Stop with all the double-booking

I was violated on the train today.

I chose to sit in one of only two sets of seats that face each other in the entire car (the rest all face forward). At most, these seats could fit 4 persons about as comfortably as three people sandwiched in the backseat of a Camaro. Translation: it’s physically possibly but highly undesirable. Metra etiquette says only 2 riders in these seats during all but the most overcrowded conditions. This morning, with the train at roughly 20% capacity and me the lone rider in either double seat, a gentleman decides not only to share my double seat, but to sit on the SAME side, e.g. right next to me. This is a major breach of protocol, and an exponential increase in the awkwardness of someone sitting diagonally across from you in these seats. The entire situation is equivalent to someone grabbing the stall immediately next to you in the bathroom, after you’ve already set up shop as sole potty proprietor (this act is commonly referred to as “double-booking”). It’s just plain bad manners.

As I write this, the seat next to us is STILL open, yet I’m forced to slouch against the window just to increase our personal space buffer a precious few additional inches. To top it off, my seat partner brought his breakfast onboard – a slightly messy and abundantly fragrant banana. Now, I’ve got nothing against bananas, and actually ate one on my way to the train station this very morning, but a banana is something to be eaten in relative seclusion. It smells too strongly and engenders discomfort tinged with disgust among fellow riders when eaten, especially when you happen to sit right next to someone as they consume it.

This train ride needs to end immediately.

Fastwalkers

I’m an admitted fastwalker. I’d conservatively rank myself in the top 5-10% of daily commuters based on average walking velocity during my trek across the Loop and back. And as a fastwalker, I know the other consistently fastwalkers pretty well (at least their faces – I haven’t conversed with any of them – that would be insane). Now, I don’t know why, but for some reason it’s amazingly irritating for me to be walking behind anyone walking equally as fast as me. You’re slow? No problem, I’ll pass you like you’re standing still. But if you’re as fast as me? We got problems. Shouldn’t matter, right? It surely does. Maybe it’s my competitive spirit. Honestly, I’ve caught myself approaching a light jog and breaking a noticeable sweat just to put a few precious millimeters in front of me and the person. Ridiculous, I know. But true. There are three people on my normal schedule that really get me to walk like an veritable crack-addict: 80’s Black Velcro Sneakers and Cassette Walkman Guy, Bow-legged Middle-aged Technology Middle-manager Guy, and Very Similar to Christian Bale in American Psycho Only Shorter Guy. I’m convinced the 4 of us will have to stage a walk-race one of these days and settle this damn thing once and for all.

Man furs

Two words from Monday’s train ride: man fur. A fellow rider decided that the meteorological conditions and style demands he was under necessitated he drag the fur coat out the closet . Trust me, I watch my fair share of Master P videos to know what passes as a cool man-fur, and this was most definitely not such a fur. A short cropped waist and practically striped combo of white, silver and dark grey pelts catapulted him into first place on the the worst commuter outwear of ‘06 charts. Hopefully the offender will stumble on this blog, realize he was out of his mind, and donate that abomination to the nearest Salvation Army.

Crazy sunbathing art students

Here’s something you don’t see every day: someone sunbathing at 8:15 AM on a train platform. Oh, and it was 33 degrees. It’s one of those things that slides past the window and there isn’t even time for a double-take. From the .863 seconds I saw, I think it was for some kind of artistic photo shoot. Not even enough time to yell  at those crazy hippies.

My laptop blew up on the train ride in this morning. There’s nothing that can put me into a cold sweaty panic faster than the threat of nothing to do on the train. Seeing as I don’t sleep on trains (will be told in a separate post) its my own version of what Hell must be: endless time with nothing to occupy it. Luckily, my mother-in-law’s Sudoku book provided enough distraction until we reached the station. Close call…

Unwritten rules of Metra commuting

(2/22/2006 @ 7:14 PM)
I’m 14 minutes away from my train stop, and Fresh Out of College Leather Jacket Guy has been on his cell phone since before we left the station. I saw at least 4 people sitting nearby him try to make his head explode using venomous stares on par with the woman ice-dancer that stared down her partner after he f-ed up their medal hopes with 5 seconds left.

I don’t care if you’re the world’s quietest talker, a veritable mute, there are some serious unwritten rules for conversations with people not present. Namely, you end them as quickly as possible and get back to any one of the sanctioned set of silent activites (reading, sudoku, anything unconscious).

Alright, this is freaking ridiculous. The same guy is now lying down across 4 seats and STILL on the phone 50 minutes later. At this point any self-respecting Metra conductor would throw him off the train, into a lightpost, ideally at top speed.

Much like at 13 when I got banned from the Iron Wolf rollercoaster for sticking my leg out during the ride, this person should never be allowed on a train again.

Lets start from the middle

I started this blog because a man picked his nose, and then he ate it.

On Tuesday, February 21st at 7:24 AM I looked over at ‘93 Nissan Sentra Guy waiting next to me at the stoplight, saw him start to pick his nose, begged myself to turn away, couldn’t, then watched in slow-motion horror as he proceeded to eat his hardfought nasal treasure. In all my nearly 3 years of making this 2-hour door to door commute, that was possibly the grossest thing I’d ever seen… but not by much.

It was awful, and no one was there to share in the awfulness with me.

Weird crap like this happens to everyone saddled with a daily commute, no matter how you get to work or the time it takes to get there. Sometimes its seeing a guy eat a booger, other times it’s a profound thought achieved only after 60 minutes of listless staring out the train window. Either way, it makes for interesting reading.

Thus, Mike’s Commute was born.