Culture Shock
I’m experimenting with my public transportation options this week, trying to find the best way of getting to and from work. This morning I walked to the seedy Wilson Red Line—12 minute walk, 35 minute El ride, 10 minute walk on the other end—which worked out fine. But I wanted to take the Metra home to see how that worked. The Metra is generally cheaper and nicer than the El; there’s only one stop between me and downtown; the ride is smooth enough that I can read without fear of motion sickness or headaches. As long as the weather is temperate, I really don’t mind the walking. It just means I can drink another beer at the end of the day (seriously—who the fuck am I?!).
I used to take the Metra to and from Hyde Park, but it is housed in an entirely different station than the northbound trains. And now I know why—the North Siders get all the good trains, the ones with the seat backs that slide so that you can always face the direction of travel, the ones with the doors that open by simply pushing a button and don’t require your entire weight be thrown against them. Do the South Siders know about this? Because there is seriously one good train on the southbound route. Most of them are holdovers from the 70s, as evidenced by their bright yellow and orange seats.
Six of the eight people near me on the Metra today were reading the Wall Street Journal (the remaining two were reading the Financial Times). Not a single Triple Crown book in sight. Weird.
* * *
current book: Am just sitting down to write this damn Museum book review.
current music: Yeah right. I’m so freakin’ busy at work right now I don’t even have time to pull up last.fm or listen to my iPod. My boss swore to me today that it would get better.
current socks: My apartment is precisely 84.9 degrees Fahrenheit. I am wearing very little right now.
Posted 4 September 2007
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Sorry to get off topic, but I actually heard once that the El was routed early on so that rich folk wouldn’t have to stop in poor neighborhoods. Is that true?
You are so pioneer woman for not having air conditioning. I would die.
I have no idea, but I am definitely going to find out. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Stay tuned.
Oh, and I am dying. My mother keeps pointing out that she lived the first 18 years of her life—in north central Texas, mind you—without air conditioning. You say pioneer, I say crazy.