Turn Around and it's July

Koala

 

EMU

Lynx

Do you how many songs have Hello as a title or Hello in the title? There are at least 200 and in the wondering about that question, I wondered about the other; goodbye. While 'goodbye' is also a popular theme, it is not quite as popular as hello (at least not as far as the title is concerned.)  I'm sure there are a LOT of goodbye songs that don't actually say the word. 

Or maybe not.  

Anyway, HELLO!  

I'll be back soon with more to say, but in the meantime allow me to share this . I saw the exhibit on Saturday and was blown away.  Her exhibit as well as being up close and personal to the Obama portraits were certainly worth the trek to downtown Chicago via the trusty transit authority--where due to federal mandate--masks are required.  (Note: no enforcement).  

Interesting times we are having.  

Stay safe folks.  

Outside

 

Slowly but surely? the villages cities, states, are re-opening.  Slowly but surely? vaccines are becoming more accessible. Slowly but surely? my confidence of not just being outside (beyond walking the dog) but on public transportation is growing.  

I re-loaded my transit card in anticipation of running a few errands over the next several weeks.  

I will likely take public transportation to get the vaccine when my number is called.  

Slowly. 

Surely.

Gingerly. 

Cheers to Spring! 

                                                                  my annual ode to spring

                                                                       Here they come 

Train Tripping

Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation: from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of a car on a family road trip

Not a commute day goes by when there isn't something to talk, write about on the trains and / or buses. Not. One. As a lifelong user of public transportation I pretty much take it in stride that I will encounter a seat hogger, gambler, solicitor (that is to say, I'm homeless and hungry or an ex-con looking for help to get a let up) a thief (smartphones favorite target these days) a nose and / or zit picker   , a sneezer and / or wheezer, a snorer, a very loud talker, and let us not forget the folks who blast their listening pleasures beyond their inadequate ear buds, plus a few working stills like myself who just want to get to work and back home again relatively unscathed by the public transportation experience. 

Given that I work in and live very near a sprawling metropolis with a sometimes celebrated public transportation system I haven't ever worried about getting from here to there, just about what I would encounter on the journey. 

That is, until that day.  

Well, actually two days.

The first: I was a teenager, a high school senior. One of my after school activities met downtown once or twice a week. On one of these days, I was wrapping up my story (I worked for a city-wide, student newspaper) putting it to bed, trying to hurry as I wanted (needed) to get by to my neighborhood before it was too late, too dark.  

I had everything done, was saying my good-byes while putting on my coat, grabbing my bag when Hattie yelled, "hey, wait a minute!" Oh shit, Hattie talks a mile a minute for 45,000 hours. But, she's my home-girl, so I had to wait. And listen. For days. 

Not long after Hattie started talking I took note of the train I would have caught, rolled past the window. (The windows of the office the newspaper used were at eye-level to the elevated tracks). And shortly after that there was a large screech, a flash of light, and noises associated with crashing. Oh. shit. 

The train derailed at the turn that is just beyond the building we were in. Just out of our line of sight. But we heard it. I heard it. And when I went outside, I saw it. One of the cars was hanging over the side. Oh. shit. 
there were injuries but no one was killed. And while the rail services weren't out of commission for very long, it took a very long time for me to get back on the elevated trains. And longer still to be somewhat comfortable. I still don't like the turns. 

I don't think I ever thanked Hattie. So, Thank YOU Hattie. 

The second: Chicago is known as, "The Windy City" which, if you believe the lore, doesn't have anything at all to do with wind velocity in our fair city. Oh sure, Chicago is nestled on the bank of Lake Michigan and that prime real estate may explain some of the windiness, but Chicago is not significantly windier than any other city. 

Still, Chicago is privy to the weather patterns just like any other place in the world. And on one particularly windy day, I found myself trapped on an elevated train, short of the station by too many feet to even consider the posted evacuation plan. At least in my view. I could have been inches from the station platform, but there was no way I was going to (willingly) exit that train care, walk along the electrified (3rd rail only, but still) tracks, and climb a ladder to safety. 

