Road Rage

I hate driving.

In Chicago, I didn't have to drive. I could take the El or the bus, or I could walk to my destination. Many of the places we needed, like the bank, the grocery store, the dry cleaner, coffee shops, and restaurants, were within walking distance.

In this small town I've moved to, I hardly ever see anyone walking around, except for the students walking around the campus of the school where I teach. It's necessary to own a car here, which is why I will spend the next four or five years making car payments. I wanted to buy a cheaper, used car, but my parents insisted that I buy a new one. Since they were loaning me the money for a down payment, and since I got tired of arguing with them, I did. My mother demanded that I get the color and make that she wanted, even though technically it is my car.

One bonus is that since this is a small town, I can usually get through two weeks of driving on one tank of gas. I must admit that it is nice to only have to make one trip to the grocery store, rather than two or three trips like in Chicago, where I could only buy as much as I could carry in my reusable bags or small shopping cart.

I'm also saving up for a summer road trip to some place I haven't been to before, even though my parents say that they want to come along to "chaperone" (did I mention I'm thirty-four years old?). But there is NO way they're coming with me. I'm looking forward to a trip where it's just me, my car, and the open road in front of me.

But in this town, I often get stuck behind drivers who apparently drive by the following mottos: "I'm going to drive this ol' pickup truck as slowly as possible so that everyone can admire my fine, giant Confederate flag" or "If I cut off as many people as possible, I WIN!" or "I'm sure no one will mind if I delay traffic so that I can stop and spit out my window."

In my apartment complex, all the tenants are assigned parking spaces, though the assignments are completely disregarded by the majority of my neighbors, who apparently park by the following mottos: "Some people color outside of the lines. I park outside of the lines," and "Who cares if this space isn't mine? First come, first served, sucker!" It's easy for my loser neighbors to steal my spot, since most of them don't seem to work for a living and are home more often than I am.

I never let them get away with it, though. I've told them repeatedly to get their cars out of my parking space. I resist the urge to key the words "I HATE YOU" into the fancy cars that their parents bought for them.

Public transportation in Chicago is not cheap, but it's still a lot cheaper than owning a car. I have to make monthly car payments, as well as pay for gas, car maintenance, insurance, and cleaning. Due to all of those expenses, I haven't had a haircut in more than three months; my shoes have holes in them, and I'm down to one pair of jeans and two pairs of dress pants.

When I walked around Chicago, I burned more calories in one day than I do in a week's worth of walking around Small Town. When I was walking or riding the bus or train, I could usually take the time to observe the people around me, enjoy the music I was listening to on my iPod, and appreciate other sights, like the view of the Chicago River from one of the downtown bridges, the street performers, and the high-rise buildings that reflected the sunlight. When I'm driving, I'm usually focused on getting from Point A to Point B without getting into an accident.

I think the biggest reason I hate driving is because it reinforces the fact that my life is here now (at least for the next year or two), and that I might never live in Chicago again. I know this move was necessary, especially because I need this job. But sometimes, when I'm telling my loser neighbors for the eighth time to get their car out of my space or I'm trying not to flip off the driver who just cut me off, I wish that I was on a crowded El full of chattering tourists, rowdy Cubs fans, and random people shrieking about politics/religion/the upcoming alien invasion.

What about you? How do you feel about driving or commuting in general? Have you ever taken a road trip?

Crying in Public

Last week I was waiting at a bus stop after I left the hospital (I had another doctor's appointment). I saw a small bird on the street, and it was hardly moving, but I knew it was alive. I thought maybe its wing was broken, but I couldn't be sure. I stood there, watching the bird, not sure of whether I should go out and try to help it or what I could do to help it. Suddenly, to my horror, a car drove over the bird and killed it.

I screamed. Several people heard me scream and kept walking, their eyes averted from my face. One guy who had also seen the bird die tried to comfort me, but I couldn't help it; I just started crying.

I read somewhere that one of the things about living in a big city is that you can cry in public and no one will notice. I've found that that's true. I cried the whole bus ride home, and no one looked at me.

I hated myself for not saving that bird, for not running out to the road, scooping it up in my jacket, and bringing it to a vet or an animal hospital. If I had just done that, that poor bird might still be alive. That bird looked so small, and it must have felt so scared, lost, and alone out there on the road. I kept thinking of what I had seen, and I couldn't stop crying.

I wasn't just crying about the bird. I cried because the doctor told me she was "concerned" about what she saw after she examined me, and she significantly increased my medication (which means the painful and uncomfortable side effects have only gotten worse since then). I cried because that meant I wasn't getting better, and I wasn't sure if I was ever going to get better.

I cried because I was scared. I want this medication to work and to cure me, so that I don't have to get surgery. I don't want to get surgery, and I don't want to go permanently blind if the surgery doesn't work. And I only have student health insurance, which I don't think would cover the entire surgery anyway. I'm having enough trouble trying to get referrals from my primary doctor so that my insurance company will cover all these doctors' visits and medical procedures. The insurance company is trying to make it so that I have to pay for everything myself. I don't have the money to pay for everything, and I don't think it's fair that I should be denied surgery and go blind just because my insurance company is full of jerks.

