The Perils of an Urban Commute
I got off the Metra this morning and began my usual brisk walk down Randolph Street. It’s nearly May and I’m still wearing a winter coat; it’s not bitterly cold, but it’s cool and gray and windy. Oh yes, and there is a large body of water one block away that has an exaggerating effect on ugly weather.
There was a sudden gust of wind, and I felt something gritty splatter across my face. Whatever it was had blown right into my lips. My lips on which lip balm had just been applied. Sticky, sticky lip balm.
And then I saw it. The cigarette. The cigarette carried by a nonchalant looking woman—I imagine that she was wearing a fur coat and large sunglasses, but that might be my memory redrawing her in a less flattering light. Because she was walking slightly in front of me and carrying her cigarette in midair, her elbow bent, using the wind as her ashtray. And her cigarette ashes were stuck to my lips.
* * *
current book: Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion. More on this later. I seem to have indefinitely set aside Elizabeth Costello.
current music: Strangely, I haven’t been listening to much of anything.
current socks: Turquoise with 50s-esque abstract zig-zag-dothingies on them.
Posted 27 April 2007
No Comments
Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI
Leave a comment
The remedy for this is quite simple.
Should this happen again here is what to do:
1. Rub all the lip balm and ash onto your fingers
2. Walk faster, and pretend to stumble and trip when you are right behind the culprit.
3. “Accidentally” grab the offenders coat to steady yourself, surreptitiously working the ash balm mixture in. If there is no coat, aim for the hair.
4. Say “pardon me, I must have slipped” and walk away smirking.
If you are feeling really incised, fake a coughing jag and hock up a loogie.
Immature? Perhaps.
But isn’t life all about petty revenge on strangers?
p.s. yes, I have seen this in action and no, it wasn’t me who did it.
That’s funny, every morning, usually sometime between 8:45 and 9:15, I’m walking the opposite way on Randolph Street (north side of street). Though usually I’m too sleepy-eyed to recognize bloggers whom I’ve only met for 45 seconds, I’ll promise an awkward left-handed high five if I ever do.