through circumstance and not choice, i am required to take the Brown Line to and from work everyday if i am to avoid six bus transfers or mile-long walks through less-than-ideal neighborhoods. for non-Chicagoans, the Brown Line is a segment of the “El” (Chicago’s elevated train system) that runs from the north side to the Loop (downtown) and back. over the past year, the Brown Line launched a construction project to overhaul and update each and every one of the stations along its path. to do so, they have decided to close nearly every other station on the north side, forcing many people to walk four to six extra blocks to catch their train or resort to taking a CTA bus.
because my stop is on a small side street and one of the northernmost stops on the Brown Line, by the time i board the train around 7:45am each morning, it is usually still fairly empty. well, this was the case until they closed the nearest major Brown Line station and all of those people have been relocated to my station. now it’s a fight to the death for a seat, and if not a seat, a pole to hang on to so as not to be flung against the wall when the train takes a turn or comes to an unexpected stop for no reason, whatsoever.
getting a seat is a privilege. it protects you not only from being thrown about like a rag doll, but from the overwhelming stench of people who stand way too close to you for absolutely no reason and suffer from unfortunate body odors. since i get motion sickness from reading on the train, there is nothing to distract myself from the vapors infiltrating my nostrils and i try to focus simply on not throwing up in my mouth.
sometimes, a true vagrant, i mean someone who has not seen the inside of a shower in months, possibly years, makes his way aboard, and always when the pain is packed to capacity. my favorite thing to do when this happens it watch the people directly next to the vagrant, who are practically climbing onto each other’s backs to get away from the smell of urine, body odor, and God knows what else. of course, when i am one of those people, i pray that the vagrant will get off at the next stop, otherwise, i will quickly de-train and dart into another car.
when you want a microcosm of society, there is nothing that compares to the Brown Line. you have businessmen in swanky suits with gadgets hooked up to their ears and pockets, chins held high as if they are reminding themselves that they are better than this, and if only their Mercedes weren’t in the shop, they wouldn’t have to stoop to this level. there are always very young mothers, maybe in their late teens or early twenties, with three or four kids clinging to their skirts, looking desperately for a way to sit together. there are people who will be deaf in three years because they feel the need to have their iPod on as loud as it can possibly be, and while i understand that all sorts of unpleasant sounds are present on the El, it’s really not worth blowing out my eardrums over. And of course, there are the ignorant SOBs who talk as loud as they possibly can on their phone so that we, the people without iPods or screaming children to distract us, are forced to hear one-sided conversations about redecorating, divorce, pregnancy, or someone’s job interview.
twice a day, every day, this is what i endure. when i feel too sick to read, i look out the window at the porches of apartments i wish i lived in. sometimes i check out what the other women my age are wearing. sometimes i compare myself to them, weight-wise. but always, no matter how crowded or uncrowded, no matter how fast the train goes or how many times it stops due to “signal clearance,” i am always, always hating every minute of it.