I cried because of all the work I have to do. I have to give a huge presentation to the entire English department in less than three weeks, and I'm not ready. I haven't had time to work on it. I've been undergoing all these painful medical procedures, struggling to stay awake due to the drowsiness caused by the medication, and spending hours waiting in doctors' offices, clinics, and hospitals (they won't let me use my laptop in there). I also haven't had enough time to send out all my job applications and missed an important deadline for a school that I really wanted to work for.

I cried because I'm supposed to get a fellow graduate student to make an introduction for me at my presentation. I've been to the other grad students' presentations, and they usually get their friends to write introductions that are filled with praise for their work. I asked several people to do my introduction, and they all said no. I rarely socialize with the other grad students, because I don't like going to the bar that they all hang out in (I don't like bars, period. In hell there is no "closing time" at bars.). And it's not like any of them invite me most of the time, anyway. Anyway, I can't even drink alcohol or soda due to the medication I'm on, so I don't really feel like drinking a glass of water and watching everyone else get drunk. I'm dreading getting up in front of the entire department and having no one do my introduction (even my own advisor was unwilling to do it), which will make it painfully obvious that I am an outcast.

I cried because I was angry. I'm angry at the people who refused to do my introduction for me. I'm angry at the people who claim to be my friends and that I can talk to them, but they won't even return my calls or my texts, even though they know what I'm going through right now. I'm angry that even if I send out all my applications right now, my chances of getting hired are slim to none because the fact that I'm a good teacher means nothing compared to the fact that I am an average scholar.

Most of all, I'm angry that even though I don't look sick or act sick (though I'm thankful that I don't look or act sick), I really AM sick. I don't deserve any of this. No one does. I don't know why this is happening to me. I've always been relatively healthy, and I always feel frightened every time I go into the hospital. (This is why I'm glad that I never went to medical school. I doubt my patients would have been okay with the fact that their doctor was more terrified than they were.)

I thought I would be able to go off the medication soon and that it would work. I thought I would get better. But I'm not getting better, and it just makes me furious at the whole world.

I'm sorry that this post is pretty depressing. I try not to write about such dark topics, but sometimes writing about what I'm going through helps me deal with it, if only a little bit. But I'll try to write about something less depressing next time.

What about you? How do you deal with it when you feel mad at the whole world? Also, do you know what you're supposed to do when you find an injured bird?

What I'd Like to Say to Chicago Commuters

1. If you're going to throw up, please aim in the OTHER direction.

2. No, your purse does NOT need its own seat. So move it before I sit on YOU. 

3. The "No Smoking" signs on the train and the subway platforms really do mean that you shouldn't smoke. It does NOT mean you should stand right beside the sign and light up.

4. I get that you love your death metal music. I prefer Miley, Britney, and Ke$ha, but I know that not everyone likes them. That's why I don't BLAST my music at a volume so loud that it would make Chicago commuters want to tackle me. So could you please turn it down?

5. Just because I happen to glance in your direction for a millisecond, that does not mean I am inviting you to come over and hit on me/convert me to your cult/expose yourself to me.

6. During rush hour, the trains are often late and end up becoming even more crowded with commuters. I know that you don't want to have to wait for the next train, because who knows when (or if) it'll show up? But if you see a train that's so crowded that people are literally spilling out of it, the logical thing to do is to just wait for the next train, rather than squeeze yourself onto it and then scream at people to move back.

7. If you want to see a bunch of Chicago commuters EXPLODE at the same time, scream at them for not making room for you when the train is so crowded that it's impossible for them to move, let alone make room for you.

8. It's okay if you want to talk on your cell phone, as long as you're quiet about it. But do realize we can hear everything you say, including all the details of your latest breakup/what's going on in your family/why you hate your job (and your boss just might be on the train at the same time).

9. A lot of people cut in front of each other in order to get on the train first. That's something that will never change. But I do wish that people would stop shoving each other in order to get on the train first, because otherwise a certain neurotic workaholic just might end up pulling people's hair in response.

10. It's important and necessary to floss. It's NOT necessary to floss when you're sitting right next to me on the train.

I have to take buses and trains to get to school, the Loop, Grant Park, the lake, and my favorite neighborhoods, like Chinatown, Boystown, Wicker Park, and Greektown. I also have to do a lot of walking just to get to the grocery store, my favorite coffee shop, the bookstore, and basically any place that sells candy (because I really am that addicted to sugar), just like the other locals. I spend hours commuting every week, and it can be very tiring and stressful. I usually read a book or listen to music to pass the time, but sometimes even Taylor Swift and Katy Perry aren't enough to make the commute more bearable. It's one of the things you just have to deal with when you're a city dweller, I guess.

But on the other hand, being a Chicago commuter makes me feel like a true local who can travel confidently (usually) from one end of the city to the other. I look around at the other commuters and I feel like I'm part of a community, even if the community members occasionally yell and shove each other just to get a seat. Although the tiny Midwestern town where I grew up will always be home, at the same time I never truly felt like I belonged there. I always felt out of place, which is one of the reasons I became a loner and started reading and writing so much; books (including my own stories) gave me the chance to escape.

