I like trains, but there are certain things that are maddening about them, or maddening about me. It is hard to know sometimes where the breakdown in function occurs: within myself or in the complexity of timing that is commuter rail. The lights are on so bright in the trains you could perform surgery in there, but of course you wouldn't want to perform surgery or any operation that involves sharp instruments on a moving train. The windows are tinted green, so the view of the world is rather greenish. What you see fronting tracks isn't all that entertaining anyway. It is not for beauty that most of the world fronts railroad tracks. (A lost opportunity for advertising perhaps?). I missed my stop on the train. So what? Don't they do enough to tell you where to get off? Train schedules, a rolling marquee in most cars, commodious handicapped restrooms all decked out in stainless steel, and of course the ominpresent announcements, and boneheaded conductors who may or may not ask you to show your ticket and may or may not be drunk or stupid. MY PROBLEM is that sometimes people can be saying things and I won't hear them. God knows political advertising and the less season but incessant stupid advertising on the radio makes obliviousness to verbal communication and cloying advertising jingles kind of necessary to maintain sanity. All that babble, news, sports, and aluminum siding is kind of a lullaby for the unquiet soul. At work sometimes I don't hear the bells ring and then have to hurry off somewhere to do something. It doesn't happen all the time, but enough to make me look foolish.
In any case METRA, the commuter rail network in Chicago obviously is designed by someone for whom visual cues are not necessary, otherwise they would not have designed it that way. Not only are the lights in the train so bright you could do surgery in there, but the windows are tinted and the stations are not well lit at all. It is very dark this time of year and by God if it werent for familiar sights dimly made out. Jeezus. Why can't they spend a bit more to light some signage along the stations and less to light the rail cars? There must be a rule somewhere or a DOT regulation to this effect. And why is Grayland station look like some depressing part of the turd world with graffitied up signs and leaky shelters? They don't give a rat's ass, and besides they have better jobs with better benefits than you. METRA is a fitting metaphor for the world. Some of us are warm and dry and have papers to read on plush seats, and some of us are sitting on aluminum bus shelter seats in the dark wondering about the mental and moral stability of our companions wandering around in the dark and with whom you emphatically do NOT want to talk to.
II. Grading papers late on Friday night, I borrowed a fellow teacher's desk chair and dozed for about half an hour. I could hear the weather happening outside my window, the sky opened up, the thunder tore, like ripping taut fabric. Could those be droplets hitting the air conditioner? They sounded more like pebbles of sleet. I woke up with a start and looked at the clock: it was 5:24. I muttered to myself "time to get the puck out of fodge". I judged that 45 minutes was about the safest time frame for getting to the bus stop on Addison and catching the train at 6:15.
Naturally I had no umbrella. My umbrella, safe from my forgetful habit of leaving them as donations to strangers in need, was in the trunk of my car. My car was parked at the Libertyville station, many miles away. I was on 2500 West Addison on the North side of Chicago on a stormy night. As I padded down the steps of that Gothic castle of secondary education, Lane Tech, and as I headed down the hall, hoping that the doors had not been padlocked shut by the night crew just yet, I saw a group of three teenage girls open the doors ahead of me. They recoiled back in comic horror. "Oh, wow!" they exclaimed in dismay. "You can't go out there!" one of them said to me, "it is windy and icky and WET!" I said "Well, I'm not staying here all night, I want to go home" and out I went. The three of them followed me out to the bus stop. They were, of course, quite right.
Here it is, 5:30, no bus shelter in sight, just you, God, and three school girls on a street lit only by the rush hour traffic and rivers of water running down the gutters, a VERY dangerous street. "Trucks and Buses, and CARS!!! Oh my! Trucks and Buses and CARS!!! Oh my!" Two lanes of fast moving traffic each way, a heavy iron plate covering a hole in the street a few feet away. Buses and trucks going over it every so often. "Ga LUMPH!" "Ka CHUNK!" and then launching the water at the curb in jets at any pedestrian foolish enough to be standing too near. ( Oh go ahead, I'm all wet already), and of course the rain coming down in huge drops. The girls were huddled in their winter coats facing away from the wind, wearing flip flops (they were on the Lane swim team). "I can't feel my toes!" one of them said. I stood facing into the wind and the oncoming traffic straining to see in my droplet blurred vision. I pull out my pocket binoculars and look on down the street, as if seeing it coming a minute earlier than I would normally is somehow comforting. I stood as close the curb as I dared, as cars rushed by, their headlights glaring. Occasionally a truck seen from a distance would raise false hope, as its dome lights mimic the orange marquee you see on the CTA buses.
