Might As Well Call Them Public Parts, Sir

I frequently see people begin blog posts with an apology for being a shitty blogger and not keeping up with it.  I'm not going to do that.  Let’s jump in.

I moved to Chicago earlier this year for work and more school (my employer might as well just send my paycheck directly to Northwestern) and it's been an interesting transition to city life.  People walk fast, you get odd looks for saying "hello," and the last time I saw anyone smile in public was when I got lost and a homeless man without lips asked me for a quarter. 

It took me a while to get used to not saying "hi" to people.  I take a criminally long train ride to work every morning (actually it's two but its faster to say I only take one) and I originally thought that I would be able to make some commute buddies.  But every time I tried to start a conversation with someone, they'd snap back to reality like a drown victim sputtering up brine and taking their first few gasping breaths of a new beginning.  Only instead of a new lease on life, they had a redhead standing a little too close and asking earnestly how their day was going so far.

I actually had a woman give me a scared "oh my goodness, please don't stab me" look and change cars after I said, and I quote: "I like your sweater."

I DIDN'T SAY I WANTED TO USE YOUR SKULL AS A CEREAL BOWL, I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I NOTICED YOUR SWEATER BECAUSE NOT EVERYONE CAN PULL OFF LIME GREEN IN NOVEMBER, YOU PARANOID DICK.

"Oh my god Gerald, just talk to me for a second.  I know you're in a meeting, but just stay on the phone with me.  I almost died just now!  A...a man on the train made a brief comment to me in passing.
-Indistinct sobbing-  Oh god he was so red!"

Relax, lady.

The day I found out that alcohol was allowed on the trains was a glorious one. 

There's a bar conveniently placed next to the train station and I go get a few bottles for the ride home some days.  The only downside is the 300 year old dude who sits at the corner of the bar (he has literally been there every time I go in) drinking what looks to be whiskey and smelling intensely of urine.  He takes the same train I do, and sitting in the same car as him is like being in the urology wing of a hospital that only serves asparagus.  He walks like a 300 year old too.  He has a general backward slope to his lower body, but his shoulders are hunched over like a predatory feline stalking wildebeest.  His slow, two inch steps indicate that perhaps the pee smell is due to the fact that every time he has to go the bathroom, he doesn't quite make it in time.

Speaking of piss, three beers and a violently vibrating traincar is a powerful combination.  I generally have an emergency on my hands after every game of "trainbeer."

One afternoon, when I had a particularly imminent situation, I scurried to the bathroom as soon as the train stopped at the station.  As I turned the corner into the bathroom, I saw a man standing in front of one of the urinals, peeing.  Only, this man must have been far-sighted because he was standing about two and a half feet away from the wall, dick in hand, lobbing a long arc of piss into the distant toilet.  This is not hyperbole.  This man was standing so far away from the urinal that it looked like his pee was doing an Evel Knievel stunt.

I still had to go pretty badly, so I walked AROUND this dude and peed in a urinal down the row standing at a normal, human-person distance from the wall.  Once I was settled in, I turned to see a third guy entering the restroom.  He looked confusedly at the dude standing basically in the center of the room.  Then he looked down and the confusion rapidly transformed into a cringe of disgust.  His eyes darted away and he walked toward the stalls.  Before he entered the stall, he turned back and looked for about four seconds in disbelief.  It was hysterical.

Six more guys walked in and had the exact same reaction.  One guy saw it, gasped, and immediately about-faced out of the restroom.  I swear another guy dry heaved a little bit.