was completely unwarranted.
Say "Good Morning" to someone on your commute. It might make their day, or at least give them something to blog about.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Monday. It’s Monday again. Another morning avoiding the gaze of Tom Selleck’s mustache (it has a personality of it’s own, I’m sure.) Now, I’m prone to exaggeration (NO! Really?) but my brother caught the same train as I did this morning, and he even agreed, Stache man stares. Weird. I’m not exaggerating this one.
First, smoking at 6am seems to not bother the stomachs of really anyone. Which surprises me. I know that you develop a tolerance to it and a dependence on it, but for some reason, it still always shocks me when I see cigarettes so early. I’m sure some feel the same way about my habitual coffee cup.
The train smelled like shaving cream. I figured out why when a gentleman stepped off the train and had a little shaving cream still on his face. It was kind of adorable.
Huh? I was so confused. No where in any corner of my mind did that conversation make any sense to me. She felt bad for sitting next to a stranger—but we all sit next to strangers.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
This one is pretty short.
The last few days, I've noticed a particular pattern in my train exit.
I get up a minute or two before my stop and head to the exit doors. There I stand in the vestibule waiting for my stop to come and swirling around me are a bunch of cotton wood buds.
The funniest part? Grown men try to catch the cotton wood floating in the air like they would if they were five and chasing fireflies.
Yep. There's a cotton wood tree of entertainment on my train. A cotton wood tree of entertainment for all.
The last few days, I've noticed a particular pattern in my train exit.
I get up a minute or two before my stop and head to the exit doors. There I stand in the vestibule waiting for my stop to come and swirling around me are a bunch of cotton wood buds.
The funniest part? Grown men try to catch the cotton wood floating in the air like they would if they were five and chasing fireflies.
Yep. There's a cotton wood tree of entertainment on my train. A cotton wood tree of entertainment for all.
Friday, June 20, 2008
I ordered coffee with cream, no sugar. What I wound up drinking on the train was coffee with sugar, no cream. Oh well. Such is life.
The man who sat next to me today has been reading the same book for a while (he often sits next to me.) I have to give him a lot of credit because, well, that book has to be about 600 pages long and he's just trucking through it. I don't have the patience for things that take that much time. I can't commit to something that is 600 pages. I draw the line at 3 or 400. Sad but true.
Stache man was MIA today. I'm okay with that. I didn't have to be on guard for sly winking. (Really, subtle much?)
There was this ADORABLE elderly couple in front of me reading the newspaper and drinking their coffee. I watched them, and they communicated like they had spent their whole lives communicating with one another. Then the gentleman kindly answered all the lady's questions about the railroad as we pulled into the station. They pointed out architecture that was interesting and looked at maps and schedules like little kids in candy shops. It was so refreshing to see someone who was a visitor, not a commuter.
Now, I'll save my rant about public restrooms for another day but let me just say...if you absolutely MUST find a restroom for whatever reason (some people drink lots of coffee) might I suggest finding the one "less traveled by?" You'll thank me someday. Moving on.
I've come to believe that if a train station and the crosswalk are the commuter's natural habitat, Starbucks must be the main staple in the diet. Starbucks or anything caffeinated. Before I remembered that I can actually grab coffee BEFORE my train (causing a ten minute addition to my morning routine, but we sacrifice for the things we love) I found myself loathing any businessman who marched on the train with coffee in hand. "Youuuuu jjjjjjjeeeeeeeerk. You didn't bring me any?" (I wonder if I could convince Stache man to have an extra coffee for me on board? This could maybe work to my benefit. I mean, it goes against my moral standards...but hey. Free coffee is free coffee.)
My train passes a Starbucks every day. I want it to have a longer pause at the station so I can run across the street and get my iced Americano and get back on, but I don't think that would fly.
The commuter's coffee habit is fascinating to me. I see them board the train (95% have coffee or some coffee like beverage) and they look half dead. I see them exit the train, sans coffee cup looking alert and chipper. Just add coffee. And I have to wonder, which ones like it because they love coffee and have found a way of preparing it that they look forward to every morning like a child looks forward to their security blanket, and which ones drink it simply because they go through withdrawal without the caffeine.
Caffeine withdrawal is serious my friends. I've read up on it. It can cause headaches that can last for days and even depression and sluggishness. Don't give up your coffee. America needs you to function. And I need you to write about.