I thought I looked ridiculous, wet as I was. Another fellow had me beat. A young man came up to the stop wearing a suit and tie, no overcoat or anything. He looked like a drowned rat. Water was dripping off his necktie. I remarked to him over the din of traffic "Boy I'm glad I didn't drive my car tonight, traffic is HORRIBLE tonight!" He said "Yeah, I am too. If I don't catch pneumonia".
Never was I so happy to see a bus, but it seemed as if we (the three swimmer girls, the man in the wet suit and I) had stood there in the pounding rain for an eternity. Since the front of the bus is for the elderly, I usually find my way back to a seat near the rear exit. I gingerly sat my soggy dripping self next to a woman who appeared dry and without a hair out of place. The lights were on in the bus and the windows were steamed up so I periodically had to wipe the window with my fist to see where we were. Past McDonalds and Gordon Tech and a German Restaurant called "Mirabella", a shopping mall and a K Mart on the left, finally crossing over the Kennedy expressway and the Blue Line to O'Hare. At the Blue Line stop there are inevitably LOTS of folks getting on and many of them searching in their pockets for the requisite number of coins or bills. The time and the nearest cross street is flashed on the marquee at the front of the bus. Every half block or so someone pulls the cord above the windows, DOINK and the marquee flashes the message "STOP REQUESTED". A bit farther we pass St. Viator's with a little statue of Mary in a grotto outside with candles flickering at her feet even in this downpour.
I had long since given up as hopeless my intention of catching the 6:15 from Grayland. I figured I would drown my sorrows in a smoky little bar right below the tracks and a flight of wooden steps away from where the train stopped. Normally if I have more time I get off on the other side of the tracks near Kilbourn street and cross them to the train because it is a shorter walk, but this time I figured I had only about 6 minutes if the train was on time. So I got off at the corner of Milwaukee and Addison and jogged half the way up the street, crossing the street when there was a lull in the traffic and then walking briskly the rest of the way. It must be a good quarter of a mile up to where the steps up to the station are located. It always seems to be farther to walk when you are are in a hurry.
I got there at just about 6:15 according to my watch. The squawk box across the tracks announced in a garbled voice that sounded half submerged underwater that "Due to a combination of factors, train number 2515 to Fox Lake will be ten to fifteen minutes late. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause." (Yeah, right) What a dreary little place. The wind blew, the drops splattered, the water ran off in streams from the top of the bus shelter. I wasn't going to sit down in there because (1) there was a puddle where I would place my feet, and the aluminum seat was wet. I stood waiting and watching for the train shining like some ground level comet, the telltale glint of light off the rails ahead of it. At some point you could see the bright central beacon with the two flashing lights on either side like some giant beast pumping its glowing fists and rolling with frightening speed toward the station. It comes hissing and squealing to a stop, the passengers already on, contendedly reading their papers or dozing behind the green glass. The doors slide open, a dozen people get off and the conductor leans out to make sure that all the wet and lost souls wanting to get on have done so. gives the engineer a signal and we are off. We have to change trains again in Deerfield and wait for yet another train to where I get off, but we're finally going home. :)
In any case METRA, the commuter rail network in Chicago obviously is designed by someone for whom visual cues are not necessary, otherwise they would not have designed it that way. Not only are the lights in the train so bright you could do surgery in there, but the windows are tinted and the stations are not well lit at all. It is very dark this time of year and by God if it werent for familiar sights dimly made out. Jeezus. Why can't they spend a bit more to light some signage along the stations and less to light the rail cars? There must be a rule somewhere or a DOT regulation to this effect. And why is Grayland station look like some depressing part of the turd world with graffitied up signs and leaky shelters? They don't give a rat's ass, and besides they have better jobs with better benefits than you. METRA is a fitting metaphor for the world. Some of us are warm and dry and have papers to read on plush seats, and some of us are sitting on aluminum bus shelter seats in the dark wondering about the mental and moral stability of our companions wandering around in the dark and with whom you emphatically do NOT want to talk to.
II. Grading papers late on Friday night, I borrowed a fellow teacher's desk chair and dozed for about half an hour. I could hear the weather happening outside my window, the sky opened up, the thunder tore, like ripping taut fabric. Could those be droplets hitting the air conditioner? They sounded more like pebbles of sleet. I woke up with a start and looked at the clock: it was 5:24. I muttered to myself "time to get the puck out of fodge". I judged that 45 minutes was about the safest time frame for getting to the bus stop on Addison and catching the train at 6:15.