But Chicago really does feel like home, and I feel like I really do belong here. I've always figured that my time here had an expiration date, because once I do finish graduate school, I'll have to go wherever the jobs are. That means I might end up living in a small town again, and that's okay. But Chicago will always be home to me.

What about you? What is it about your hometown that makes you feel like you belong, or is there another place that you feel more at home in?

Exercise Fanatics, Nacho Lovers, and Cubs Fans

(Side note: I wrote this post a couple days ago. When I read the articles about what happened at the Boston Marathon, I suddenly viewed the things that happened in this post from an entirely different perspective. I'm so sorry about what happened at the marathon, and I feel sad and scared for all the people who have been affected by it. I hope they find whoever did it so that it never happens again.)

Earlier this week I was using one of the weight-lifting machines at the gym, when I was suddenly confronted by a Possessive Exercise Fanatic. This is the kind of person who will spend a long time on each machine because he or she does several sets on it, but the Possessive Exercise Fanatic will also alternate by doing sets on other machines. The PEF thinks that because he or she hasn't completed all of his or her sets, that means the PEF is entitled to lay claim on all the machines he or she wants to use, even if the PEF isn't actually using them at that moment.

I kind of think of the PEFs as those little kids I encountered when I was younger, who would say stuff like, "These are all MY toys, MINE! You can't play with them!" Only the PEF's version is "These are all my exercise machines, MINE, and you can't use any of them until I'm done with them, because only I shall have the muscular biceps/six-pack abs/perfect calves, weakling! Hahahahaha!"

I had seen this particular Possessive Exercise Fanatic do several sets in a row on one of the machines, but then he moved on to another machine for several minutes. I thought that meant it was okay for me to use the machine that he had left. But I had barely done one set before he was tapping his foot in front of me and saying that he was still using it.

I insisted on finishing my set rather than get up and leave right away like he wanted, though what I wanted to say was, "Last time I checked, we both pay the same membership fees, so I have just as much right to use this machine as you do. So shall I drop a dumbbell on your foot now, or later? Because it will happen NOW if you keep hogging all the machines. And stop glaring at me like that, because otherwise I'm going to introduce my sneaker to your face."

When I was riding the train, I saw a guy eat nachos covered with jalapenos, sour cream, salsa, and beef out of a fast food container. Most people (including me) tend not to eat on the train, partly because of the fear that someone might sneeze on our food. But that didn't stop this guy. He only finished eating about half of the nachos. Before he left the train, he shoved the open container under his seat, so that the rest of us could admire his half-eaten meal and smell it for the rest of the ride. I wanted to chase after him and say, "Hey! You forgot something!" Then I'd yell, "Catch!" before flinging the nachos at him.

Inconsiderate, self-centered people like the Nacho Lover and the Possessive Exercise Fanatic drive me nuts. In fact, if people like them didn't exist, this blog would be at least two hundred posts shorter. I think that one reason they bother me so much is that I was taught to be considerate of other people. The nuns and priests at the Catholic school I went to when I was younger told us that we should do at least one good deed a day, if not more, and that included being considerate of other people. I think it's also partly due to the fact that I am a writer; writers are supposed to develop a stronger awareness of their surroundings, and that includes being observant of other people and their needs. (On the other hand, I know that there are plenty of writers out there who are observant but also very rude.)

So I try to be considerate of other people, and that includes cleaning up after myself, not hogging anything, and not blasting my music or television at all hours.  I also try to help other people in small ways, at least once a day, whether it's leaving a tip for the baristas at the cafes that I write in, holding a door open for someone, buying a sandwich for a homeless person, or helping a person in a wheelchair cross the street. In other words, I try to remember what I was taught, which was that I should treat other people the way I would want to be treated.

That's why it's still disheartening when I come across supposedly mature adults who show no consideration for other people and focus solely on their own concerns, even if it hurts or annoys someone else. I'm supposed to "turn the other cheek", but what I really want to do is introduce my sneaker to their faces. But I'm not a violent person, even though sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like if I was the female version of Jackie Chan or James Bond. Then NO ONE would dare mess with me.

I often write down what I'd like to say to those people, because I know if I said it out loud it would probably start a fight. I know I shouldn't let their rude, thoughtless behavior bother me, but it does.

But fortunately, not all people are like that. On the day of the first Cubs game of the season, there were several people wearing baseball caps, jackets, and shirts with the Cubs logo on them. When I saw them on the train, I immediately thought, Oh, MAN. Now the train is going to be extra crowded, and I'm going to have to listen to them say stuff like, "Do you think if I throw up later, it'll come out blue because I'm a Cubs fan?"  I also always end up trapped on a train full of Cubs fans when it's ninety degrees outside and the A/C isn't working. (Fortunately, it was cold that day.)

The train was crowded, but when I stood up at my stop to leave, I heard several of the Cubs fans whisper to each other, "Step out of the way. She's trying to get off the train." Unlike many locals I've seen who only inch out of the way or don't move at all when other people try to get off the train, or who push and shove their way onto the train before the people in the train have a chance to get off, these people actually made a narrow path for me to get through. Their courtesy and consideration for me, a perfect stranger, made me think that chivalry really isn't dead after all. (It also made me think that maybe they were tourists who hadn't adopted the "me first" mentality that so many Chicago commuters have.)

