Strangers on a Train

I am a regular Metra rider, ususally on inbound train #320 leaving my local stop at straight-up 8:00 AM, arriving Ogilvie Transportation Center in Chicago's Loop at 8:26AM. I was on it this morning, heading to the office for a Friday full of conference calls and persuasion. I usually read my paper or listen to the iPod, but today I decided to sit quietly and look around me. I concluded something - commuting is a very odd activity.

Across the aisle from me is a man that I have noticed many times in the past. He is a tall, substantial guy, not overweight or anything, but solid. He could be 40 years old, or he could be 50. His face is unlined and his hair is thick and dark blonde. He always wears jeans and boots. In the winter, he wears a pullover sweater. In his hands, an iPhone or an iPad. The expression on his face never changes - he seems implacably calm.

To my right on the long bench is a clenched fist of a man, short and paunchy, in a pin-striped suit. His thinning hair glistens with some sort of styling gel. He has turned his back to me and pulled away to the far edge of the seat so he won't accidently catch my eye or brush his body against mine. His eyes are focused on the novel scrolling across his e-reader.

To my left is a mid-thirties blonde woman who pays close attention to her appearance. She is staring into a compact mirror, adjusting her lipstick. This process takes a surprisingly long time. She finally snaps the compact shut, slips it into a big-ass purse, sighs, leans back and closes her eyes.

Down the aisle comes the aging conductor, bellowing "Tickets!! Display all tickets!! Main Street, Rogers Park, Ravenswood tickets!!!" He is short and round. He has a gray beard quite similar to my own. His voice shatters the peace; his timbre is nasal and unpleasant; it makes my ears ring. It is incredibly irritating.

Every seat is filled and people are standing in the aisle by the time we reach our destination. The passengers generally don't converse with each other. They don't even acknowlege each other, although they have been riding in the same train car together for quite a while (sometimes for years). We can't greet each other by name, we don't introduce ourselves, we are physically close but emotionally distant.

The train stops with a jerk, the doors hiss open; we file out and rush to our high-rise offices. In eight or nine hours, we will reverse the direction of our travels and head back to our suburban bedrooms. Then we get up the next day and repeat the process. And the day after that, and the day after that, and so on until we lose our jobs or retire or die.

Doesn't this seem odd? What if someone broke into song? What if someone told the loud conductor to shut up? Would chaos ensue? Would the facade crumble?

Anyway, I should start winding down my day so I can catch......my train.

Persistence

I felt a twinge in my knee last night and when I woke up this morning, it was still there. I decided to skip my workout to let my knee settle down. The last day of February was a little rough in Chicago - the rain that fell overnight turned to ice when the temperatures dropped around 2 AM. My neighborhood was a huge skating rink. I left the house for my morning commute, moving gingerly and feeling grumpy.

I made it to my local Metra stop and headed up the ice-covered, hazardous stairs. I looked up the stairs and saw a woman really struggling to climb to the top. She was of short stature, and it was clear that she was suffering from some sort of chronic condition - perhaps multiple sclerosis. She had a hard time lifting her feet to climb the stairs, and she was hauling herself up by pulling on the handrail. I offered to help her; she thanked me and asked me to carry her bag. She made it to the top of the stairs, we exchanged a few pleasantries and we headed off to face our futures.

I remembered that I have seen this woman a few times as I scurried to my train. She never caught my attention before. My busy-ness and self-involvement prevented me from truly seeing her. As I rode the train into work this morning, I felt awe and shame.

I was in awe of this woman's persistence. She is working while battling a condition that a non-afflicted person can't really understand. She was pushing through her infirmities to do what needed to be done. I think that she must be one of those exceptional people - a true optimist, who overcomes her challenges with hopefulness. Just an everyday hero, getting on with life.

And then I felt ashamed. I am one of the luckiest people on earth. It is deeply wrong for me not to feel gratitude and thankfulness every waking moment. A twinge in my knee and ice on the sidewalk - trivial matters!! I am not worthy to be the bag-carrier of the woman stuggling to climb the icy stairs. I owe her both an apology and thanks for opening my eyes to see past my own privileged existence.

"Delayed Due To A Medical Emergency"

I am a Chicago commuter, climbing aboard the Metra North Line at Main Street in Evanston. The train is a lovely experience - quick, relatively quiet and somewhat retro (no WiFi, people still read newspapers). An extra plus - you can buy a beer in the terminal for the ride home and exit at your station with your attitude nicely adjusted (not that I do that, of course).

This morning seemed pretty typical. We had rain, but my train was on time. When we hit the Ravenswood station in Chicago, we stopped and didn't move. The conductor got on the intercom and announced "Ladies and gentlemen - we will be delayed due to amedical emergency. We are waiting for an ambulance to revmove the passenger from the train. We should be on our way in a few minutes." We sat for about 20 minutes, then headed into the Loop.

I can't seem to get the afflicted passenger out of my head this morning. What happened? Heart attack? Stroke? Are there defribillators on the Metra trains? Who was the afflicted passenger? Did he/she survive? There was no announcement, of course, and I didn't get a chance to quiz the conductor.

This unfortunate person probably started his/her daily routine with no expectations of drama or tragedy. He/she was my fellow traveler today. I hope that he/she didn't end up at a surprise final destination.