The Pitfalls of the CTA

First off, I would like to thank all of you who contributed to the success that was my most recent mailbag Q&A session; I couldn't have done it without you. Psyche! I totally could have, but that's really beside the point at this particular stage in the game because I've already got all of you hanging on every word I say. Let's be honest, if SBB had came equipped with a warm hole you'd probably try to have sex with it. As beautiful as the mental image of people having sex with computer screens is, let's move on...

So if you know me pretty well you have probably come to the understanding that I'm a very proactive person. By proactive I mean that if I'm uncomfortable or upset with a current situation I will sulk and complain about it until my disposition affects my friends to the point where they will do something about it. Like I said, proactive. You can see how this may pose a problem when I'm alone and don't have someone else to annoy, like on Saturday afternoons when I'll text someone 90 miles away and ask them to order a pizza for me because I simply "don't know how". (Marvelous technique if I do say so myself)

There are some great things about this majestic city in which I live, one of those being a very developed and convenient public transportation system. When I say public transportation system I really mean trains because, let's be frank here, buses are for peasants. From my experience, any time you put the word "public" in front of something, like schools, bathrooms, or in this case transportation, it is usually just a coded message meaning "this thing smells like urine". You have already heard my transgressions on all things relating to air travel, but at least when I get on a plane I know I will be sitting next to another human being, which is more than I can say for the Red Line. No matter what time of day, there's always a pretty overwhelming chance that I will be harassed by a creature speaking nonsense that strongly resembles the Toxic Avenger.

I'm not a germophobe by any means, in fact much of my diet consists of things I found on the floor of my living room, but there's just something about being in close quarters and constantly being touched by people I don't know that makes me feel like I need to be sprayed with a fire hose to wash the dirt and Hepatitis C off of me. Anyone who has rode the L by themselves knows that game I play multiple times every day; the "I'd sell my soul as long as nobody tries to sit next to me" game as I like to call it. There's one on every train car; the mutant who walks on and everyone already seated just begins to quiver. Just like I know that I will inevitably be placed in an airplane seat next to Satan's children, I lose all hope whenever I see this guy, because I know he's coming for me. One of the few serious downsides of being thin; everyone looks at you and says to themselves, " that skinny guy over there won't care that my enormous bag of stink I consider my body is about to seriously invade his personal space, why would he?". Now imagine me in this particular situation with absolutely no one to complain to in order to make myself feel better; awful to say the least. My trip home from work on Tuesday was just another L trip forged in the fires of Hell; I'm sure you see where this one is going...

Sitting by myself reading on the train with a seat open next to me, playing my aforementioned mind game trying to predict where and when the Creature from the Black Lagoon is going to come in and fuck my day up. At this point I've trained myself to make nasty faces at people who are trying to decide where to sit, realizing that it truly is my last line of defense. Sitting there, only looking up from my book to give the new passengers my attempt at a death stare when I lock eyes with a man straight from my nightmares. He knows exactly where he wants to sit now, you bet he does. I'm staring at this heap of human flesh trying to think of what I recognize him from, and then it hits me; its Barney Gumble from The Simpsons, Springfield's resident drunkard. Perfect, just fucking grand. The first thing the guy says to me after he jams his giant ass into the seat next to me, and over half of my own is, "Ooooooh man there'sssss jussssst no more rooooooom". I didn't exactly sound the way, actually more like "Arrrrrblahhhhgrrrrrrrrr roooooom!". His voice actually sounded as if there was a NYE party kazoo lodged somewhere in his windpipe. I guess his naturally inaudible voice and overall sorry existence was just another product of a malt liquor drunk and generations of selective breeding within the family. Thank you Sir for pointing out the lack of room we both now have due to your titanic ass cheeks, and so eloquently put might I add. In all seriousness, trying to fit this man into the single seat next to me was like trying to jam a spare tire into a woman's purse.

I think the worst part of the daily public transportation buttfuck is the lack of hope it provides me; the simple fact that 650,000 people ride L trains every day makes it almost inevitable that I will have both my personal space invaded and my sensory organs assaulted. Would it be that wrong of me to say to someone, "Excuse me Sir but I would really prefer if you and Buick sized ass found a different seat"? Its not like I should be their first introduction to the fact that they are overweight. However, something tells me this still might not be the best approach. I think from now on my only defense might have to resort to making myself as undesirable of a seat partner as the next guy, but since I don't piss myself at 5 in the afternoon or smell like spoiled meats I'm not sure what I can do. I think I might just start acting like I have totally lost my mind, speaking gibberish about the apocalypse and wiping blood all over my face. Yeah, that should do it.

Goodbye Forever
SBB