So on the rare occasion when someone is considerate towards me or when I see someone doing a good deed for someone else, it always makes my day. That incident on the train almost made up for the time that I was in Wrigleyville after a game and saw Cubs fans peeing outside of apartment buildings.

What about you? What is an example of rude or inconsiderate behavior that bugs you, and how do you deal with it?

P.S. Is it true that there won't be a Google Reader anymore starting in July? How are we supposed to know when blogs are updated without it?

Getting Revenge by Writing

The thing about being completely neurotic is that you obsess over everything, including the things that don't bother most people. (That's why I love Seinfeld. It's not really "a show about nothing". It's a show about their obsessions.) That can cause you to hold grudges that last for a long time.

For example, I am still angry at the Walgreens cashier that I bought M&Ms from back in high school. She made a crack about how I shouldn't eat too much candy because it was fattening. I'd bought candy from her before, and I guess she thought she was being "helpful". This was back when I was overweight and self-conscious about my appearance.  I knew the candy was fattening. Overweight people know that they shouldn't eat junk food, and they know that they're overweight. But sometimes they just can't help themselves, and it's humiliating when other people make them feel bad about it. I still remember how embarrassed, hurt, and angry I felt, and to this day I wish I had stood up to her...or at least called the manager over to file a complaint against her. So even though it's been more than a decade since that happened, I still cannot bring myself to forgive her.

I do try to forgive people, even though it's hard. But in fiction writing, however, I can be as vengeful and unforgiving as I want to be. That makes me sound cruel, but think about it. A lot of fiction writers write down the things they would never say in real life, or they let their characters do what the writers could/would never do. It's safer that way, and it can provide a sense of release as well. Rather than seek revenge in real life against the people that hurt you, you can do it through writing, as long as you heavily disguise those people, of course, as Anne Lamott advised in her book Bird by Bird. (Otherwise, they might seek revenge against you, by filing a lawsuit.)

For example, the other night, I noticed that the neighbor in the apartment one floor up and facing mine raised his blinds at around midnight. I didn't think anything of it until I went to bed at around twelve-thirty. Even though my blinds were closed, the light from my neighbor's apartment shone into mine. He must have used flood lights or 100-megawatt bulbs, because the light completely lit up my room. In my half-asleep state, I at first thought that a UFO had landed outside my window, and I was going to yell out my window, "Take my neighbors, not me! Feel free to dissect and study them, as long as you don't bring them back."

But then I looked out my window and realized that it was the light in my neighbor's apartment that made it seem like it was still broad daylight rather than the middle of the night. I tried to go back to sleep, but the light made it impossible. How long did the jerk leave his light on? All night. What time did I finally manage to fall asleep? Four A.M. What time did I have to get up to go to work? Seven A.M. On a scale of one to ten, how angry (and exhausted) was I? 999,765,037...and counting.

In fiction, I can get back at him by writing a horror story titled "Night of the Living Workaholic", where I turn into a zombie (which, actually, is what happens when I don't get enough sleep) and come into his apartment, where Zombie Me then proceeds to a) eat his brain or b) scare him into being polite and considerate, to the point that not only will he keep his blinds closed from now on, he'll be too afraid to leave his home and will keep peeking through his blinds for fear that Zombie Me will strike again (and I will, BWAHAHAHAHA!).

In real life, I bought a sleeping mask to cover my eyes. If he is inconsiderate enough to leave his blinds up and his lights on all night again, I will ask my landlord to say something to him, though I doubt it will make much difference.

More than once people have pushed me aside in their hurry to get on the train during my daily commute. In real life, all I can say is, "Hey, I was here FIRST, so BACK UP!" If I'm feeling more timid, then I'll just give them what I call the Death Glare and hope that they will cower in fear. (I also kind of wish that Zombie Me could be my bodyguard, because she would definitely scare them...or eat their brains.)

But in fiction, I can get back at them by writing a story about how after they cut in front of a line of people waiting for the train, they find themselves trapped on a train full of Justin Bieber's fans on their way to a concert.

What about you? Do you ever base your characters or storylines on people or situations that bothered you? Do you ever write in fiction what you wish would happen in real life? If you don't, how do you work out your emotions when someone makes you mad or hurts you? 

What's the Magic Word?

During rush hour yesterday, I was standing in line to put my fare card into the slot in order to get through the turnstile and board the train. Some woman walked past the line and stepped in front of all the people standing there in order to put her card in the slot. She caught the incoming train. I didn't. If she hadn't cut in front of me, I would have. Instead, I ended up waiting for a train that was several minutes late and ended up on a very crowded train with nothing to hold onto. As a result, every time the train jerked forward I practically landed face-first at someone's feet or accidentally threw my arms around another person's waist. (Doing that gives some people the wrong idea, which really isn't a good way to start the morning.)

Side note: What is it about a crowded train that makes people waiting on the platform want to make it even more crowded? Do they think that shoving their way inside and yelling at people to move back will magically create more space? Or do they like causing everyone else to get their faces smushed against other people's shoulders and backpacks?

