For some reason, the Gods Of Weird hit my train-car with the wacky-stick today.
It was my own fault; I usually get on the last car, but today I saw one of those chatty couples about to get on my car, and so I ducked into #3. Little did I know.
I sit in the back, in the forward-facing seat near the sideways seats, near the window. At Davis, three people sit near me. In the sideways seat directly in front of me, a little African-American lady in her 70's. Across the aisle from her, an African-American guy in his late 20's. Across the aisle from me, facing backwards, a mid-20's redheaded Lincoln-Park Trixie type with a PIERCING voice and a cell-phone in one hand. I've got Slipknot on my headphones--it was a Slipknot kind of day--and STILL I can hear Trixie yarpin' and barpin' away. Ms. Lady next to me smiles at me, listening to Trixie.
"Well, I mean, SERIOUSLY, I mean, as the fifth child in the family I'm sure he didn't get his share of maternal affection...."
Mr. Late-20's busts out laughing--I don't mean a low chuckle, I mean BUSTS out laughing. I turn off the headphones. Cellphone Sally yaks on, oblivious.
"Of course, I have NO clue about the FACTS of the situation, and I KNOW we're never going to get the TRUE facts from anyone actually INVOLVED in the situation...yeah, there was a fight and Christy started talking about 'diaper heads' and how much he hates Mexicans..."
I glance over at Late-20's, who's about to blow an artery; I take off the headphones, dig out my notepad and pen, and say "this is just too good to miss." He laughs again.
"I think Byron walked out in the middle of it.."
There's a long silence from her court; apparently the other party is even chattier than she is. But Late-20's is still laughing; halfway across the train we have some earnest mid-40's North-Shore wannabe-matron type, nearly as loud as Cell-Phone Sally.
"I mean, NO ONE wants to be alone--am I just supposed to sit at home and talk to MYSELF?"
Then Sally cuts back in. For a while, the only comparison that keeps recurring to me is from _Deliverance_--that "Duelling Banjos" thing. (Hum along if you know the tune...)
"Wait--her OTHER wrist?"
"I mean, that's why I have a cell phone."
::::loud giggle::: "Wooooooowwwww!"
"I generated five thousand dollars worth of sales last month, and..."
"I can KINDA do the apple tobacco--but that STILL trips me out! I mean, it's so VILE!"
"....a special show on the radio...."
"Are we still on Gramma's wrist?"
This brings us to Howard. Earnest North-Shore Wannabe gets off the train, and since Cellphone Sally is hearing about Gramma's wrist, Late-20's decides to be sociable. He starts talking to Ms. Lady, asking her all sorts of questions.
"So do you have any kids? Grandkids? Any of them in college? Hey, at least none of them are in jail...Are you retired? What year were you born?"
Gramma's wrist is apparently resolved. "Well, if you send it through the Post Office, they'll notify me IN my box, as opposed to UPS who's really HORRIBLE about leaving NOTES, and then they want you to call them to reschedule but..."
"Hey, you like hip-hop music?" Late-20's is trying to sell me a disk. "Here, listen to it--if you like it it's only $5." I take the disk.
"What's your name? I'm Brian.." He was a nice guy, so I won't comment on the quality of the music.
I listen for a polite interval, then hand him back the disk, tell him "Yeah,that's pretty good! But I don't have $5--in fact, I've got about fifty cents."
He gives me his phone number, just in case I change my mind. "Where are you from, anyway?"
"West Side," I tell him.
"REALLY!" he says. Then his eyes narrow a bit. "Where from on the West Side?"
Since he obviously expects me to say something like Ukranian Village or Tri-Taylor or Wicker Park, I enjoy my answer even more: "Near Jackson and Cicero," I tell him.
"Straight up?" Now he's really thrown off. "You Hispanic?" I shake my head, no. "Polish?" "Nope." "Just...white?"
"Something like that, yeah," I say.
Meanwhile, Sally: "Yeah, it was kinda funny--my dad said all these things about this big political fight, and meanwhile my mom is having heart surgery the same day..."
Brian, speaking now to Ms Lady: "What was it like in the 60's? What about the 30's--what was it like then?"
"Terrible! Poverty....depression...."
"What does your generation think of us people in our late 20's and early 30's--do you think we be actin' stupid?"
I chime in. "My mom is 75--she was born in '29--and I can answer this question: Yes. Yes, they DO think we act stupid."
For the next few minutes, I am treated to some of the best dialogue I can remember hearing on the train in QUITE some time. Brian, apparently a student of the human condition, is asking Ms. Lady her life story and her opinions on everything under the sun. It's so much fun to listen to that I miss out on Sally's convo for a while.
"Are you from Jamaica? West Africa? America? Oh, Mississippi...Would your friends say you're very spiritual?"
"Spiritual?" Ms. Lady looks half-perplexed. "I'm an Apostolic Pentecostal," she says.
His reply is one I will treasure til my dying day: "Oh--so you can see things before they happen??"
Her look is equally priceless. "Do you read the Bible?" she asks him.
"Oh, I'm reading it right now...." (If the material on his CD is any indication, I'm thinking a little more time spent with the Bible and a little less time spent at the clubs might benefit him. But that's just me.)
As is typical for me, the mention of the word "Bible" sends me into a momentary loss of attention; however, a few sentences later I come back to this:
"So where did you go to college?" he asks her.
Ms. Lady is clearly not sure how to answer that, or whether he's even serious. "Why do you ask?" she asks, for the first time in the entire dialogue.
"Well, you sound very well-educated," Brian says. "You sound like you have a double degree, like you could be a professor....maybe an astrologist??"
By this time, we're pulling past Addison, nearing the transfer point at Belmont.
Sally: "Oooh...no, I'm on the train and we're just going past Wrigley Field and I realized that the Cubs game is just getting out, and that means I've gotta deal with all sorts of drunk Cub fans....Yeah, it's like 4 blocks from where I live, and.....this one time some GUY comes right up to me and GROPES me, thinking I was INTO that? So I kicked him RIGHT in the groin and ran away...."
And with that, as we are now at Belmont, Sally and her cellphone stand up and get off the train, not before announcing her address into the phone for all to hear. (In the interest of preserving wackiness in the world, I will NOT publish her address, though in the interest of preserving civil behavior on public transportation, I am sorely tempted.) Brian, after telling both Ms. Lady and myself that it was nice to meet us, follows her out the door shortly thereafter.
The weirdness just didn't stop, though. More tomorrow.
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