On second thought, I wonder what the commute would be like if everyone gave up their coffee. For that initial week to week and a half it would take for the caffeine dependency to work it's way out of our systems, it would be a mad zoo. At least now the lemmings have a sense of order, but without the staple of their breakfast routine (besides banana and juice man, who, by the way, must be getting up earlier or trying to skip breakfast because he's been one juice box and one piece of fruit short every morning...) they might become slightly disoriented.
I counted some things this morning.
1. Volleyball near the tracks
2. Ladies knitting in the same seat. Not Fruit Stand Lady. But two ladies I see every morning. One eats a dish of yogurt that I always mistake for cream cheese. I think every morning, "Ew. Who can stomach cream cheese with a spoon like that? Oh. It's yogurt."
3. Abandoned, homeless tennis balls by the tracks.
4. Starbucks and one Caribou Coffee on my two mile walk to work. Four within two miles.
True signs of where our priorities lie. They're always packed.
The man who sat next to me today has been reading the same book for a while (he often sits next to me.) I have to give him a lot of credit because, well, that book has to be about 600 pages long and he's just trucking through it. I don't have the patience for things that take that much time. I can't commit to something that is 600 pages. I draw the line at 3 or 400. Sad but true.
Stache man was MIA today. I'm okay with that. I didn't have to be on guard for sly winking. (Really, subtle much?)
There was this ADORABLE elderly couple in front of me reading the newspaper and drinking their coffee. I watched them, and they communicated like they had spent their whole lives communicating with one another. Then the gentleman kindly answered all the lady's questions about the railroad as we pulled into the station. They pointed out architecture that was interesting and looked at maps and schedules like little kids in candy shops. It was so refreshing to see someone who was a visitor, not a commuter.
Now, I'll save my rant about public restrooms for another day but let me just say...if you absolutely MUST find a restroom for whatever reason (some people drink lots of coffee) might I suggest finding the one "less traveled by?" You'll thank me someday. Moving on.
I've come to believe that if a train station and the crosswalk are the commuter's natural habitat, Starbucks must be the main staple in the diet. Starbucks or anything caffeinated. Before I remembered that I can actually grab coffee BEFORE my train (causing a ten minute addition to my morning routine, but we sacrifice for the things we love) I found myself loathing any businessman who marched on the train with coffee in hand. "Youuuuu jjjjjjjeeeeeeeerk. You didn't bring me any?" (I wonder if I could convince Stache man to have an extra coffee for me on board? This could maybe work to my benefit. I mean, it goes against my moral standards...but hey. Free coffee is free coffee.)
My train passes a Starbucks every day. I want it to have a longer pause at the station so I can run across the street and get my iced Americano and get back on, but I don't think that would fly.
The commuter's coffee habit is fascinating to me. I see them board the train (95% have coffee or some coffee like beverage) and they look half dead. I see them exit the train, sans coffee cup looking alert and chipper. Just add coffee. And I have to wonder, which ones like it because they love coffee and have found a way of preparing it that they look forward to every morning like a child looks forward to their security blanket, and which ones drink it simply because they go through withdrawal without the caffeine.
Caffeine withdrawal is serious my friends. I've read up on it. It can cause headaches that can last for days and even depression and sluggishness. Don't give up your coffee. America needs you to function. And I need you to write about.
On second thought, I wonder what the commute would be like if everyone gave up their coffee. For that initial week to week and a half it would take for the caffeine dependency to work it's way out of our systems, it would be a mad zoo. At least now the lemmings have a sense of order, but without the staple of their breakfast routine (besides banana and juice man, who, by the way, must be getting up earlier or trying to skip breakfast because he's been one juice box and one piece of fruit short every morning...) they might become slightly disoriented.
I counted some things this morning.
1. Volleyball near the tracks
2. Ladies knitting in the same seat. Not Fruit Stand Lady. But two ladies I see every morning. One eats a dish of yogurt that I always mistake for cream cheese. I think every morning, "Ew. Who can stomach cream cheese with a spoon like that? Oh. It's yogurt."