Elevated. I don't know how many feet the tracks are elevated over the street, but enough to have buses and semis ride underneath them. Oh, hell NO! It is a marvel that I can even get ON the train, but as I say, life long user. I was using the elevated train system before I knew enough to be afraid of heights. And, I'm no so much afraid of heights as I am afraid of falling down from a great height. Or even, not so great. 

Well, I was trapped on a train because the train had been stalled by debris blown by the great and powerful windy city wind onto the tracks. The conductor ran over a plastic trash can that, once blown onto the tracks, run over by the conductor, had become lodged in such a way that the train couldn't move, which meant we couldn't move. 

The train (7 cars long) was full of 5 P.M. commuters. All anxious to get home. Mom's who needed to get kids from daycare, dad's who were trying not to miss another (insert kid event of your choice) students who were eager to get home to get started on . . . whatever. Everybody who just wanted to be DONE with the day!! 

It didn't take long (2 minutes, tops) of being stalled before folks started huffing, puffing, and WHAT THE F*CKING!! Goddamn C T to the F*CKING A!!! Folks lost their shit. I had a book to read (I almost always do) so I wasn't so. . so. . quick to flip. What concerned me more than the non-movement was the possibility that we might have to evacuate. THAT, had me sweating through my cotton briefs. 

Well, we didn't have to evacuate. We were stalled and stranded on that train for about twenty minutes. It was an odd experience, seeing the meltdown of so many people. Even after it was known WHY the train wasn't moving (for that had been the biggest gripe--the why) folks still were . . losing their shit. Stupid wind. Stupid plastic trash can. Stupid conductor. . . ding. ding. ding. All manner of abuse and vitriol was heaped upon the conductor who probably couldn't avoid running over the plastic trash can. 

Probably. He was shaken enough by the events of the evening that he had to be taken away by paramedics. The last five minutes of stalled time was waiting for his replacement to take us all to our respective stops.  

I bring several things away from that day, but the one thing that sticks with me the most: the train stalled and was stranded a mere 3 stations from my destination. 

Like being delayed, by Hattie, so close, so close. 

  



   


   

Welcome To Wednesday

Delivered with far less exuberance than the former CTA CSA's "Good Morning Precious" the current CTA CSA's "Welcome to Wednesday" greeting falls somewhere between, "Hey, at least it isn't Monday" and "Hey, it is almost Friday" in the cheery schematic. Mostly, she sounds bored but feels compelled to offer some greeting to her customers. Though, I've noted, she apparently feels no such compunction for any of the other days. Perhaps the other days; Tuesday, Thursday, nor Friday (she isn't on duty on Monday) aren't as welcoming or don't lend themselves to an alliteratively proper greeting.

The weekly, "Welcome to Wednesday" greetings are met with, for the most part, grunts. But some customers do volley back a "good morning" or something like that. While the CTA CSA seems neither daunted nor encouraged by the returned greetings I wonder if she wonders what we might be wondering about her and / or her welcome. Or something like that.

My mind usually wanders to Ricardo Montalban's greeting, Welcome to Fantasy Island or sometimes to the sandwich sign out front of an events business near my place of work; on event days the business places a chalkboard sandwich sign out front with the message, Welcome PRIVATE EVENT printed with bright chalk colors. I happen to find the sign somewhat disingenuous as the event is private, so everyone isn't welcome. Granted, it doesn't say, "everyone welcome" but placement on a public street generally implies that all who see it are welcome. I recognize the desire and need to welcome invited guests, but I think that goal could be better met once the guests were inside.

Anyhoo . . . I've decided the "Welcome to Wednesday" CSA is happy about Wednesday and likely even more so for the other days of the week. I think her pro forma performance is due in large part to the frustration she feels at not being able to devise unique, sufficiently lyrical greetings for Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.

Maybe.