Recently, a woman nearly ran me over with her car as I was trying to cross the street (I had the right of way). She didn't apologize, look at me, or slow down.

I was walking on the sidewalk and a guy walking in the opposite direction bumped into me, nearly knocking me into the street. His girlfriend called out, "Don't fall!" and they both laughed.

I told a fellow instructor that I used to work with how hard it was to find decent-paying adjunct jobs in the city. She then proceeded to tell me how one school that we had both taught at had offered her an extra class and was going to pay her significantly more than they had paid me.

Now that school's starting up again, I've been getting e-mails from students that ask questions like, "Do I really need to buy the books for class? How much reading are we going to do in a literature class?" and "I think I'm going to be missing at least three weeks of class. That's not going to hurt my grade, is it?" and "Can you tell me what all the assignments are now and how to do them, so that I can work ahead?" and "You're not going to make us show up on time every day, right? Because I have other things to do."

I've answered all the e-mails promptly, and the number of thank yous I've received aren't equal to half the number of e-mails, requests for appointments, and requests for recommendation letters that I've received.

I was raised to always say stuff like please, thank you, excuse me, and I'm sorry. One of the nuns at my Catholic grade school told us it was important to do at least one good deed a day, and I believed her. (On the other hand, I also used to believe the nuns when they said that thunder meant the angels were bowling.) So I do things like leave tips for baristas, open doors for people, and give up my seat on the train to others who need it more. I was also taught to give thank you gifts and cards to people who helped me, like the professors who wrote my recommendation letters, my hairstylist who made my hair stop looking like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical outlet, and the building engineers who always repaired broken things in my apartment almost as soon as I asked them to.

I don't expect cards or gifts when I help other people.

But it does bother me when people forget their manners, not just with me but with other people. I can't help wanting to say something (though sometimes I lack the courage to actually speak up) if I see a customer being rude to a cashier, or if I see a bunch of drivers honking their horns at people in wheelchairs crossing the street.

On the other hand, when I do see people who go out of their way to be kind and courteous, it always makes me feel better. This morning I saw a young woman give up her seat on the train so that an elderly couple could sit together. Recently I saw another woman giving food she'd bought at a restaurant to a homeless person. And occasionally, when I cross the street and a car brakes in front of me just in time, the driver will hold up his or her hand in order to apologize. People like that make me think that there are still good, considerate people out there. And that gives me hope.

What do you think? Do you think that manners and other rules for behavior are outdated? Or does it bother you when people disobey or disregard those rules?

The Neurotic Pedestrian

Dear Chicago drivers,
  I know we haven't always gotten along well in the past. Back when I lived near a busy intersection, I developed the bad habit of yelling at many of you when you drove too fast or came this close to running me over; I must admit that more than once I screamed, "It's called yielding, LOSER!" 

But I'm not like that anymore. I've learned that I can't control the way other people drive, but I can control my own behavior. So I've learned to be extra careful when crossing the street, especially when there's a lot of traffic.

But I still thought I'd send this letter out and ask you to do a few things, not just for me, but for all pedestrians out there. I think that if you were to do these things, the streets would be a much safer (and happier) place. And then you wouldn't have to worry about neurotic pedestrians like me screaming and throwing things at you, you know?

First of all, if your doors are vibrating, then YOUR MUSIC'S TOO LOUD. I like listening to music when I drive, too, but let's keep it to a reasonable volume, okay? It's really not necessary for you to play your music so loud that you start an earthquake or something.

Is it really necessary to lean on your horn? I know it can be frustrating to get stuck in traffic. But pressing your horn for several minutes at a time is not the solution. Especially because someone may or may not run up to your car, reach through the window, rip out your car horn, and hit you in the kneecaps with it.

I know that you enjoy texting your friends thirty-six times an hour, but could you please not do it when you're driving? Whenever I come close to getting hit by a car, nine times out of ten the driver is on his or her cell phone. And it's really not good to be distracted when you're driving. I mean, I hate to sound like a public service announcement, but it's safer just to focus on the task at hand.

Especially because I have a cell phone too. And I may just wait until you're pulled up to a red light, take your picture, and then send it in along with an application for you to be on the next season of Jersey Shore. Or maybe I'll post it on the Internet in such a way so that it looks like you're about to marry Minnie Mouse. And then I just might make copies of those pictures and put them up on billboards as a warning to all other drivers on their cell phones. FYI? Photoshop can work wonders.

And also? The "walk" sign means that it's okay for pedestrians to cross the street. It does not mean that you should keep honking and yelling at people like me to move faster. It does NOT mean it's okay for you to start driving faster and run over anyone who might be in your way. If you do that, I just might jump onto your car, climb inside, and make you come with me to a Jonas Brothers concert. And then I might take your car and leave you there.

When you pull up to a stop sign or a red light, please don't pull up so far that your car is covering the crosswalk. Then it means that people crossing the street have to walk around your car and into oncoming traffic. If you do that, I may start banging on your window and calling you a name that rhymes with "rum bass".