3. Abandoned, homeless tennis balls by the tracks.
4. Starbucks and one Caribou Coffee on my two mile walk to work. Four within two miles.
True signs of where our priorities lie. They're always packed.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Two days ago, my brother joined me on my commute home. Now, the train ride home is quite different than the one TO work, mainly because it's the exact opposite (of course!) It starts out like lemmings and sardines, and ends like a...well...I don't have an illustration. It's empty. I'm the third to last stop. You can imagine.
Anyway. I invite you to listen in on a conversation my brother and I had, involving the character I am introducing, affectionately known as "Fruit Stand Lady."
As the brother and I were waiting for the train to pull into our station. As we were talking about something (I'm not entirely sure what, as it is unimportant) I saw a lady I see every day making a beeline (who even knows why we say "beeline?") for the waiting area by the doors on the train. I look at my brother and say quietly, "Dude, this lady is a CRAZY," and he brushes it off.
All of a sudden, after her entrance to the area we are in, my brother is mid sentence, we hear Fruit Stand Lady very loudly saying, "Um. NO. There's a FRUIT stand right there. No houses. A fruit stand." (She was interjecting into a conversation that was not her own.) She goes on to discuss recent flooding in the area (it's been horrible and devastating for some) proclaiming "anyone who builds their house on a floodplain deserves to be flooded out."
Mmmkay. Except most of the area North and West of Chicago is a floodplain, all the way to Iowa and up through Wisconsin, especially this time of year, especially with the extra snow from last winter.
It took everything in me not to say "You're a flooded Fruit Stand, Lady, and you deserve every inch of it!" But I refrained, as it doesn't make any sense, and people don't seem to react well to unintelligible insults.
The next day she told another complete stranger, "I've made baby blankets, sweaters, and afghans on the train! I mean, where else do you get an hour and a half of uninterrupted crochet time?" I then vowed never to look at yarn ever again.
It's interesting, the Commuterology of it all. I've drawn a parallel to lemmings as being a theme (side note--I heard elephants on the other end of the line of a call just now. hmm. Zoo anyone?). Anyway. Lemmings seem to be the theme. I find myself guilty of being one. Lemmings, contrary to myth, do not commit mass suicide as we usually assume, but they do migrate in very large groups, stay with their groups, even to the point of exhaustion or death (man I love wikipedia.) Commuters are the lemmings of the city. We travel in large masses, and stay in those large masses. Ever think, "I can cross on the yellow light as long as I'm not the last one!"? Yep. That's what I thought. That my friend, means you are a commuter lemming. We cross the street in the same pattern, dodging cars, walking as quickly as our sneaker clad, well dressed selves can go, hoping the Chicago heat doesn't melt us before we get to the station. Lemmings. We follow. We follow the path of least resistance (least amount of taxis cutting of pedestrians) or the "walk" and "don't walk" signs.
I wonder if banana/juice man is a lemming. I'll have to watch for that.
Commuter patterns are so fascinating. Here are some unspoken rules which I have observed. When you commute, you learn them quickly.
1. Unless all available solo seating is taken, do not sit next to someone you do not know. Seriously people. Don't do it unless there are NO options.
2. First come first serve to the exit. People line up a stop in advance to get off at the end of the line. They're not polite or courteous either. The men aren't even gentlemen. It's every man (woman) for themselves.
3. There's always more than one exit. It's true. I shaved five minutes off my commute by finding another exit.
4. All exits are bottlenecked, and make you feel like a herd of cattle.
5. No shoes on the seats. (The conductors are serious about this one.)
6. No skirts on the upper deck. (For your own sake ladies.)
7. Don't eat smelly food, or drink too much beer.
8. No one wants to hear your life story. Well. At least I don't.
9. If you stole Tom Selleck's mustache, he would probably like it back.
10. If you walk slower than someone who is, say, 5'9" with ridiculously long legs (ahem...self description...) keep to the right. Do not meander. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars. (if you do, tell me where you found it?)
And I almost forgot to add this:
On my ride in this morning, the 'Stache man decided to not only stare, but wink at me. First of all, I get on the train to find ANOTHER classmate from high school. And came to the unfortunate realization that I was wearing a t-shirt I've had since high school (one of those Anti-drug, anti-underage drinking clubs that was part of). No dodging that one, other than getting into a separate car, where 'Stache man conductor was chilling out. He winked at me. Everything in me wanted to say "Do you find that subtle? Hmmmmmmmmm?" in a really condescending way, but I remembered my coffee in hand and decided to stick with sipping that instead.
