Crazy Train

Last Friday night, I met my college buddy Mike downtown for the White Sox game. (Thanks to all of you who've asked--but my feet were just fine that night and are no longer rejecting shoes.) Mike and I haven't seen each other since my graduation and have only talked on IM. So, it was cool to hang with him and we saw a great Bottom-of-the-9th-Inning Winner! (And got cool free 70s-era Sox hats!)

But the real story starts after the game. Since I met Mike at the ballpark, I came down on the train and then jumped on the Red Line to the park. After the game, Mike and I caught the Red Line and I got on the 11:40 train to the burbs.

As I got on the train, I saw a young brunette who kind of looked familiar. But I shrugged it off. I found a car with very few people sitting on the top level and got a seat. When the train left, my car's upper level was occupied by: 2 uppity East Coast 20-something girls, 2 drunk Northern Illinois preppy frat guys coming from the Sox game, 2 wasted punk guys coming from a show in the city, a bouncer from some club, and me.

Trying to explain what that train ride was like cannot do it justice. It was loud, raucous and pretty hilarious from my point of view. The East Coasters were flirting with the Northern Guys. The Northern Guys couldn't see straight. The Punk Guys kept picking on the Northern Guys. The East Coasters were flirting with the Punk Guys. One kept hugging everyone who said they thought it was OK to have a home phone and a cell phone (??). I said it wasn't to avoid the hug.

Really, I just listened to my iPod and kept out of the circus. Until one of the punk guys, Tony, tapped me on the shoulder. His cell phone was dead. He asked to borrow mine. I had no problem with that. He took the phone and made a quick call.

This simple act apparently endeared me incredibly to Tony and his friend. He told me about how much he didn't like the Northern Guys--and how much he liked me. Tony told me all about the show he was at. I asked Tony if he knew Flatfoot 56--my only knowledge of the Chicago punk scene at all. He did. In fact, his drunk friend said he'd actually played a show with them in "a basement in Elgin."

With a relationship built upon my generosity with my cell phone, we bonded over Celtic rock. "I like your style, man," Tony kept telling me. "You're my friend, man. Yah."

When we stopped at one suburb, a group of kids on the bottom level got up and grabbed their bikes from the side of the car. I saw the brunette again. It was my sister's high school friend! I was like, "Kristin?" And she was like really unsure of me at first about having someone from the noisy and profane upper level calling her name. But seriously, how random is that? But it gets crazier. On that train, I also saw work friend Joel and Melissa and one of their friends we play Frisbee with.

And then, as we pulled from one stop, I looked out the window to see Jill and Leigh--fellow game attendees--waving from the platform. The entire time, they'd been sitting just one car away from my Punk Rawk Drunken Circus.