Naturally I had no umbrella. My umbrella, safe from my forgetful habit of leaving them as donations to strangers in need, was in the trunk of my car. My car was parked at the Libertyville station, many miles away. I was on 2500 West Addison on the North side of Chicago on a stormy night. As I padded down the steps of that Gothic castle of secondary education, Lane Tech, and as I headed down the hall, hoping that the doors had not been padlocked shut by the night crew just yet, I saw a group of three teenage girls open the doors ahead of me. They recoiled back in comic horror. "Oh, wow!" they exclaimed in dismay. "You can't go out there!" one of them said to me, "it is windy and icky and WET!" I said "Well, I'm not staying here all night, I want to go home" and out I went. The three of them followed me out to the bus stop. They were, of course, quite right.
Here it is, 5:30, no bus shelter in sight, just you, God, and three school girls on a street lit only by the rush hour traffic and rivers of water running down the gutters, a VERY dangerous street. "Trucks and Buses, and CARS!!! Oh my! Trucks and Buses and CARS!!! Oh my!" Two lanes of fast moving traffic each way, a heavy iron plate covering a hole in the street a few feet away. Buses and trucks going over it every so often. "Ga LUMPH!" "Ka CHUNK!" and then launching the water at the curb in jets at any pedestrian foolish enough to be standing too near. ( Oh go ahead, I'm all wet already), and of course the rain coming down in huge drops. The girls were huddled in their winter coats facing away from the wind, wearing flip flops (they were on the Lane swim team). "I can't feel my toes!" one of them said. I stood facing into the wind and the oncoming traffic straining to see in my droplet blurred vision. I pull out my pocket binoculars and look on down the street, as if seeing it coming a minute earlier than I would normally is somehow comforting. I stood as close the curb as I dared, as cars rushed by, their headlights glaring. Occasionally a truck seen from a distance would raise false hope, as its dome lights mimic the orange marquee you see on the CTA buses.
I thought I looked ridiculous, wet as I was. Another fellow had me beat. A young man came up to the stop wearing a suit and tie, no overcoat or anything. He looked like a drowned rat. Water was dripping off his necktie. I remarked to him over the din of traffic "Boy I'm glad I didn't drive my car tonight, traffic is HORRIBLE tonight!" He said "Yeah, I am too. If I don't catch pneumonia".
Never was I so happy to see a bus, but it seemed as if we (the three swimmer girls, the man in the wet suit and I) had stood there in the pounding rain for an eternity. Since the front of the bus is for the elderly, I usually find my way back to a seat near the rear exit. I gingerly sat my soggy dripping self next to a woman who appeared dry and without a hair out of place. The lights were on in the bus and the windows were steamed up so I periodically had to wipe the window with my fist to see where we were. Past McDonalds and Gordon Tech and a German Restaurant called "Mirabella", a shopping mall and a K Mart on the left, finally crossing over the Kennedy expressway and the Blue Line to O'Hare. At the Blue Line stop there are inevitably LOTS of folks getting on and many of them searching in their pockets for the requisite number of coins or bills. The time and the nearest cross street is flashed on the marquee at the front of the bus. Every half block or so someone pulls the cord above the windows, DOINK and the marquee flashes the message "STOP REQUESTED". A bit farther we pass St. Viator's with a little statue of Mary in a grotto outside with candles flickering at her feet even in this downpour.
I had long since given up as hopeless my intention of catching the 6:15 from Grayland. I figured I would drown my sorrows in a smoky little bar right below the tracks and a flight of wooden steps away from where the train stopped. Normally if I have more time I get off on the other side of the tracks near Kilbourn street and cross them to the train because it is a shorter walk, but this time I figured I had only about 6 minutes if the train was on time. So I got off at the corner of Milwaukee and Addison and jogged half the way up the street, crossing the street when there was a lull in the traffic and then walking briskly the rest of the way. It must be a good quarter of a mile up to where the steps up to the station are located. It always seems to be farther to walk when you are are in a hurry.
I got there at just about 6:15 according to my watch. The squawk box across the tracks announced in a garbled voice that sounded half submerged underwater that "Due to a combination of factors, train number 2515 to Fox Lake will be ten to fifteen minutes late. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause." (Yeah, right) What a dreary little place. The wind blew, the drops splattered, the water ran off in streams from the top of the bus shelter. I wasn't going to sit down in there because (1) there was a puddle where I would place my feet, and the aluminum seat was wet. I stood waiting and watching for the train shining like some ground level comet, the telltale glint of light off the rails ahead of it. At some point you could see the bright central beacon with the two flashing lights on either side like some giant beast pumping its glowing fists and rolling with frightening speed toward the station. It comes hissing and squealing to a stop, the passengers already on, contendedly reading their papers or dozing behind the green glass. The doors slide open, a dozen people get off and the conductor leans out to make sure that all the wet and lost souls wanting to get on have done so. gives the engineer a signal and we are off. We have to change trains again in Deerfield and wait for yet another train to where I get off, but we're finally going home. :)
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