Then he sat down across from me and tried to talk to me.
I'm sorry, but we don't talk to strangers at 6:03 in the morning.
He even talks to me when I'm all uggo-no makeup and mismatched in my "commuter clothes."
So strange.
If only you could see it.
Anyway. I invite you to listen in on a conversation my brother and I had, involving the character I am introducing, affectionately known as "Fruit Stand Lady."
As the brother and I were waiting for the train to pull into our station. As we were talking about something (I'm not entirely sure what, as it is unimportant) I saw a lady I see every day making a beeline (who even knows why we say "beeline?") for the waiting area by the doors on the train. I look at my brother and say quietly, "Dude, this lady is a CRAZY," and he brushes it off.
All of a sudden, after her entrance to the area we are in, my brother is mid sentence, we hear Fruit Stand Lady very loudly saying, "Um. NO. There's a FRUIT stand right there. No houses. A fruit stand." (She was interjecting into a conversation that was not her own.) She goes on to discuss recent flooding in the area (it's been horrible and devastating for some) proclaiming "anyone who builds their house on a floodplain deserves to be flooded out."
Mmmkay. Except most of the area North and West of Chicago is a floodplain, all the way to Iowa and up through Wisconsin, especially this time of year, especially with the extra snow from last winter.
It took everything in me not to say "You're a flooded Fruit Stand, Lady, and you deserve every inch of it!" But I refrained, as it doesn't make any sense, and people don't seem to react well to unintelligible insults.
The next day she told another complete stranger, "I've made baby blankets, sweaters, and afghans on the train! I mean, where else do you get an hour and a half of uninterrupted crochet time?" I then vowed never to look at yarn ever again.
It's interesting, the Commuterology of it all. I've drawn a parallel to lemmings as being a theme (side note--I heard elephants on the other end of the line of a call just now. hmm. Zoo anyone?). Anyway. Lemmings seem to be the theme. I find myself guilty of being one. Lemmings, contrary to myth, do not commit mass suicide as we usually assume, but they do migrate in very large groups, stay with their groups, even to the point of exhaustion or death (man I love wikipedia.) Commuters are the lemmings of the city. We travel in large masses, and stay in those large masses. Ever think, "I can cross on the yellow light as long as I'm not the last one!"? Yep. That's what I thought. That my friend, means you are a commuter lemming. We cross the street in the same pattern, dodging cars, walking as quickly as our sneaker clad, well dressed selves can go, hoping the Chicago heat doesn't melt us before we get to the station. Lemmings. We follow. We follow the path of least resistance (least amount of taxis cutting of pedestrians) or the "walk" and "don't walk" signs.
I wonder if banana/juice man is a lemming. I'll have to watch for that.
Commuter patterns are so fascinating. Here are some unspoken rules which I have observed. When you commute, you learn them quickly.
1. Unless all available solo seating is taken, do not sit next to someone you do not know. Seriously people. Don't do it unless there are NO options.
2. First come first serve to the exit. People line up a stop in advance to get off at the end of the line. They're not polite or courteous either. The men aren't even gentlemen. It's every man (woman) for themselves.
3. There's always more than one exit. It's true. I shaved five minutes off my commute by finding another exit.
4. All exits are bottlenecked, and make you feel like a herd of cattle.
5. No shoes on the seats. (The conductors are serious about this one.)
6. No skirts on the upper deck. (For your own sake ladies.)
7. Don't eat smelly food, or drink too much beer.
8. No one wants to hear your life story. Well. At least I don't.
9. If you stole Tom Selleck's mustache, he would probably like it back.
10. If you walk slower than someone who is, say, 5'9" with ridiculously long legs (ahem...self description...) keep to the right. Do not meander. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars. (if you do, tell me where you found it?)
And I almost forgot to add this:
On my ride in this morning, the 'Stache man decided to not only stare, but wink at me. First of all, I get on the train to find ANOTHER classmate from high school. And came to the unfortunate realization that I was wearing a t-shirt I've had since high school (one of those Anti-drug, anti-underage drinking clubs that was part of). No dodging that one, other than getting into a separate car, where 'Stache man conductor was chilling out. He winked at me. Everything in me wanted to say "Do you find that subtle? Hmmmmmmmmm?" in a really condescending way, but I remembered my coffee in hand and decided to stick with sipping that instead.