You might accuse me of being jealous that you have a car to drive and I have been riding trains and buses for years. And in a way, I am jealous. After all, you always get to sit down when you're traveling, you can choose the volume for how low loud the music will be played, and you don't have to sit across from a woman who spends the first several minutes smiling and winking at you and then, for no reason at all, starts glaring at you and making stabbing motions with her hand. You don't have to pretend that you don't hear the guy who's running up and down the aisles screaming about how the government is watching us and eventually we're all going to be turned into robots.

But even though I would like to have my own car to drive around in, at the same time I've accepted the fact that for now, I'm stuck riding the train and the bus. And that's okay. And I promise that I will only cross the street when the walk sign is flashing, and not when the cars have already started moving, unlike so many other geniuses walking around out there. I promise to be careful when I'm walking around, and I promise to stay out of the drivers' way. But please, next time you go out on the road, have some consideration for the pedestrians, okay? I'd appreciate it.

Sincerely,

The Neurotic Pedestrian

Scooter Smackdown

I flew back to Chicago yesterday, and when I got to my neighborhood I was so happy to be back I almost kissed the sidewalk. I would have too, if there wasn't so much trash on it.

Ever since my scary subway encounter, I've been thinking about alternative ways to get around the city. Walking is out, because it's usually too far to get from one place to the other. And taxis are out too, because they're expensive. I took a cab from the airport back to my building, and the driver broke one of the wheels on my suitcase because he was so careless with it. I didn't notice it, of course, until I tried to drag the suitcase inside. That must have been why he drove away so quickly. I would've called the company to complain, but this was the one time I didn't pay attention to which one I was taking and what the cab number was. Fan-tastic.

I could buy a car, but seeing as how I'm a broke grad student/website employee/teaching assistant/adjunct instructor (you'd think that working multiple jobs would mean I'd have more money, right? Ha! You'd THINK), that's out of the question too.

I also thought about getting a bicycle. Then I'd save a lot of money on train/bus fare AND I'd get a lot of exercise. And then maybe I'd go down to a size 2 and I could laugh in the faces of all the guys who ever ignored me. And maybe run over their shoes with my bicycle tires.

But seeing as how it's only warm in Chicago for less than three months a year, it'd be hard navigating a bicycle around the city when it's cold/rainy/icy/snowy out. I've seen bicyclists out during the winter, and I don't understand how they're able to ride around without screaming, because that's what I would be doing. I'd probably be all, "Mayday! Mayday! Neurotic girl on bike coming through! AHHHHH!" And then I'd crash into a lamppost or something.

In Chicago, you're supposed to ride your bike in the street, but many cyclists disregard that rule. And I'm not talking about little kids, because come on, who's going to make a five year old ride their bike in the street? I'm talking about adults who take up all the room on the sidewalk while the people on foot have to move to the street to get out of their way.

Once I was walking to the grocery store when I saw a woman riding a scooter on the sidewalk.

She managed to stay out of the way of most people, but apparently one woman had a problem with her and stood in her way, blocking her from riding any further. She said something like, "I can't believe you have the nerve to ride that on the sidewalk." I pictured that woman sitting down to write a letter to Dear Amy or Dear Abby later to complain about people who ride their scooters on sidewalks (side note: do you notice how a high percentage of the people who write to those advice columns often aren't asking for advice; they're just complaining about people who piss them off? I'd probably be like them if I didn't have this blog. The annoying ones are the ones who write the indignant-and sometimes vicious-letters to the advice columnists to tell them that they gave the wrong advice). The two women then started arguing, and I wondered if there was going to be some kind of scooter smackdown right then and there. I didn't stay to find out. Like pretty much everyone else, I crossed the street and walked away quickly.

There is a lot of anger in the city. If I had a dollar for every time I witnessed a public argument, I'd be able to afford one of those fancy bikes. Or maybe even a motorcycle. In my old building, I saw two women in the laundry room get into a screaming match over some laundry that one of the women had left in the washing machine. I was at a coffeehouse once and a customer got thrown out because he kept cursing out the baristas. He then proceeded to walk back and forth in front of the window, screaming obscenities until the police showed up. And it's common to see people screaming at each other (or at nothing in particular) in the street.

I am ashamed to admit that I've yelled in public too, usually at drivers who come this close to running me over and then curse me out for being in their way. Before I moved to Chicago, I would never have imagined yelling at strangers like that; there was definitely anger in my hometown, but people usually talked about each other behind their backs rather than to their faces. But on the other hand, I did get into more than one standoff with kids who picked on me when I was in school.

Sometimes, I worry that a lot of the rage I've witnessed has transferred onto me. And that maybe that's why minor annoyances often get the best of me. On my flight back to Chicago, for example, it bothered me that this girl sitting across from me took up nearly an entire overhead compartment with her instrument case, and wouldn't let anyone else put their bags up there. The flight attendant took her side, for some reason, and made me put my bag on the floor even though we're not supposed to; as a result I had no leg room. I tried to lean my seat back, but the guy sitting beside me kept shoving it forward and refused to let me push my seat back. And I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming.

But then something happened on the plane yesterday that made some of that anger start to dissipate. Another woman who had to put her bag in a compartment several seats back couldn't reach it, so several people passed it along to her rather than just cut in front of her and make her wait. And somehow, that small act of kindness made me feel better.

