Thursday, August 02, 2007
In Transit
One of the great thing's about Chicago's public transit system is that it affords you with constant opportunities to make new friends. Last night, for instance, while on my way home in absurd Cubs-related traffic, I had the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with any number of armpits and forearms. My burgeoning relationships weren't just limited to body parts, however, because I was also treated -- along with the entire train -- to the crackerjack dialogue of the fun couple next to me.
It all began when, pink Cubs hat and designer handbag in tow, the female of the pair began trying to force her way into the already completely full train.
"There's definitely room in there," she said, sighing heavily. "If that guy back there would just move in a little bit more, like six more people could get on here."
The guy in question, thoroughly chastised, forced his face further into the bosoms of the enormous woman next to him and thereby created enough space for approximately 1.5 more people. The couple immediately jammed their way in, seemingly all elbows.
"God, I hate crowded trains," she whined. "Where do all these people have to go, anyway?"
"It stinks in here, too," he added. "I told you we should have just taken the Land Rover."
"Yeah, but I hate it when those dirty guys park it," she rejoined. "Do you think the Cubs are going to win today? Aren't they in, like, 50th place?"
"I don't know. I just want to get an Amstel."
"They don't have wine there, do they? Maybe we should just skip it and go straight to the bar."
"Yeah, but aren't we supposed to meet Tiffany?"
"Oh right, yeah, she'd probably like commit suicide or something if we didn't meet her, the psycho."
"She's YOUR friend."
"Not really. I just hang out with her because I feel sorry for her."
"You're too nice, babe. Too nice."
At this point they began making out. The classiness never stops, I tell you. It just never stops.
One of the great thing's about Chicago's public transit system is that it affords you with constant opportunities to make new friends. Last night, for instance, while on my way home in absurd Cubs-related traffic, I had the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with any number of armpits and forearms. My burgeoning relationships weren't just limited to body parts, however, because I was also treated -- along with the entire train -- to the crackerjack dialogue of the fun couple next to me.
It all began when, pink Cubs hat and designer handbag in tow, the female of the pair began trying to force her way into the already completely full train.
"There's definitely room in there," she said, sighing heavily. "If that guy back there would just move in a little bit more, like six more people could get on here."
The guy in question, thoroughly chastised, forced his face further into the bosoms of the enormous woman next to him and thereby created enough space for approximately 1.5 more people. The couple immediately jammed their way in, seemingly all elbows.
"God, I hate crowded trains," she whined. "Where do all these people have to go, anyway?"
"It stinks in here, too," he added. "I told you we should have just taken the Land Rover."
"Yeah, but I hate it when those dirty guys park it," she rejoined. "Do you think the Cubs are going to win today? Aren't they in, like, 50th place?"
"I don't know. I just want to get an Amstel."
"They don't have wine there, do they? Maybe we should just skip it and go straight to the bar."
"Yeah, but aren't we supposed to meet Tiffany?"
"Oh right, yeah, she'd probably like commit suicide or something if we didn't meet her, the psycho."
"She's YOUR friend."
"Not really. I just hang out with her because I feel sorry for her."
"You're too nice, babe. Too nice."
At this point they began making out. The classiness never stops, I tell you. It just never stops.