Then he sat down across from me and tried to talk to me.
I'm sorry, but we don't talk to strangers at 6:03 in the morning.
He even talks to me when I'm all uggo-no makeup and mismatched in my "commuter clothes."
So strange.
If only you could see it.
And so Commuterology Begins. Start reading Here.
I catch my train at precisely 6:03 AM, CST. It’s always on time to my stop. The stops after it may vary, but it’s always 6:03 on the dot when I catch the train.
Forgive me for my laziness, I think as I board the early train. I got up twenty minutes before I had to leave and barely made it out of the shower in time to finish getting ready for work. Half of my routine is done on the train, where I find ample time to apply my makeup and make myself somewhat presentable for my job in downtown
When I first began this commute I remember thinking, “This will be great. I can sleep for an hour and a half before I walk from the train station to work, so it won’t even be like I get up at 5:00 am every morning. I get that extra hour and a half!” WRONG. Not only is the train horribly cold (and I, a pansy who can’t stand to be freezing) but by three stops into my trip, we’re packed like sardines waiting to exit the train like lemmings. Pay attention, lemmings are a theme.
There are a few more reasons I don’t sleep on the train. Have you ever seen someone who is sleeping on public transportation? We’re all guilty of judging someone who unabashedly snores, drools, twitches, or mumbles in their sleep, oblivious to the world watching them. Ew. I don’t want to be that girl.
The most significant reason I don’t sleep on the train? Commuterology. Studying those around me. My fellow commuters, in their natural habitat. It seems only natural for me to write about it and share my observations with the world, not because of some profound breakthrough I hope to have regarding the behavior of
I have found one runs into the same characters (and trust me, they most certainly are characters) on a daily commute. My list of characters is based on personalities I observe. Don’t worry, I don’t use their real names because a) I don’t know them, b) it’s rude to announce this these stories to the world and identify who these people are, c) I intend to keep everyone anonymous, and d) nicknames are just a lot more fun and add to the story. I’ll keep a list and a brief character description, don’t worry. This is my journal. I do not intend to exploit or embarrass, only to observe and report. Take from it what you will.
It’s the first day of my commute. I’m not really sure what to think. As I board the train from the platform at exactly 6:03, I notice how many familiar faces I see already. Trying to place the memories from the faces I recognize I count them one by one. Five. There are five people I went to high school with on this train. Yay. It’s high school reunion Tuesday. At 6 in the morning.
I decided to sit on the top deck of the train. No one will bother me there. Unfortunately, my view of everyone is obstructed by the deck. The man across from me has a banana and juice…I wonder if he’ll have that every day? There’s a lady who is crocheting like a speed demon. Seriously. Aaaannnnd the conductor looks like he stole Tom Selleck’s mustache. (Shudder).
Wednesday.
Maybe today will be a bit better. I need to route a way on my walk to stop for starbucks. That would be FABULOUS. Man, everyone is really SLOW today. I can’t believe how many people just wander, wander, lolly gag, whatever you want to call it. Don’t they know how many people are in a hurry?
In line at Starbucks to order my iced tall Americano in a grande cup (extra room, you know) the same girl winds up in front of me every morning. Venti decaf Americano (seriously?) with a non-fat foam topper. What the heck is a non-fat foam topper? I don’t know. I give a
Tuesday.
Tom Selleck seems to stare at me a lot. It's so weird. I'm usually in a nasty high school tshirt, sneakers, and my dress pants for work. No makeup. So weird. Actually, now that I think of it, and a friend mentioned to me this was his mental picture of said train conductor, he really looks more like the guy from the Wedding Planner—you know, Adam Sandler’s best friend? It’s pretty humorous. I pop in my headphones—this morning it was Imogen Heap—and look out the window whenever he comes to check train passes. He stares, trying to get me to smile at him or acknowledge him. I supposed I’m pretty cold and rude, but honestly, the mustache creeps me out. He can’t be more than 30 years old. Did I mention his soul patch? That’s right. Creepster 80’s stache + soul patch = interesting Tuesday morning, that’s for sure. P.S. Banana and juice guy? He does, in fact, have a banana and juice every morning. Kind of interesting.
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