Even though there is a lot of anger in the city, I still see small acts of kindness every now and then. Whenever there is an elderly person, a pregnant woman, or a person carrying a bunch of packages on the train or the bus, I'll always see at least one or two people offer their seats to that person. I've seen people give food to the homeless, and if I happen to drop my gloves or my hat during the winter, there's always at least one person who will pick it up and give it back to me.

Seeing stuff like that inspires me to do the same thing. One of my teachers in Catholic school said we should try to do at least one good deed a day, and I think she's right. And at the very least, it makes me just a little less angry.

What about you? How do you de-stress yourself from the daily annoyances?

Thank You for Not Singing in My Ear

I'm standing on the platform waiting for the train, but it hasn't shown up yet. At least three trains going in the opposite direction show up within minutes of each other. By the time my train finally does show up, the platform is completely full. The train operator advises people to make way for the passengers leaving the train, but some people ignore the advice and push and shove their way inside. Yes, that's the right thing to do. Don't wait ten seconds to let other people get off the train before you board it, because OF COURSE the operator is going to suddenly make the train go ZOOM and you'll be clinging to the half-open doors because you didn't get on the train quickly enough. And then you'll be stuck clinging to those doors for dear life while you scream "AAAHHHH!!!" while the other passengers sit blithely in their seats and ignore you, all because you didn't shove a pregnant woman out of the way or cut in front of someone else in order to get onto the train first.

I step onto the train and look around for an empty seat. I see a woman sitting on the aisle seat, and apparently her bookbag needs its own window seat. I ask her politely, "Can I sit there?" She pretends not to to hear me and looks straight ahead until I ask her again and point to the seat beside her. She rolls her eyes at me and takes her bag off the seat. She moves her legs to the side but doesn't bother to stand up so that I can get into the seat. I am tempted to let my purse "accidentally" hit her in the face, but I don't.

The train moves along quietly for a while, and everyone looks tired and grim because it's 8 A.M. and they're headed to work. Everyone except for one guy sitting behind me, who has opened his laptop and decided he is too cool for headphones. He turns up the volume on his computer and starts blasting a pop song that I don't recognize. He has to make sure that we all love it as much as he does, so he starts singing along. But he only knows one line, and sings "Na na na" when the band sings the other lines that he doesn't know.

"I just want to feel you up," he sings. "Na na na na na. I just want to feel you up, woo hoo, oh yeah. Na na na na na na."

This time I roll my eyes and glare in his direction, but the singing guy is oblivious. He starts singing louder as the next song on his computer comes on. And again, he apparently only knows one line, so he treats us to another rendition of "Na na na na na na." Yes, keep singing. In fact, why don't we all sing along? Why don't we all just join hands and sing so loudly that we drown out Singing Guy? No? Guess we're stuck, then.

The woman sitting next to me leaves the train two stops later, and a guy in a business suit takes her place. I'm trying to concentrate on my book, when I feel the guy's leg brush against mine. I move my body away so that we're not touching each other, but his leg keeps bumping into mine. And then his head starts drooping forward, almost like he's trying to look down my blouse. What the hell? Get AWAY from me, you perv. I start to say this out loud to him, but when I look at him I realize that his head is drooping because he's fallen asleep. His head is about two inches away from my shoulder. Would it be rude to wake him up? It's a wonder that he's able to sleep through Singing Guy's off-key sing-a-long.

I look over at a guy sitting across the aisle and notice that he's eating pancakes out of a fast food container. When he's had his fill, he shoves the open container with the half-eaten pancakes under the seat in front of him. Yes. It isn't enough that the train already reeks of urine and body odor; let's just let the food go bad instead of throwing it away. That just makes me want to go out and eat pancakes too. Mmm.

A woman in the back of the train starts screaming. A few of us glance over at her, but most people keep their eyes averted because they don't want to get involved. Is she hurt? What happened?

Apparently nothing. She's staring up at the list of train stops and keeps screaming as she points to each one. "Aaahh! Aaah! Aaah!"

At the next stop, the train operator warns passengers not to hold the automatic doors open. Of course, a group of kids running down the stairs towards the platform yell out, "Hold the door!" Two of them get to the train first and hold the door open for the rest of their laughing friends, who dance a little in front of the train before getting on. Yes, it's SO MUCH FUN to watch you damage the door by holding it open like that. We all want to be delayed because of you. Look around at all the sour faces. We're just THRILLED that you're doing that.

Sure enough, by the next stop the train doesn't start moving again once all the passengers have gotten on, because the jerks who held open the door really did damage it; now it keeps opening and closing. The operator actually has to leave his station and go down the train to fix it, and everyone groans when they hear the disembodied voice announce that the train is being delayed because of technical difficulties. I feel sorry for the operator, whose voice is getting more and more irritated over the loudspeaker as he reminds people not to hold the door open.

I try to ignore everything that's going on around me, and I concentrate on my book instead. And it works a little too well. The story pulls me in so completely that at the end of the chapter I look out the window in confusion. Why am I seeing signs  in Chinese? Oh, NO! I'm in Chinatown! The train passed my stop several pages ago!