Whatever her deal I welcome you to Wednesday and every other day.

Embrace and Celebrate.

Fa-La-La-La

The bus operator on this morning's ride into work was in a jovial mood. He greeted each passenger with, "good morning" and "merry Christmas" when they boarded the bus and another "merry Christmas" upon the exit of each passenger.

For the most part his greetings were well received and returned in-kind. Even folks who weren't particularly happy about being on the bus at 7:30 a.m. on this icy Thursday morning garbled out a "merry Christmas" to the operator.

Cheeriness can be infectious.

We were rolling relatively merrily along until HE boarded the bus. HE is a loud-mouthed, opinionated, gas-bag. He works for some government entity and often boards the same bus, thankfully, well into my ride. There is usually only one, at most three (he boards at different locations) stops between his boarding and my exit.

HE was on the phone when he got on this morning, loudly offering his opinion to whomever was on the other end of the call. It was only after he ended his call and moved forward to pay his fare when the bus operator offered his cheery day before Christmas greeting. Before the final tone of the bus operator's greeting tinged, HE vaulted into a tirade about how December 25th ISN'T Jesus' real birth date, and how celebrating on this date is a sham, a lie. And on and on.

HE can believe what he wants and HE can even voice these beliefs to whomever, whenever, I suppose. I just wish he hadn't disrupted what was proving to be a mostly enjoyable ride in to the four hour sentence work this icy Thursday morning.

Whatever your leanings, however and whenever you choose to celebrate...whatever, may your celebrations be happy, gay and full of glee!

'Tis the season to be jolly. . . Try.

September

So far September has been rather lackluster for me, or to put another way, lacking in the lust---but that means something totally different, doesn't it? Anyhoo...what I mean to say is September has been rather ho-hum, so far.

I don't blame it on the month per se though it isn't one of my favorites, if such a thing were to exist. As you may recall, I'm not big on the notion of favorites . . .

Favorite Books of All Time: I really don't like naming 'favorites'. So many books speak to me for so many reasons. Favorites of all time? There are many. Several. To name but a few would diminish the import of the others.

September is full of not so pleasant memories past . . . my older brother and dad have birthdays in September. My ex-husband's birthday is also in September. I always enjoyed the "back-to-school" excitement when I was a child and when I was raising my children, but that excitement was short-lived by all the hubbub this is back-to-school.

September signals the beginning of our busy season and this year it has been that, busy. Which, of course is grand for business but the affect on me has been less than grand. Though, all-in-all I'd rather be busy than not. And certainly, I pleased to 1. have the job(s)--oh, yeah, serving in the same capacity for the owner's new business--hence the need for an assistant (or two) the second, though, I haven't gotten to know very well because the owner has her assigned elsewhere (for now). hmpf. 2. that business appears to be re-bounding, the past couple of years were pretty brutal. We must exceed the budget these next two months or I fear at least one head will roll.

Still, even in the ho-hum that has been this September so far, I have found moments or even pockets of glee. The new show "Glee" contributed to some of the moments. Football got started, and that always provide gleeful moments, especially since I play in a Fantasy League. I haven't been very successful these past few years but it does add a little extra to the season. There are other teevee related moments, but what led me to this post was my commute the other day.

Normally, I'm in my own world. Sometimes, not always, ip*d shuffle providing my listening pleasure and a book providing enough of a distraction the keep me from obsessing about the coughing, sneezing, yelling, pushing, pulling and otherwise glee that is commuting on public transpo.

Though, trying to block out the world around me, I don't forget that there is a world around me. I remain alert, at the ready to deal with . . . whatever. Urban Living 101. Back to the story, the other day I'm reading, looking up now and again to assess the surroundings and across the aisle is a woman who looked to be in her twenties. Nothing spectacular, good or otherwise about her appearance. Average, I'd say. I heard her pop the top of a can and saw her take a drink. I nice loooooong gulp of something. I couldn't tell immediately what she was drinking, but when it hit her system moments later her eyes bugged out as if someone at popped her in the back and yelled, "BOO!!" at the same time. The eye (and subsequently, head) movement moved her hand and I saw that she was drinking an energy drink. I thought, wow, that stuff must really pack a punch.

