Chicago...Chicago...

Here's a story for you.

I used to live in Chicago and I took the #45, #46 or #47 bus to and from work everyday. I worked in an office on S. Michigan Ave and went to a gym right across the street. Every morning I'd walk over to the bus stop and wait for one that was hopefully un-clown-like packed, since I was carrying my purse and a gym bag stuffed with 2 changes of clothes. This was a big deal--it's an unspoken rule on mass transit that you're never allowed to take up more space than the approximately 22 inch circumference of your body. (Measured with arms at side) Sometimes I was lucky and could find a seat to slide my bag under, sometimes I elicited dirty looks for the full 25 minutes, as my gym bag took up the 1 square foot of space that someone else would have/could have squashed into.

But that is not the story. Oh no.

Riding home was a different story, especially in the winter, when darkness came at 4:30. Unsurprisingly, by the time I made it out of the gym between 7 and 7:30, the buses were plentiful and blissfully empty, as people had either gone straight home at 5pm or straight to the bar.

One fateful night I chose my seat against a window and pulled out my book for the ride. A few stops later a woman got on the bus, obviously homeless and obviously mentally ill. As she boarded the bus she put her transit card in the slot and then SHOUTED at the bus driver

"YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"

The thing I loved about Chicago is that kind of thing would happen and I'll be damned if people didn't even LOOK UP! I of course--small town Midwestern girl and surveyor of all--couldn't believe it and stared. The woman slowly started walking the length of the bus, pausing to tell each person

"YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"

Luckily she sat right behind me. What followed was a story I only vaguely remember now but included the repeated phrase "I come from the land of Al Gore," said in a semi-British, semi-Hollywood epic film intro-style.