I blame the Singing Guy.

Subway performers

Although I have started bringing my journal more often during my daily commute so that I can work on my manuscripts, I still bring my iPod so that I can listen to it when I can't write. I like listening to one of my playlists when I'm walking to the train or the bus stop, when I'm switching trains, or when I'm standing on the platform to wait for a train to show up.

(Side note: I know that everyone on the blogosphere refers to the unfinished manuscript as WIP, as in work-in-progress, and I've done it too a few times in my responses to other bloggers. No offense to anyone, though, but WIP always makes me think of that 80s' song by Devo that I never liked, the one titled "Whip It". Except instead of a guy whipping some woman's clothes off like in the music video, now whenever I see WIP I think of a bunch of writers whapping each other's manuscripts with pens or laptops. Side question: Why do I think these things? I have no idea.)

More often than not a subway performer will be singing or playing an instrument nearby, with a small box or an open instrument case for people to put dollar bills and change into it. Many of the subway performers I've heard are not very good, but they are very loud. Some will play or sing along to a CD player, so that the sound on the stereo is louder than their voices or their instruments. It's difficult to ignore them, because not only will some of them use microphones but they'll also blast their music through speakers, so that the sound fills up the subway tunnel. I try to turn the volume up on my iPod so that I can drown them out, but it's impossible; it's irritating because listening to music is supposed to be relaxing but I feel anything but relaxed when listening to them. And of course, more often than not, the day that I'm stuck listening to a really bad, really loud subway performer is the same day that the train is running late, so that I end up having to wait twenty minutes instead of five or ten for the train to show up.

Some of the musicians are weird; they'll talk into the microphone as if they're having conversations with people who aren't there. One guy kept pretending to be talking on the phone (though he wasn't actually carrying one); he'd say something like, "Hello? I can't talk right now, I'm trying to sing my song."

But every once in a while I'll hear music being played or sung that makes me stop and turn. It makes everyone stop and turn. And we'll turn to see whose rich, clear voice is filling up the subway tunnel, and we'll want to know if the person singing is really singing or just singing along really softly to the radio (which some people, incidentally, do, and they still expect to get money for that). And the person really will be singing beautifully, and it's a relief to hear that person after all the time spent trying to ignore the bad singers who sing off-key or screech into the microphone or yell at people who listen but don't give them money. The person who sings beautifully keeps singing, even when the noise of arriving or departing trains drowns him or her out. And for the most part, people stay quiet, listening to that person, and some of us will even venture forth to drop change into the performer's box.

There's an elderly Asian woman who performs at one of the Red Line stops; I used to think she was playing the violin or the cello but when I looked closer at her instrument I realized I was wrong. I never figured out what instrument it was that she was playing; all I know is that the way she plays it calms me. When I drop money into her little box she always looks up at me with tired eyes and a smile.

I look at the rats running around on the tracks below, and the trash scattered on the ground because people can't be bothered to actually use a trash can even though there's always one nearby, for Pete's sake, and I try not to inhale the smell of cigarettes from someone smoking near a No Smoking sign. And I think that performer's music is the one thing that's beautiful in that place. She's been performing on the Red Line for years.

And I wish I could thank that musician and the few others like her for giving me a few minutes of peace each day through their music, because it almost makes up for all the other times the loud, obnoxious musicians  make whatever stressful workday I'm going through even worse.

Talented or not, I think that subway performers have guts; they spend hours performing in subway tunnels every day, and many people do ignore them; most of the time people aren't applauding or praising them when they finish their songs. But they keep performing anyway. They keep trying.

Strangers on the Train

I spend anywhere from one to two hours a day commuting by bus and train, depending on which job I'm headed to that day. Normally I bring my iPod to listen to or a book to read, but today I brought my journal with me. I'm planning to enter Lady Glamis' short story contest, which she kindly told me about after I posted a comment to one of her blog entries. (Side note: Also check out the cool birthday contest on Musings of a Palindrome's blog; the deadline for entering that one is May 1st).

So I was bent over my notebook, feeling dubious about the words I was writing because I wasn't sure if they were good enough yet (but I figure I'll write out the first draft and then go back and revise), when I felt someone's hands running through my hair. I whipped my head around, startled, to find a guy sitting behind me. "You have soft hair," he said.

"Don't touch me," I said, before quickly fleeing the train.

Some of my scariest experiences have happened on my daily commute. On the train, everyone is careful not to look at each other, because if you look at the wrong person, he or she will take that as an invitation to freak you out. For example, once I was on a mostly-empty train and I made the mistake of glancing at a guy sitting in the back for more than two seconds. He responded by taking off his pants. I quickly changed trains.

Another time I was getting onto the Orange Line, and I felt someone stroke my arm. That someone was a guy getting off the train at the same time I was boarding it, and he leered at me before walking away. I yelled, "Jerk! Why don't you keep your hands to yourself!" Another guy came on as I was yelling this, and I quickly said to him, "Not you." I then turned around to see a tourist family (complete with wide-eyed small children) with bags from Shedd Aquarium staring at me. I guess they hadn't expected to see that on their tour of the Windy City.