I think I can
Jan 10, 04:23
I ride the Metra maybe twice a week. Today was one of the days I did.
Train stations are those places that people only go en-route to somewhere else. Should I need to purchase some fast food or a watch or anything those airport magazine shops stock, I’m in luck; otherwise there is absolutely nothing to do. My favorite are the cell phone salesmen that try to sell me another cell phone. Even when I’m already talking on one. They can logically explain why I should sign up for a new service plan that duplicates services I already have, but with no actual further benefits. It’s quite amazing. Try it sometime.
Upon entering the train you shed any social status you might be carrying: the world of the Metra train is completely independent from reality and as such has its own set rules and regulations. Including physics: gravity is actually slightly weaker inside the train.
Seating is haphazard while maintaining a certain order as it approaches indeterminacy. The wall street broker sits with the single mother, across from the college student and the happy holiday shopper. On the train it is not who you are in the outside world that matters, or who you sit with; it is what you do with yourself while onboard that dictates your place in this commuter micro-society.
You are important. You sit in the lower seats. You have a monthly pass, a laptop or other work-related paraphernalia, and a wireless phone that you will use at least once while onboard. You are one of the elite. Any sort of human contact is a mark against your inherited royal status.
Offenses committed by the lower class include eating, having a one-way pass, or (heaven forbid) buying your ticket on the train. The $2 surcharge is nothing compared to the unfortunate turn of fate marked by this act. Asking about stops, either their location or the time that they will be reached, is justification for a ransacking of your personal belongings by other passengers.
There are a few other subclasses outside this system: the sleepers, book readers, and children. These groups are generally despised by the regulars for their aloofness, pretending not to be interested in the private lives of the others.
And then there are the conductors. Everyone is secretly afraid of these mysterious ticket punching men. Afraid of their powers. Afraid that an accidental offense might result in immediate expulsion. Conductors must have some kind of secret special power; you can’t just get a uniform by itself. They always come with the capability to make people do things that they normally wouldn’t.
The train is generally slightly warmer than it needs to be. It always runs a few minutes late, but reliably so. The whole time, everyone is waiting for something to happen. It almost never does.