CTA Tattler

The latest from bummed-out Democrats

For Democrats after the presidential election, first there was shock, then anger, depression, etc. Now this.

Cell phone conversation overheard on the Red Line:

"I can't plan anything after Christmas. I'm going to Washington to protest the inauguration."

Helpful Grand Avenue panhandler

Some panhandlers can be annoying; others just amusing. The one at the Grand Avenue Red Line stop during the evening rush is actually quite helpful.

He stands stoically at the bottom of the northbound stairs, clutching his white Styrofoam cup. He's at least 70, quite thin, sporting a longish white beard, usually wearing brown corduroy pants. And he likes to gives passengers hustling down the stairs updates on train arrivals and departures.

"Don't worry, take your time; the train's on the other side."

"Here it comes folks!"

"The train just left, sorry."

He told me once that he's a former postal carrier "just trying to supplement my income."

Now that's a guy who earns his pay.

Caution: Pervert on board

The droning afternoon silence on the Red Line train home was shattered by this announcement:

"We have a pervert on the train.

"That guy is back there playing with himself."

Necks were craning to see ... well, I'm not exactly sure what or why we were all expecting to see anything.

The woman who announced the aberrant behavior got off at the next stop.

Promptly, a guy who was sitting in the single seat next to the door between cars deftly made his way to the next car, perhaps hoping to proceed in anonymity.

A plea to keep passengers alive

Heading north out of the Chicago Avenue station on the Red Line, the motorman makes his plea:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we can't afford to lose any riders. I'm talking to you two young ladies.

"I've seen about 12 people get hit by a train in doing this job for 20 years.

"So please don't stick your heads over the platform! I'm going about 55 miles per hour coming into the station.

"Stick around awhile. I know someone at home loves you.

"I want you to be 75 or 80 and ride the CTA every day."

A reasonable request.

The killjoy beggar

A guy sits backwards in his seat, eyeing a woman across the aisle who is reading a book.

He finally walks up to her and asks her for $2. She politely declines. (Don't you love it when the beggars have specific cash requests in mind?)

Next, he starts talking to her about the book she's reading, saying that he too had read it. "But don't worry, I won't tell you the ending." But he does inquire: "Is she pregnant yet in the first chapter?"

He gets up to leave at Loyola. As he heads out the door of the car, he yells back:

"She ends up in jail!"

Weird carry-on packages

Strange things I've seen people carry on the El:

• An automobile tire.
• A three-foot-high stuffed tiger.
• Three huge empty boxes. Moving day?

Of course, there's the garbage can that I reported on earlier.

Of syphilis and off-peak riding

I need to ride the CTA more during the off-peak hours. Those of us drones just going to and from work are generally a boring bunch. (No offense guys. In the case of this blog, boring is good.)

It's just that I've just been getting my best CTA Tattler Tales at the off-peak hours.

Take last night for instance. It's about 9 p.m. traveling north on the Red Line. A punky-looking teen girl with reddish/purple turns to her mom, points at one the CTA ad cards and exclaims:

"Man, he's glad he got that syphilis test."

The ad shows a guy talking on a cell phone with a pretty woman in the background, saying, "Man, I'm glad I got that syphilis test. "

Now, why do you think he's glad?

That's gratitude for you

The southbound train stops at Granville, one of the few accessible stations on the Red Line. A wheelchair rider rolls up the ramp placed by the friendly CTA worker and parks his chair in the doorway, not the open area on the other side of the door. He cordially thanks for the help.

We arrive at Fullerton, where another CTA worker pokes his head in the door and says, "Excuse me, do you need any help?"

The guy ignores him.

"Excuse me, need any help getting where you're going?" he tries again.

The wheelchair guy finally shakes his head, then starts muttering, "Mother f***er, you're a son of a bitch. Shut up!"

Of course, the shocked passengers keep their noses buried in their reading materials.

Three stops later, the guy bangs his wheelchair three inches off the car and onto the Chicago Avenue platform, without any assistance.

Mr. Skin, you know where you've been

A 60-year-old decrepit-looking man boards the Red Line north at North and Clybourn.  He sits next to a teen with a shaved-head, Ninja Turtles lunchbox and a T-shirt proclaiming: "Italian Stallion."

The older gentleman ignores the teen, and instead concentrates on peeling skin off his gnarled hands. He takes the newly peeled skin, rolls it gently between finger and thumb, and sprinkles it into his duffel bag.

Slumbering shoe shine

Thanks to Ted, who contributed this post. (You too can contribute.)

"About a year ago, in the summer, I was coming home on the Evanston Express. I, like many of my Purple Line brethren, had succumb to the gentle rocking of the train from Belmont to Howard. So, having fallen asleep, I awoke between Howard and South Blvd. to a man who had taken the liberty to shine my shoes.

"He strongly suggested that the shine was free, but the tip was on me. In my daze, I mumbled something like "No thanks." To which he began to become slightly taken aback. I stood up at Main St. and gave him a crumpled dollar and got off.

"To this day, I'm not sure what was used on my shoes, and if a sleeping person can legally enter a binding contract for services."