The moment passed and some stops later I hear another pop and whoa, she was drinking another one. Downed it in just a few gulps. Yeah, the eye thing again. For the rest of the day I had moments of glee imagining 1. where she was going 2. what she did 3. whether she was in the company of others while she did whatever she did, wherever..

And oh, to have been a fly on the wall she must have been bouncing off the entire rest of the morning, if not the entire day.

Energy drinks, yay or nay? And...their tag, Feel Real? Energy drink for real people. What is that about?

And one more thing, while today is of course, thatday, it is also the day that a friend celebrates a birthday and to her I say, happy happy joy joy!! Here's a royal celebration!!

Commuting With A Zit Picker

The morning commute is more times than not a routine hustle and bustle of folks making their way to work, school, court, or wherever. Once on the train (or bus) you are more times than not surrounded by the usual suspects. You have folks talking on the phone, reading (a newspaper, magazine, work or school report, summons or whatever), there are folks playing with various devices, the sit and stare crowd, or the slump and sleep group.

Now and again you are graced with the zit picker.

This morning’s zit picker proved herself on a mission. It was clear from her ministrations that it was not only her zit that nagged her psyche. She went from picking at the zit to scratching her head then back to the zit. She rubbed her cheek (zit was on chin) then back to the zit. Her hand went to her nose and I thought, “oh noooo, not a nose picker too!” but no, she just rubbed, scratched her nose, then back to the zit.

This morning’s zit picker even went under her coat and down into her shirt to scratch her breast or tug her nipple, not sure which, then back to picking the zit. A mission.

Once permanently distracted from my own reading material and the music streaming into my ears, I began to work up a horror tale of the zit being picked to the point of popping. The popping prompted the spewing of zit juice. The zit juice spewed on and on, until the car started filling. People startled awake and alert. There was screaming. There was general panic and total mayhem. We all nearly drowned.

Then it was time for me to get off the train.

Expectation Express

Back in 2006 the public transpo option to / from work nearest my home and work-place went express. Overall I was happy about this service improvement though even after two years, nearly every day someone shouted, "LET ME OFF! I DIDN'T KNOW THIS WAS AN EXPRESS!!"

Some weeks ago the public transpo authority decided to de-express the express (partially). They decided that for part of the route (the longest, most populated part) the bus would make all stops for about a 2 1/2 mile stretch. That's about 20 city blocks (give or take). There are 23 bus stops in that stretch. TWENTY-THREE vs. the 6 it was making as a pure express bus. SIX and that includes the end-of-the-line turn around. Keep in mind that over this same stretch of 23 stops is the regular route bus making the same stops.

Think the express patrons were confused before? 'Taint nothin compared to the confusion reigning now, not to mention the anger.

The route does maintain the express concept for the second part of the trip, making only another 10 stops before it hits the down-town area. I get off at stop number seven. So in theory the bus could stop 30 times (not counting traffic lights and stop signs) before I get to my destination. THIRTY vs thirteen.

Change, it happens. I get that. I adjust. I deal. What continues to burn my buttons about this change is that the patrons found out ON THE DAY of the change. There were no hearings, no notice and no signage along the route until the day of the change. Further, I don't see how they can call this an express bus, when it is clearly no longer express (at least for most of the route). The CSA responding to my emails spouted the company line about servicing the maximum number of customers in the most efficient manner. It was / is my position that this change does the exact opposite.

Partly as a result of this change and partly because I'm working on working in more exercise in my daily routines (more about that later) I found an alternative to the non-express express bus and the elevated trains with all those daunting stairs. I take the on-ground train, but I have to walk (or ride my bike) several blocks to get to the station.

Now and again, I'm not up to the walk (especially in the rain) so I resort to the non-express express bus. This morning was one of those times. This morning there was a public transpo authority service rep on the bus handing out survey forms about this route. Trust, I stated my opinion.

I expect one of two scenarios. 1. the non-express express will be cancelled altoghter or 2. will only run from that 2nd part through the downtown area, which will effectively take it off my service radar.

In either case, I expect that I must embrace walking (or riding my bike) the several blocks to the on-ground train, come rain (wind, sleet, snow) or shine. I suppose considering the overall health benefits of the alternate travel plan, they can take this express bus and shove it.

C-C-C ommute

You know what irritates me more than anything? Well, maybe not more than anything, but certainly it ranks in the top 10 of irritants. Missing a bus. No, scratch that, make that missing two buses. Two buses in the span of about 30 seconds. The buses I usually take are scheduled to run every 8-10 minutes. When they are so off schedule that they are clumped and one, two and sometimes three whiz by before I make it to the sign, I go red with ire.

If it is a lucky day-yes, I know, how could it be a lucky day if I've just missed multiple buses? A lucky day would be that the next bus arrives in only a few minutes, 10 tops and it isn't raining.

Usually, it isn't a lucky day.

Sharing the irritant spotlight with missing buses is runaway buses. Gentle men and woman operating these very large vehicles seem to be of the opinion that these big ole buses can stop on a dime. After having witnessed several failed attempts, I'm here to tell you that this is a feat these very large vehicles will never, ever accomplish. Never. Furthermore, careening down the street at breakneck speeds attempting this stopping on a dime maneuver is not only wrong and dangerous, it is also, I think, not at all conducive to accomplishing what I think is the approved task, the safe loading and un-loading of passengers.

Tossing passengers around the as if they were the balls in a rousing round of pinball wizardry might be sport for the drivers, but again, I can tell you as one of the tossed around, we the passengers are not nearly as enamoured.

Driver might try slowing down, obeying traffic laws, practicing the safe and efficient loading and un-loading of passengers. Perhaps then the clumping might diminish.

Perhaps.

Evening Service

Route B was the way to go after my shift the other night. Route B consists of a short walk to a bus stop, a south-bound bus ride of about 1.5 miles to a transfer point. The second, west-bound bus ride is about 11 miles, after which I walk about three blocks home. The trip, including wait times, on a good day, takes about an hour.

The alternative, (route A) covers more ground via two trains, as I must ride a bit south-east before heading west. The A route is generally faster but the walking and stair climbing associated with this route makes this route less attractive at 9:15 pm after a day that started at 5:30 am.

Fatigue on this day, dictating route B found me boarding the first bus after short wait. The second bus arrived after only a very short wait, as well. The happy happy joy joy dance is done mentally. Four blocks into the almost 50+ block ride, Preacher Man boards.

While not overly crowded, there is a healthy mix of humanity represented. Various ages, genders, ethnicities, manners of dress and degrees of decorum were all about to be treated to ... something. Preacher Man with King James planted firmly in the palm of his right hand, commenced to address his congregation. Some, who seemed to be the prime target for his message, immediately took issue with his disruption of their shrieking contest.

"Blood...Vagina...Jesus," he said, over and over. There were more words in between, more to the message, I am sure, but I couldn't make out much of what he was saying. He said these words with vigor and because of my recent invasion which turned into a 20 day marathon before it was done, I was just a tad transfixed.

Some of the flock engaged Preacher Man in a bit of dialogue. He took this as a sign to AMP up his fervor. Oh joy. Most of the rest of us, moaned and groaned wondering what we did to warrant being held captive by this impromptu service.

The congregation began to dissolved, as did my hope that each stop would signal Preacher Man's exit line. Finally, he got off, imploring young people to...blood...vagina...Jesus, or whatever. I was just a shade under half way home.

As usual, I am the lone passenger when we reach the end of the line, my stop. As I depart, the driver wishes me a blessed day. I do manage to eke out a tepid good-night.